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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76466 ***







  GLIMPSES

  OF

  THE DARK AGES;

  OR,

  SKETCHES OF THE SOCIAL CONDITION
  OF EUROPE,

  FROM

  THE FIFTH TO THE TWELFTH CENTURY.



  LONDON:
  THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY,
  _Instituted 1789._




PREFACE.

In the following sketch, the author has confined himself to one
branch of the History of the Middle Ages.  He attempts nothing more
than a glance at the social condition of Europe, from the fifth to
the twelfth century; political affairs, military transactions, the
rise and fall of dynasties, the relation of European states to each
other, and the lives and deeds of the heroes of those days, do not
come within the range of his plan.  He has marked out the first six
centuries of the middle ages, for separate consideration, because in
the twelfth century a new epoch commenced.

Much of what is true of the former period, is not true of the latter.
New social elements were then formed, and old ones received new
life--it was the dawn of modern civilisation.  It is difficult to
draw a well-defined line between the two ages, but it may be placed
somewhere about the twelfth century.  Events and institutions which
arose then, and which seem to belong to the later period of social
progress in Europe, have, therefore, received no notice in the
following pages.

The author has been careful in consulting authorities, though he has
abstained from loading his pages with references.  The quotations are
taken immediately, not second-hand, from the works cited at the foot
of the page; and in referring to books as authorities, the author has
generally chosen such as are best known, easiest of access, and most
adapted to furnish additional interesting information on the topics
in question.




CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.--FALL OF ROME.

SECTION 1. Taking of the city
        2. Roman civilisation
        3. Barbarians


CHAPTER II.--THE CHURCH.

SECTION 1. Political relations
        2. Superstitions
        3. Morals
        4. Literature and art


CHAPTER III.--THE MONASTERY.

SECTION 1. Rise of monachism
        2. Monastic life and manners
        3. Monkish employments
        4. Effects of monastic institutions on society


CHAPTER IV.--THE FEUDAL CASTLE.

SECTION 1. Rise of feudalism
        2. Feudalism in France
        3. Modification of the system in England
        4. Estimate of the effects of feudalism


CHAPTER V.--THE TOWN.

SECTION 1. Roman municipalities
        2. Rise of modern Italian cities
        3. Cities of Germany, and the Netherlands
        4. Anglo-Saxon boroughs




GLIMPSES

OF

THE DARK AGES.



CHAPTER I.

THE FALL OF ROME.



SECTION I.--TAKING OF THE CITY.

The city of Rome had sustained little diminution in her architectural
splendour, when the setting sun shed his parting beams, as if with
prophetic significance, upon the gilded roof of the venerable
capitol, on the evening of the 24th of August, A.D. 410.  The temple
of Jupiter, though shorn of some of the dazzling ornaments with which
the emperor Domitian had adorned its portals and pediments, still
remained an imposing monument of the ancient paganism of the Imperial
City.  Other costly temples and public buildings, clustered around
that seat of Roman pride and greatness, and met and charmed the eye
of the citizen, as he ascended the slope of the Capitoline Hill.
With a lordly air, these noble structures threw their long shadows
over the spacious forum, where, of old, the sons of the republic had
been accustomed to gather in crowds around the rostrum, to listen to
the speeches of their orators; and where still the degenerate Roman
was reminded of the deeds of his fathers, by the monuments of
patriotism and victory which were strewn around him.  On that
evening, might be seen many a citizen and foreigner passing to and
fro, along its stately colonnades, or reclining at his ease upon the
marble seats; and in whatever direction he went, on leaving that
far-famed spot, he passed through squares and streets which were
adorned with temples, palaces, and baths, such as could have been
erected in no city but one that had enriched itself with the spoils
of the whole world.  In short, Rome had undergone but little
alteration since the eastern emperor Constantius, fifty years before,
on visiting the city of his fathers, had been overwhelmed with
astonishment at its surpassing magnificence.  An historian of that
period,[1] describing the visit in that inflated style which is so
characteristic of the age, observes; "As Constantius viewed the
seven-hilled city, with its valleys and suburban districts, every
object around him seemed to shine with transcendent splendour:--the
temple of Tarpeian Jove exceeding everything he had beheld, as much
as a Divine production could exceed the works of man; the spacious
baths spreading around like provinces; the Amphitheatre with its
solid walls of Tiburtine marble, and so lofty, that the eye is
fatigued in looking upward to its summit; the Pantheon with its vast
circular space, arched over by a magnificent dome; and its lofty
pediments rising one above another, and crowned with statues of Roman
heroes; the Forum and Temple of Peace; the Theatre of Pompey; the
Musical Hall; the Stadia, and other imposing objects in the Eternal
City.  But when he came to the Forum of Trajan--the most astonishing
structure under the face of heaven, and, as I conceive, wonderful in
the estimation of the deities themselves--he was struck with
astonishment, while considering its gigantic buildings, which are not
to be described in language, or again to be equalled by mortal skill.
Discarding the idea of erecting another forum like that, he thought
that he might rear an equestrian statue, which should resemble the
colossal horse of Trajan; but this design he also abandoned, upon
hearing it remarked by the prince, Hormisdas, 'If you would succeed
in having a similar horse, you must first provide a similar stable,'"
Such was the grandeur of ancient Rome; and it was probably with
feelings of admiration like those of the emperor and his historian,
that many a citizen returned from the baths and the forums to his own
dwelling on the eventful evening in question.  Gradually the sounds
of business, and the murmur of voices in the streets died away: and
as the stars shone forth in the face of heaven, the mighty city slept
in silence.  But it was a silence soon to be disturbed.

At the midnight hour, a blast of trumpets like the roar of thunder
reverberated from hill to hill, and woke up myriads of the
inhabitants from their deep slumbers--it was the signal that Alaric
the Goth, with his mighty army, had entered Rome.

Two years before the barbarian general had besieged the city.  Swayed
by what he conceived a supernatural impulse, he led his victorious
troops down the passes of the Apennines, upon the rich plains of
Italy.  A pious monk, it is said, met the warrior on his way, and
exhorted him to refrain from his expedition; but he replied, "I am
urged on in spite of myself, by an irresistible impulse which is
continually saving to me, 'March to Rome, and desolate the city.'"[2]
Thus, prompted by his ambition, he fulfilled his destiny, and wreaked
a fearful amount of vengeance on the heads of the Romans, for the
wrongs which they had inflicted upon others.  Twice did he blockade
the gates of Rome, and subdue the proud masters of the world.  During
the first siege, the terrors of famine and pestilence reduced the
senate to submission, and the conqueror agreed to raise the siege,
only upon the condition of his being paid a very large ransom.
Negotiations for peace with the emperor Honorius, who was then at
Ravenna, having failed, Alaric returned to Rome, and again pitched
his camp before the walls.  The remembrance of their calamities,
during the former siege, constrained the people once more to yield;
when the Gothic warrior insisted upon their renouncing allegiance to
Honorius, and imposed upon them a new emperor in the person of
Attalus, the prefect of the city.  But it was not long before the
latter forfeited the confidence of his master, and Alaric immediately
proceeded publicly to strip him of the imperial purple.  The Goth,
after this circumstance, renewed his negotiations with the court of
Ravenna; but being insulted by the heralds, and attacked by the
troops of Honorius, he turned his army a third time towards the gates
of Rome.[3]

Historians inform us, that it was by an act of treachery, that Alaric
was now admitted into the city; but no satisfactory information can
be obtained respecting the particulars of the important transaction.
The Gothic trumpet, however, at the Salarian gate, the march of the
enemy along the great highway, and the flames issuing from the palace
of Sallust--which was fired by the troops, as soon as they entered
within the walls--proclaimed that Rome, the Queen of Cities, after
the lapse of nearly eight hundred years from her invasion by the
Gauls, was once more in the hands of a barbarian foe.  Although the
Romans had been aware of the vicinity of Alaric, yet, lulled into a
state of false security, they did not anticipate any assault, and the
senators were quietly slumbering in their beds when the enemy entered
the city.  Fearful were the scenes enacted; and well might Jerome
apply to it the lines of Virgil, in reference to the sack of Troy:

  "What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night?
  What eyes can weep the sorrow and affright?
  An ancient and imperial city falls--
  The streets are fill'd with frequent funerals;
  Houses and holy temples float in blood,
  And hostile nations made a common flood;
  All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears,
  Ana grisly death in sundry shapes appears."


The cruel and licentious soldiery made a dreadful slaughter of the
Roman people, and violated many a matron and virgin.  The horrors of
the invasion were further heightened by the excesses which were
practised by forty thousand slaves, who now broke loose from the
authority of their masters, and retaliated, on them and their
families, the wrongs which themselves and their predecessors had
endured through ages of oppression.  But it is acknowledged by all
writers, that Alaric--who was himself an Arian--showed some
considerable regard for the Christians of the city, and spared the
churches where they met for worship.  Indeed he appointed the
edifices, which had been dedicated to the apostles Peter and Paul, as
places of refuge for the terrified Christian inhabitants, and gave
strict orders that those who fled there for sanctuary, should be
protected from injury.  Instances illustrative of the forbearance of
the soldiers, and of their respect not only for the persons of the
Christians but for the consecrated vessels which they employed in
their worship, are afforded us by the historians of those times.
Orosius gives us a graphic description of a long train of Christians,
carrying on their heads the communion-plate of gold and silver, and
singing their sacred hymns, who were escorted in safety, by the
Gothic soldiers, through the streets of the ravaged city, to the
church of St. Peter.  He speaks also of many of the barbarians, and
the pagan Romans, uniting in these songs, and joining in the solemn
procession; and represents the latter as saving themselves from
vengeance, by taking shelter beneath the wing of the Christian faith.

But, notwithstanding this abatement of the horrors connected with the
taking of Rome, enough is recorded on the page of authentic history
to convey a fearful idea of that memorable event.  Numbers were
slain, the houses of the wealthy were pillaged, their most costly
treasures were unsparingly seized, many of the most beautiful works
of art were destroyed; and if only a few of the buildings of Rome
were reduced to ashes, they were all, no doubt, stripped of whatever
was valuable, and capable of being removed in the heavy wagons which
followed in the rear of the Gothic army.  Multitudes of the people of
rank were sold for slaves, or driven into exile.  "Who would
believe," exclaims Jerome, "that Rome, built up with the spoils of
the whole world, and the very cradle of nations, should be turned
into a sepulchre; that the shores of Egypt, Africa, and the east,
should be crowded with the handmaids of the imperial city; that every
day nobles of both sexes, who had lived in affluence, should come as
beggars to the sanctuaries of Bethlehem."[4]

But it is not the intention of the author to write a history of the
invasion of Rome by Alaric: he has selected that event, simply as a
starting-point in his introduction to a review of the state of
society in the middle ages.  That invasion forms the first grand
epoch in the fall of Rome, which thenceforth became the prey of
barbarian violence, till, at length, no traces of its greatness
remained, and the eternal city itself became a field of ruins.  And
as it was the fall of Rome which prepared the way for the social
phenomena of the mediæval period, it was natural, before entering
upon an enumeration of those times, to glance at the event which
appears so conspicuously among the causes which effected them.

It will be proper, before we proceed further, briefly to notice the
previous state of Roman civilisation, as this will in some measure
explain the remarkable fact of so great an empire having been overrun
by barbarians, and will also illustrate the character of that form of
society which was succeeded by the social changes of the middle ages.


[1] Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. xvi. c. 10.

[2] Socrates, Hist., lib. vii. c. 10.

[3] Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, chap. xxxi.

[4] Hieron., Pref. in Ezekiel.



SECTION II.

ROMAN CIVILISATION.

The history of Rome is that of a municipality pushing its vigorous
arms in all directions, extending its influence on every side,
without suffering its own central power to be affected--without
admitting any other city or country to share in its dominion; other
cities were but her daughters, or her slaves, and her extensive
provinces were but like so many vast suburbs encircling her walls.
The chief magistrates in the Roman city were the chief magistrates in
the Roman world.  This phenomenon of a single municipal government
administering the affairs of a wide surrounding territory, and of
distant provinces and colonies, is the very type of ancient political
civilisation: there is nothing like it in Europe, in modern times.
London is a great municipality, but the power of its magistracy is
confined within its own walls.  If we connect with it the
neighbouring city of Westminster, it derives considerable political
importance from its being the locality where the national government
is accustomed to meet; but, in this respect, its character is very
different from Rome.  It draws together the lines of influence which
flow from the provinces, it receives and concentrates them: but the
city of Rome was the centre of a system of absolute power, spreading
its ramifications over the world.  The former unites and gives
intensity to what it receives from without--the latter propelled far
and wide an influence which originated from within.  Rome was the
fountain of political power--London is but the focus.

"A municipality like Rome," says Guizot, "had been able to conquer
the world, but it was not so easy a task to govern and organize it.
Thus when the work seemed consummated, when all the west, and a great
part of the east, had fallen under the Roman sway, we find this
prodigious accumulation of cities, of small states, instituted for
isolation and independence, disunited, detached from each other, and
slipping the noose, as it were, in all directions.  This was one of
the causes which led to the necessity of an empire."[1]

Under Augustus, Rome lost its republican character, and became an
imperial city--a military despotism succeeded to free institutions.
Mercenary troops and standing armies took the place of those
invincible legions which had been composed of Roman citizens; and the
new military power thus created was placed in the hands of the Roman
emperor.  The senate remained, together with other institutions which
had existed in the days of the republic; but they had lost the spirit
which had once animated them, and were now overshadowed and rendered
almost powerless by the influence of imperial authority.  Under
Diocletian a system of partition was introduced, when the two Augusti
and the two Cæsars became the rulers of the four great provinces into
which the Roman empire was divided: this new system affected both the
form and the spirit of the government; for, by removing these rulers
from the city to their respective provinces, it released them from
whatever little restraint the senate might have put upon their
proceedings.  They became absolute sovereigns, oppressing the
provinces by their exactions, and spreading desolation around them,
by their wars with each other.  Constantine overcame all his rivals
in power, and engrossed to himself the whole government of the
empire; but by removing his residence and court from Rome to
Constantinople, he prepared for that separation of the eastern from
the western provinces, which produced in fact two separate and
independent empires.  Other changes were introduced by Constantine:
the despotism of the court succeeded to the despotism of the army:
state officers were multiplied without number; and, as Heeren
observes, "if the good of a commonwealth consisted in forms, rank and
title, the Roman empire must at this time have been truly happy!"[2]

How completely had Rome now lost the greatness which she once
possessed! patriotism had faded from the empire; the spirit of
liberty had expired.  If republican forms remained, the life which
had once animated them was gone, and they were made the covering for
despotic practices, and oriental courtiership.  Laws no longer
depended on the decrees of the senate, but on the rescripts of
emperors, and government sank into a fearful despotism,--the
punishment, under Divine Providence, of states unfaithful to liberty.
It has been often observed, that despotism was the only kind of rule
which could hold the Roman empire together during the last age of its
history: but what a striking proof does that fact present of the
thoroughly corrupt state of Roman civilisation!

Society in Rome was divided into three great classes, nobles,
plebeians, and slaves.  The accounts which are given by historians of
the wealth, splendour, and luxury of the first of these classes,
almost exceed belief.  A writer of the period, describing the state
of Rome under Honorius, relates, that several of the senators
received from their estates an annual income of four thousand pounds
of gold, which would be equivalent to more than one hundred and sixty
thousand pounds sterling, without reckoning provision of corn and
wine, which, if sold, would have realized one-third of that sum.  The
estates of these patricians spread over distant provinces, and, as
early as the time of Seneca, "rivers which had divided hostile
nations, flowed through the lands of private citizens."  With such
resources at their command, there were no bounds to their
extravagance.  "Many of their mansions might excuse the exaggeration
of the poet, that Rome contained a multitude of palaces, and that
each palace was equal to a city; since it included within its own
precincts everything which could be subservient either to use or
luxury--markets, hippodromes, temples, fountains, baths, porticoes,
shady groves, and artificial aviaries."[3]  A remarkable instance of
Roman splendour, belonging to an earlier period, is afforded in the
account we have of the house of Scaurus, which was valued at a sum
equal to £885,000 of our money.  A distinguished antiquary has given
a fancy picture of the dining-room in this palace, which was probably
equalled in some of the Roman houses of a later date.  He describes
the apartment as divided into two portions; the upper occupied by
tables and couches, the lower left empty for the convenience of
attendants.  The former was adorned with valuable curtains: garlands
entwined with ivy divided the wall into compartments, which were
bordered by fanciful ornaments: and the frieze above the columns was
formed in twelve divisions, each of which was surmounted by a sign of
the zodiac, and by meat, fish, and game, emblematical of the season.
Bronze lamps, suspended from the ceiling, or raised on candelabra,
shed a brilliant light, and were trimmed by slaves.  The tables were
of citron-wood more precious than gold, and rested on ivory feet.
The couches were overlaid with silver, gold, and tortoise-shell; the
mattresses were of Gallic wool, dyed purple; the cushions of silk,
embroidered with gold, were worked at Babylon, and cost thirty-two
thousand pounds.  The pavement was of mosaic, and represented the
fragments of a feast scattered about, as if the floor had not been
swept since the last meal.  While waiting for their masters, young
slaves strewed over the pavement sawdust, dyed with saffron, and
vermilion, mixed with a brilliant powder, made from the _lapis
specularis_, or talc.[4]  An historian, before quoted,[5] who lived
during the fourth century, gives a lively description of the Roman
nobility at that time, from which it appears that luxury of every
kind was carried to the greatest excess.  They adorned their houses
with magnificent statues of themselves.  Their robes were of the most
costly description, and became a burden to the wearer from the
immoderate weight of their rich embroidery.  When they travelled to
any distance, so large was the retinue that it was like the march of
an army, and even when they rode in their splendid chariots through
the streets of the city, they were followed by a train of fifty
servants, and tore up the very pavement by their furious driving.
Sometimes they sailed in their painted yachts from the Lucrine lake,
on the coast of Puteoli, and thought when they had done it, that they
had performed an exploit which might rival the expeditions of either
Alexander or Cæsar.  Their tables were covered with the rarest
delicacies, and the pleasures of the feast occupied no small share of
their time and conversation.  Musical concerts and visiting the
baths, the theatres, and other places of amusement, absorbed nearly
all the rest.  Great was the change since the days of Cincinnatus.
Roman simplicity had been succeeded by oriental magnificence.  Cloaks
of Laconian wool and purple, tables of thurga-root, with claws of
silver and ivory, services of plate, set with precious stones,
furniture of the costliest materials, and most elegant workmanship,
banqueting-halls of florid architecture, baths of marble, and villas
surrounded by enchanting gardens, were now the signs of greatness,
instead of wisdom in the cabinet, or valour in the field.

The second class of Roman society consisted of the plebeian citizens,
numbers of whom, neglecting all industrious employments, lived upon
the public distribution of bread, bacon, oil, and wine, which, from
the time of Augustus, had been made for the relief of the indigent
among the people.  These idlers spent their time chiefly in baths and
taverns, and in witnessing those public amusements in the circus and
the theatre, which their corrupt magistrates and great men, from the
emperors downwards, were accustomed to provide as a means of securing
and maintaining popularity.  "Some," says Ammianus, "passed the night
in taverns, and others under the awnings of the theatres: they
occupied their time in playing at dice, or, which was a more
favourite employment, in sitting from morning till evening in the sun
or the rain, enjoying the amusements of the circus, and discussing
the excellences, or the defects of the horses and the charioteers.
It was truly surprising to see an innumerable concourse of people,
with the most ardent minds, watching the event of a chariot face."[6]

The third portion of Roman society consisted of slaves.  This unhappy
class formed a large portion of the Roman population from an early
period.  So numerous were they at one time, that when it was proposed
to distinguish them from the citizens by a particular dress, the
proposal was negatived, on the ground that it would be dangerous to
the state, if these bondmen discovered their numerical strength.
Domestic occupations of all kinds were allotted to slaves, numbers of
them were employed as artisans.  Some of them were devoted to
professional pursuits; and great men had among their slaves,
physicians, librarians, and secretaries: a state of things obviously
most pernicious, as the moral influence exerted by them upon the
families with whom they resided must have been most injurious: nor
was the peril small from having so large a class of persons in the
community, whose feelings towards their masters, in a multitude of
instances, must have been deeply embittered.  At one period, the
possessors of slaves in Rome exercised over them a perfectly
irresponsible authority, and scourged and put them to death at
pleasure: but under the emperors Adrian, and the Antonines, the
shield of legal protection was extended over this oppressed portion
of society.  Some melioration in the state of Roman slaves, no doubt,
was secured during the last age of the empire; but the wrongs
inseparable from slavery were still endured, and a disposition to be
avenged on their oppressors still nourished; for amidst the scenes of
terror and violence, which marked the taking of Rome by Alaric, we
have seen forty thousand slaves rising to join the Goths in shedding
Roman blood, and in trampling in the dust the remains of Roman pride
and greatness.  That the servile part of the Roman population,
ministering, as they did, to the luxury, the extravagance, and the
vices of their masters, partook of the prevalent moral corruption of
the times is certain; and thus society, in the imperial city,
presented the picture so affectingly described by the prophet, "the
whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint, from the sole of the
foot even unto the head there is no soundness in it: but wounds and
bruises and putrifying sores; they have not been closed, neither
bound up, neither mollified with ointment."[7]

Had not Christianity "mollified" them?  No doubt what there was of
healing and preserving power in society at Rome, during its latter
days, proceeded from the influence of the Christian religion; and it
is worthy of remark that the court of the Christian emperors
presented a striking contrast, in point of morality, with the court
of their pagan predecessors.  There were also pious believers, who
saw, and bewailed the increasing tide of popular depravity,--who
"sighed and cried because of the abominations done in the midst of
the city."  But it must not be forgotten, that by the close of the
fourth century Christianity in Rome was not what it was in the days
when Paul wrote his epistle to the church, and congratulated them on
their faith and piety.  "The gold had become dim."  Very great
innovations had been made upon Christian doctrine and practice: they
had been slowly growing up for years, and, after the council of Nice,
developed themselves more boldly than before.  Christianity
originally appeared as a system of wisdom and mercy, for the
reconciliation of fallen man with God through the one Mediator, Jesus
Christ, and for the renewal of his depraved nature by the power of
the Holy Spirit; but now a crowd of inferior mediators had begun to
rise in the church, and to hide the Saviour from the eye of the
repenting sinner; while the scriptural doctrine of Divine influence
was made void by the notion of the saving efficacy of the sacraments.
In the New Testament we are informed that the religion of Christ is
not a religion of forms--that the kingdom of God is not meat and
drink, but righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost; but now
ceremonies were multiplied, men were led to addict themselves to
these as of primary importance, and to lose sight of the spirituality
of the Christian scheme.  The morality of the gospel, as taught by
Christ and his apostles, was pure and perfect; but in the writings of
some of the Fathers it assumed a different character, for "there
principles may be found concerning veracity, which undermine the
foundation of all true virtue."[8]  The church at first was "not of
this world;" but now a spirit of secularity took possession of it,
and it was hastening to identify itself more and more with the powers
of the earth.

Scenes were witnessed in Rome, in connexion with ecclesiastical
proceedings, which, so far from presenting an instructive and
beneficial contrast to the flagrant disorders of society at the time,
were of the very same description.  "Damasus and Ursinus being
extremely ambitious for the episcopal dignity, contended for it so
fiercely, that, in the quarrel, were inflicted wounds and death; when
Juventius, the prefect of Rome, not being able to repress these
outrages, retired from the city.  Damasus overcame.  In the church of
Licinius, where there was an assembly of Christians, a hundred and
thirty-seven were killed in one day; and it was a long time before
the excitement of the people was calmed."  "Do not deny," proceeds
the heathen historian, "that considering the wealth of the city, they
who covet such things are justified in pursuing them, even though it
be with contention, since, having obtained these honours, they will
be enriched with the oblations of matrons, and will ride, sumptuously
clad, in chariots, and make profuse entertainments, vying with regal
banquets.  But surely they might be happy, if disregarding the
grandeur of Rome, which they allege as a reason for their luxury,
they would follow the example of provincial bishops, who, by the
plainness of their table, and their unostentatious dress and manners,
commend themselves to the Divine Being as men of purity and
religion."[9]

There is no doubt of the truth of this statement, respecting the
episcopal quarrel, as it is corroborated by Socrates and Sozomenes,
who were Christian historians: and while the satirical remark of the
pagan writer, respecting the luxury of the bishops of Rome, throws a
sad light on the state of the church in that city, his admission
relative to the simplicity and virtues of some of the provincial
pastors, shows that Christianity was still yielding its own proper
fruit in other places.  Christianity, thus corrupted and secularized,
was not likely to produce a salutary influence upon society, and to
retard the progress of moral decay and dissolution in the Roman
state.  Besides, Christianity, such as it was, had by no means been
universally embraced in Rome, though the emperors had adopted the
profession of Christianity, and laws had been made for its support.
Paganism was still the religion of many.  In the year A.D. 384, the
senate petitioned that the altar of victory might be restored in the
senate-house; and, at the time of Alaric's invasion, there were some
of the same assembly, who recommended that Rome should endeavour to
avert impending calamities, which they attributed to the anger of the
gods, on account of the spread of Christianity, by offering, as of
old, sacrifices to their honour, in the capitol, and other temples.
Pagan rites, too, were no doubt sometimes performed in private, till
a late period; for though the laws forbade them, the magistrates seem
to have displayed a tolerant spirit toward the lingering vestiges of
the ancient religion of the empire.  Such being the case,
Christianity having been corrupted, and paganism still existing to a
great extent, in the city and the empire, the vice and profligacy of
the Roman people, under the latest of the emperors, can furnish no
materials for any just reflection upon the social tendencies of the
Christian system, considered in itself.

In an age of social corruption and licentiousness, it would be vain
to expect the cultivation of a pure taste in matters of art, or any
noble efforts of the human intellect in the departments of
literature.  The imagination and judgment of mankind feel the moral
contagion, and the intellectual energies in general become enfeebled
and depressed.  Hence the artistic civilisation of Rome, at the
period before us, displayed a most vitiated taste.  The studious
imitation of classic beauty, as expressed in Grecian works of art,
characterized the early cultivation of artistical skill among the
Romans, and led them to produce buildings and statues which might
bear comparison with their admired models; but now, a taste for the
really elegant, had been superseded by a passion for oriental
magnificence and luxury.  Colossal magnitude, and profuse ornaments,
excited admiration rather than symmetry of proportion, and chasteness
of decoration.  As to literature, it was either neglected altogether,
or cultivated according to the prevailing taste.

"The causes of this decay," observes Ammianus Marcellinus, "are not
difficult to be traced: they are the dissipation of our young men,
the inattention of parents, the ignorance of those who pretend to
give instruction, and the total neglect of ancient discipline.  The
mischief began at Rome, it has overrun Italy, and is now with rapid
strides spreading through the provinces."  The same author also
distinctly notices, in his sketch of the state of Rome, the prevalent
ignorance and corrupt tastes of the higher classes, observing, that
musical performers were preferred to philosophers; and that jugglers
had taken the place of orators; while libraries were closed and
deserted, like sepulchres of the dead.[10]

From this slight review of well attested facts, it must be evident to
the reader, that Roman civilisation, immediately before the fall of
the empire, was thoroughly corrupt.  Every one will discern, in that
corruption, enough to account for the prostration of the proud
imperial city, beneath the power of barbarians.  But the Christian
mind will further recognise, in the facts of this memorable case, the
operations of one of the established laws of Divine Providence.  The
full punishment of individual men for their transgressions in this
life, is reserved for a future state of being; but as nations in
their collective capacity, will have no existence hereafter, the
punishments of their sins is sure to be inflicted upon them sooner or
later in the present world.  The retributive justice of God is as
clearly to be seen in the overthrow of Rome, as in the extirpation of
the Canaanites, or the fall of Jerusalem.


[1] Guizot's Lect. on Civilisation, lect. 2.

[2] Manual of Ancient History.  Oxf. p. 450.

[3] Gibbon, vol. iv. p. 94.

[4] Pompeii, vol. ii. p. 13.

[5] Ammianus Marcellinus.

[6] Ammianus Marcellinus. lib. xiv. c. 25.

[7] Gibbon gives a full view of the state of Roman society, ch. xxxi.
of his "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire."

[8] Giesler, vol. i. p. 298.

[9] Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. lxxvii. c. 3.

[10] Ammianus Marcellinus, lib. xiv. c. 6.



SECTION III.

BARBARIANS.

The Goths, the first of the barbarians who invaded Rome, were
descended from one of those tribes whom Tacitus has described in his
valuable treatise on the manners of the Germans.  They were wandering
hordes, neglecting agriculture, living upon the produce of the chase,
and upon their prolific flocks and herds.  Unlike the now effeminate
Romans, they were hardy and robust.  War was their business, conquest
their delight, and the sword and buckler their choicest ornaments.
Freedom was their birthright, and the power of their rulers was
curbed by considerable limitations.  In peace, their princes were
bound to consult them on all affairs of government, and in war, it
was left to the soldier to choose the standard under which he would
enlist: but once pledged to a particular chief, no dangers or
allurements could induce him to desert.  A spirit of fidelity and
freedom mingled with their ferocious habits, and formed the national
characteristic of this remarkable race.  The lapse of some three
centuries, intercourse with the Romans during the latter part of that
period, and the professed adoption of the Arian form of Christianity,
had no doubt, in some measure, modified the Gothic character; and if
we are to admit the statement of Salvian, a writer of that period, it
would further appear that the morals of the barbarians were of a
higher tone than those of the empire.  Still there can be no doubt
that they retained much of their original fierce independence of
character.[1]

We have already glanced at the spectacle of Rome invaded by the Goths
under Alaric: but though that invasion was a fatal blow given to the
city, and the empire, it did not complete their ruin.  Rome was not
built, nor could it be destroyed, in a day.  Forty years after it had
yielded to the Goths, it beheld another enemy approaching its gates,
in the person of Attila, the chief of the Huns, a tribe pre-eminently
barbarous and cruel, who had forsaken their encampments in Hungary,
to seek victory and spoil in the fair and fruitful provinces of the
south.  Yet this powerful prince, moved by the persuasion of Leo, the
bishop of Rome, and, perhaps, still more by costly gifts; by the
prevalence of disease among his troops; and by the superstitious
presentiments of his own mind, abandoned his design of entering Rome,
and gave another respite to the doomed city.

Twenty-four years elapsed, and Odoacer, at the head of the
Vandals--who, with the Goths, seemed to have sprung from a common
origin--again inspired terror in the enfeebled Romans, took the city,
dethroned the last of the emperors--who was styled Romulus Augustus,
as if in mockery of the proud associations connected with those two
noble names--and caused himself to be proclaimed the king of Rome.
But the empire cannot be said, even then, to have completely fallen;
for the barbarian rulers held the government, in commission, under
the imperial successors of Constantine, who occupied the throne of
the east.  Scenes of conflict and desolation followed in rapid
succession: the wars of Totila with Belisarius fearfully ravaged the
region of Italy, and left Rome a scene of ruins; but the
establishment of the exarchate of Ravenna kept up some faint shadow
of the empire of Constantine, till Charlemagne was crowned king of
the Romans, when the last vestiges of that great commonwealth melted
away for ever.

The ancient city of Rome was at once the type, and the centre of the
civilisation of the old world.  Her image was reflected in the great
cities which adorned the shores of the Mediterranean, and she spread
her manners, arts, and luxury, over the far distant nations which she
subdued.  But her power being thoroughly despotic, and her
civilisation corrupt at the core, the laws of Divine Providence
rendered her overthrow inevitable; and in her fall were involved the
dissolution of the forms, and the extinction of the spirit of ancient
civilisation.  It is probable that had Rome pursued a different
course, the night of the middle ages would not have brooded over
Europe; and that to her despotism and vices may be traced the origin,
or the occasion, of those social evils which followed for so long a
period.  But that Divine and gracious Being, who maketh the wrath of
man to praise him, and who turneth the shadow of death into the
morning, has so controlled events, as to make those temporary evils
subservient to lasting good.  The Gothic invasion, as it were, melted
down the forms of ancient society, and infused into the mass new
elements of power, thus furnishing the materials for the civil and
social polity of modern times.  The progress of the change was
gradual--the beneficial result could not spring forth at once in a
finished and perfect state; it was developed, after the lapse of
ages, like useful vegetation, clothing some rich and fruitful soil,
which has been formed by gradual deposits in the bed of some ancient
lake, or river, and left to yield its treasures when the waters have
retired.


[1] See extracts from Salvian in "Ancient Christianity." vol. ii. 71.




CHAPTER II.

THE CHURCH.

This was the leading element of civilisation, the most active power
at work in society upon the dissolution of the Roman empire; and,
indeed, throughout the whole of the dark ages, it exerted a
pre-eminent share of influence on the social condition of Europe.
The character of that influence will be unfolded in the present
chapter.



SECTION I.

POLITICAL RELATIONS.

It will be proper for us to glance at the relation which the church
sustained to the state during that period.  The adoption of the
Christian religion by Constantine, and his interference in
ecclesiastical matters, completely altered the position of the church
in this respect.  From having been an independent spiritual
community, it became a sort of chartered corporation, linked by
manifold ties to the civil government.  It acquired political
influence, both in executing and making laws.  During the barbaric
period, that season of wild disorder which ensued upon the invasion
of the Roman empire, and which extended from the fifth to the seventh
century, the political influence of the church greatly increased.
Bishops were invested with extraordinary powers.  In the towns and
cities where they resided, the general superintendence of public
affairs was committed to their hands.  The codes of Justinian
empowered them to act in the management of city revenues, and in the
oversight of the public works, such as the construction and the
repairs of magazines, aqueducts, baths, harbours, bridges, and roads.

Other powers were given them, rather more in accordance with the
clerical character.  They were to interfere in the appointment of
guardians over the young, in the protection of prisoners, insane
persons, foundlings, stolen children, and oppressed women, in the
general administration of justice, and in the public maintenance of
morality and order.[1]  Whatever opinion we may form respecting the
discharge of civic functions by the ministers of Christianity, we are
constrained to confess that here was an instance in which temporal
authority might be most beneficially exercised.  But if the temper of
the clergy answered the description given by a writer of that
period--and if that temper descended to their successors, the
beneficial effect of the church's civil power was not very widely
extended.  "Is it likely that any should undertake the cause of the
oppressed, when even the priests of the Lord do nothing,--the most of
them either holding their peace, or if they speak, acting like the
silent?  So it is that the poor are plundered, widows groan, orphans
are trampled upon, and many are driven to take refuge among the
barbarians, seeking among the barbarians Roman humanity, because
among the Romans they are not able to endure their barbarous
inhumanity."[2]

Some abatement, perhaps, may be justly made from this sweeping
censure: most probably, even in that degenerate age, cases were not
wanting in which the benign spirit of Christianity prompted those who
were invested with such extraordinary powers, to employ them for the
relief of human suffering, the vindication of injured character, and
the protection of the oppressed.

But it was not in the administration of municipal affairs alone, that
the clergy were possessed of political power.  They had no small
share in making laws, as well as in executing them.  This was
especially the case in Spain.  The laws of the Visigoths, instituted
at the council of Toledo, were compiled by the bishops.  Here the
influence of the church was decidedly beneficial.  Those laws exhibit
traces of a philosophic and Christian spirit.  "Amongst the
barbarians, men were valued at a fixed rate, according to their
situations; the barbarian, the Roman, the freeman, the vassal, were
not estimated at the same sum: their lives were made matter of
tariff.  The principle of men being of equal value in the eyes of the
law was established in the code of the Visigoths.  With regard to the
system of procedure, we find the oath of compurgatores and the
judicial combat displaced for the proof by witnesses, and such a
rational examination into facts as might be adopted in any civilized
society.  In a word, the whole Visigoth code bears a wise,
systematic, and social character.  We perceive in it the labours of
that same clergy which held command in the councils of Toledo, and
operated so powerfully on the government of the country."[3]

The judicial prerogatives and legislative influence of the bishops of
the church, were backed by the extravagant veneration of the priestly
office, so natural to such a state of society as that which prevailed
at the commencement of the middle ages; and these causes combined to
elevate the rulers of the church to the loftiest position in society.
As an example of the power of the clergy, and of the precedence which
they claimed for themselves, as well as of the social manners of the
period, we may quote an anecdote of the famous Martin, bishop of
Tours, in the fourth century, recorded in his life, by Sulpicius
Severus.  Dining once at the royal table, the emperor Maximus ordered
the cup to be first offered to the bishop, expecting next to receive
it himself.  But the bishop handed it to a presbyter, who was sitting
by him, as an indication that a priest took precedence of a prince.
On another occasion, the empress waited on this celebrated
ecclesiastic, in the capacity of a menial, preparing his food,
bringing water for his hands, standing motionless by his side, in the
attitude of a slave; presenting him with wine, reverently collecting
the crumbs which fell from his table, and above all, in imitation of
the woman in the gospel, bathing his feet with her tears, and wiping
them with the hair of her head.[4]  In the spirit thus displayed by
this haughty prelate, the churchmen of that day maintained that the
priesthood was above the crown, as much as heaven is nobler than the
earth, and the soul than the body: and acting upon that principle, we
find the bishops of France in the ninth century deposing Louis, the
son of Charlemagne.  An ecclesiastical council in the same kingdom
afterwards adjudged his son Lothaire, unworthy of the crown, and
conferred it on his brother, Charles the Bald.  A subsequent council
deposed him, when the pusillanimous monarch complained, "I ought not
to have been deposed, or at least not before I had been judged by the
bishops, who gave me royal authority: I have always submitted to
their correction, and am ready to do so now."

But while this kind of power was altogether inconsistent with the
ministerial character, and was often most tyrannically employed, it
is some little relief to know, that the history of the middle ages
can supply numerous instances of the beneficial exercise of clerical
influence in checking the vices of the great, and curbing the
injustice of monarchs.  The church, too, sometimes interposed between
nobles and princes at variance with each other, and prevented the
shedding of blood; of which a pleasing instance occurs in the life of
Theodore, archbishop of Canterbury, in the seventh century, who, just
before his death, reconciled two Saxon kings on the eve of a
sanguinary conflict, and thus closed his public acts by sheathing the
sword of war.[5]

The bishops of Europe during the dark ages formed a civil as well as
a spiritual aristocracy, controlling, to a great extent, the affairs
of empires: but the bishop of one see climbed above all the rest, to
the highest pinnacle of power, first obtaining a sort of limited
monarchy, and then grasping at universal despotism.  It comes not
within the range of our present design to trace the steps by which
the prelates of Rome attained their vast prerogatives;

                          "Were they not
  Mighty magicians?  Theirs a wondrous spell,
  Where true and false were with infernal art
  Close interwoven: where together met
  Blessings and curses, threats and promises:
  And with the terrors of futurity
  Mingled whate'er enchants and fascinates,
  Music and painting, sculpture, rhetoric,
  And dazzling light, and darkness visible,
  And architectural pomp such as none else.
  What in his day the Syracusan sought,
  Another world to plant his engines on,
  They had, and having it, like gods, not men,
  They moved this world at pleasure."[6]


Several of the popes were men of political and far-seeing minds, and
laid their plans in the spirit of profound statesmanship; but it is a
mistake to suppose that they were all political calculators--some of
them unintentionally contributed to rear the fabric of Roman
despotism, and a number of circumstances, which were quite
independent of pontifical control, concurred in producing the
ultimate result.  In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries reached the
zenith of its pride and power, and presented a spectacle of despotic
authority unparalleled in the history of the world.

The spiritual aspect of this despotism was the strangest of all.  "We
can, to a certain extent, imagine that, although evil may result from
it, mankind may abandon to a visible authority the direction of their
material interests and temporal destiny.  We can understand the
philosopher who, on being informed that his house was on fire,
answered, 'Go and tell my wife.  I have nothing to do with the
affairs of the household.'  But when the matter at issue is
conscience, thought, the inward moral existence, for men to abdicate
the government of themselves, and to give themselves up to a foreign
sway, is an actual moral suicide, a servitude a hundred times more
abject than can befall the body, or than that endured by the tethered
serf."[7]  One is terrified at the sight of the moral prostration of
Europe for so long a period, and shrinks from the thought of the
eternal state of millions thus enslaved, while an instinctive shudder
agitates the soul at the bare conception of the acts of presumptuous
insolence towards the King of Zion, committed by those who usurped
his authority over the consciences of men.

But it is the social condition of Europe during the dark ages which
forms our present subject, and therefore we must confine ourselves to
the influence of the papacy as it bore in that direction.  That
influence was fearfully malign.  Reducing, as it did, the souls of
men to a state of spiritual slavery, robbing them of the birthright
of moral inquiry, and interdicting the performance of the bounden
duty of proving all things, and holding fast that which is good, it
could not fail to cripple and weaken the human mind.

By gradually extending the jurisdiction of spiritual courts, and
especially by the promulgation of the canon law in the twelfth
century, the papacy encroached far and wide upon the civil rights of
society, and placed at its mercy the lives and fortunes of mankind.
The powerful body of lawyers who studied this code and practised in
these courts, most of whom were ecclesiastics, would not fail with
characteristic bigotry to defend every pretension or abuse to which
the received standard of authority gave sanction.[8]  The wars which
the popes fomented with a view to their own aggrandizement; the
family feuds which they stirred up, as in the case of the sons of
Henry the Fourth of Germany, whom they excited to an almost
parricidal revolt: and the shameless extortion which they practised,
drawing from England alone, in a few years, by means of their agents,
the enormous sum of fifteen millions sterling, are also serious items
in the list of charges against Rome, and clearly show the baneful
influence which it exerted in a social point of view.  But, perhaps,
the most striking example of the general fact before us, is to be
found in those strange spectacles exhibited in Europe, towards the
close of the dark ages, when nations were laid under an interdict.
At such a time, all the people were excommunicated.  The churches
were closed, the eucharist was denied, the marriage service was
refused, the sick man in vain applied for the ordinances of the
church, and the dead remained unburied according to the rites of
Christian sepulture.  An invisible arm seemed to smite the land, and
to pour on the population a bitter curse.[9]

Such were some of the social evils of the system: but it seems to be
a law of Divine Providence that nothing in this world can be so bad
but that it yields some advantage.  The history of the papacy,
perhaps, presents as few instances of beneficial effects as can be
found in connexion with any system of government that ever existed;
yet a gleam or two of light may be seen shining among the clouds of
social evil with which it darkened the world.  Nicholas the First, in
the ninth century, employed his influence, on one occasion, as the
defender of an injured queen: and Gregory the Seventh, in pushing his
ambitious schemes, probably effected some moral reforms in society.
Nor would we deny that the balance of papal favour happened sometimes
to be on the side of popular rights and interests.  A circumstance of
permanent advantage to the interests of civilisation, may also be
recognised in that system of intercommunication between the clergy of
different parts of Europe, which arose out of the supremacy of the
papal power, and which was one great means of circulating whatever
knowledge of literature, or taste for the fine arts, might exist in
the dark ages.


[1] Cod. Just. lib. i. tit. iv.

[2] Salvian, quoted in "Ancient Christianity," vol. ii. 52.

[3] Guizot, Civilisation of Europe, Lect. 3.

[4] Sulp. Sevenis, Dial. ii. 6.

[5] Bede, Ecc. Hist. 1. iv. 21.

[6] Rogers' Italy.

[7] Guizot, Hist. of Civ. Lect. 6.

[8] Hallam, Middle Ages, chap. vii.

[9] Ibid.



SECTION II.

SUPERSTITIONS.

The course which was pursued by the church in reference to the
superstitions prevalent among the barbaric tribes whom it converted,
or sought to convert, at least to a nominal Christianity, was the
very opposite of that which the Scriptures prescribe.  The Jews were
forbidden to compromise the character of their religion by
accommodating themselves to heathen practices; and an inspired
apostle, indignant at the thought of amalgamating Christianity with
paganism, exclaims, "What communion hath light with darkness? what
concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth
with an infidel?"

The church of the middle ages proceeded on a different principle.
"Idol temples," said Gregory the Great, in his epistle to the abbot
Melitus on his mission to Britain, "Idol temples are not to be
destroyed, but only the idols which are in them.  Let the fanes be
sprinkled with holy water, and the altars consecrated by relics.  If
these edifices be well built, it is desirable that they should be
converted from the worship of demons to the use of the true God; for
the people, seeing that their temples are not destroyed, will more
easily overcome their prejudices, and acknowledge and adore the
Almighty in the places where they have been wont to worship.  And
since they are accustomed to slay oxen in sacrifice to their gods,
let this be turned into a Christian solemnity, so that on the day of
dedicating a church, or on the festivals of the holy martyrs whose
relics may be there preserved, booths of green boughs may be erected
round these same churches and Christian rites be celebrated.  Animals
are no more to be offered in sacrifice to devils, but they are to be
eaten by the people in gratitude and to the glory of God.  By
retaining these outward forms of rejoicing you will more easily bring
them to participate in spiritual joys."[1] The result of such
mistaken policy might have been foreseen; for this spirit of
compliance is sure to deteriorate the system which it seeks to
extend, and to confirm the prejudices which it seeks to overthrow.
The issue of the process is ever the same.  Pagans are not truly
converted to Christianity, but the profession of Christianity itself
is paganized.

There were also persons in the middle ages who in the same spirit
adopted parts of pagan mythologies, and moulded fancies of their own
according to the prevailing forms of popular superstition.  Not only
do we find the Italians borrowing their patron saints from the _dii
presides_ and the _dii patrones_ of their pagan fathers, and,
sometimes, transforming the statue of a heathen god into the image of
a Christian saint, but we also find people, in other parts of
Christendom, accommodating to their own use certain fables current
among the barbaric nations.  The Scandinavian mythology gives great
prominence to the exploits of Odin: sometimes he is called Nikar, and
appears as a destroying spirit raising storms on the Scandinavian
lakes and rivers, and teasing the fishermen, by hanging up their
boats on the summits of the fir-trees.  This fabled deity appears in
the hagiology of the middle ages under the name of St. Nicholas, the
patron of sailors, supposed to have power over the storm and tempest.
Mementoes of this superstition still remain in churches situate near
the sea, and dedicated to this saint of the ocean, whom many a seaman
still invokes, as he catches a glimpse of the distant church rising
above the shore.  Beside instances in which mythological fables were
thus adopted, and, if we may use the term, thus Christianized, there
are proofs of the spirit of pagan superstition having moulded the
conceptions formed of invisible beings by the ecclesiastical teachers
of the dark ages.  Satan is commonly represented by them under forms
which they could have borrowed only from such a source.  The monster
with horns and tail was evidently the creation of the fancy under the
influence of legendary superstitions.  One cannot help smiling at the
grotesque scenes painted by the saints, in which the Spirit of Evil
is introduced as the chief actor.  He is said to have teased St.
Gudula by blowing out her candle, on her way to church, at the hour
of cock-crowing; but this story is surpassed by another related
respecting the arch-enemy and St. Britius.  "Once, whilst St. Martin
was saying mass, St. Britius, whose name hath retained a place in the
Protestant calendar, officiated as deacon, and behind the altar he
espied the devil busily employed in writing down on a slip of
parchment, as long as a proctor's bill, all the sins which the
congregation were actually committing.  Now St. Martin's congregation
was anything but serious; they buzzed and giggled, and the men looked
upwards, and the women did not look down, and were guilty of so many
transgressions, that the devil soon filled one side of his parchment
with short-hand notes from top to bottom, and was forced to turn it.
This side was also soon covered with writing.  The devil was now in
sad perplexity; he could not stomach losing a sin, he could not trust
his memory, and he had no more parchment about him.  He therefore
clenched one end of the scroll with his claws and took the other
between his teeth, and pulled it as hard as he could, thinking that
it would stretch.  The unelastic material gave way and broke.  He was
not prepared for this, so his head flew back and bumped against the
wall.  St. Britius was wonderfully amused by the devil's disaster; he
laughed heartily, and incurred the momentary displeasure of St.
Martin, who did not at first see what was going forward.  St. Britius
explained, and St. Martin took care to _improve_ the accident for the
edification of his hearers."[2]

Such fables respecting Satan are so similar to the tales abounding in
the traditionary mythology of an early age, relative to wicked
sprites, who are represented as combining in their character a
strange medley of fun and malice, that it is impossible to mistake
their origin.  And it may be observed by the way, that such men as
St. Martin, St. Benedict, and St. Gregory, who retail many an idle
story of this sort, are surely not the men whom a wise and
sober-minded Christian would think of choosing as the guides of his
faith.  But the tales just related are introduced here to show how
the church leaned to pagan superstitions, and thus to illustrate the
influence which it produced on society.  Stories of this description,
sanctioned by ecclesiastics, became current among the people, and
formed the staple of conversation during the long winter evenings, as
the sons and daughters of our distant forefathers gathered round the
blazing hearth.  They thus bring up before us the domestic scenes of
those early times, and show the opinions and sentiments which would
be sure to prevail in the popular mind.  The church, instead of
zealously setting itself to purify, as far as it could, the thoughts
of men from the errors and follies which they had derived from
paganism, in many cases accommodated itself to them, from motives of
policy, or caught their spirit, from sheer sympathy; and thus helped
to perpetuate habits of credulity, degrading to the mind, and
superstitious feelings, injurious to the heart: the lingering remains
of which may be found in many parts of Europe, and in some of the
rural districts of our country, to the present hour.

The use of the ordeal is of great antiquity.  Blackstone[3] notices
obvious traces of it among both the ancient Greeks and Germans, but
especially the latter.  It was chiefly of two kinds, the fire ordeal,
and the water ordeal: the former, which was confined to persons of
high rank, consisted in carrying a piece of red-hot iron, or in
walking barefoot upon red-hot ploughshares; the latter kind of
ordeal, which was intended for the common people, consisted in
plunging the arm up to the wrist, or the elbow, in boiling water, or
in being thrown into a deep river, or pond.[4]  If the person escaped
unhurt from these perilous trials, it was supposed that the Divine
Being had interposed for his safety, and he was pronounced innocent
of the charge which had been brought against him.  The pernicious
nature of the custom, in reference to the welfare of society, is too
evident to require remark; and Christianity shows itself to be the
friend of man in discountenancing such practices.  Under the
influence of the principles of Christianity, some of the churchmen of
the dark ages did condemn the use of the ordeal, but others, in the
accommodating spirit already noticed, gave to it a decided sanction.
In the sixth century, it was appealed to for the decision of
theological questions; and after the ninth century, the clergy in
general assumed its superintendence, probably from benevolent, though
mistaken notions.  A third kind of ordeal was engrafted upon one of
the most solemn services of the church.  The _corsned_, or morsel of
execration, was either the sacramental wafer itself, or a piece of
bread administered in connexion with the eucharist.  A solemn prayer
was offered that the bread might cause convulsions, if the person
receiving it were guilty.  The reader, perhaps, will remember the
history of earl Godwin, in the reign of Edward the Confessor, who
expired as he was at table eating a mouthful of bread, which he
prayed might choke him if he had been guilty of the death of the
king's brother.  Some doubt has been thrown upon the tale, but its
insertion in our early histories illustrates the superstitious regard
which was paid to this species of ordeal, and to the result of any
appeal to Heaven under circumstances which bore any resemblance to
its more solemn administration.  The trial by ordeal in England fell
into disuse about the thirteenth century, but at an earlier period it
had disappeared in the judicial proceedings of most other European
nations.  The extinction of the practice was owing, in a great
measure, to the more enlightened views of the subject which were
entertained by the clergy at the time.  It is, however, to be
lamented, that, having been tolerated so long, the spirit of the
institution survived its formal practice: and still we occasionally
find persons impiously appealing to Heaven in proof of their
innocence, somewhat after the manner which prevailed in the middle
ages.

The writings of the fathers, and the decrees of councils, afford
abundant evidence that heathen festivals were condemned by the early
church.  During the middle ages, instances are not wanting of their
being severely reprobated by the clergy.  In a sermon by Eligius, a
bishop of the seventh century, there is a long and fervent
exhortation against all participation in heathen festivities, and
kindred practices.[5]  And prohibitions by councils, to the same
effect, may be found as late as in the ninth century.  Yet from the
passage we have cited from the epistle of Gregory, it is plain that a
principle of accommodation to pagan prejudices was sometimes adopted.
This principle, in some of its bearings, seems to have advanced,
rather than declined, in favour with the church, as time rolled on.
The old heathen festival of the calends of January, which, in its
pagan form, was long discountenanced by the church, appeared in the
twelfth century, if not earlier, as a sort of Christian festivity,
and bishops and archbishops engaged in Christmas sports, and even so
far forgot their episcopal dignity as to join in a game of ball.[6]
This festival afterwards became known as the Feast of Fools, and was
marked by profanities almost incredible.  An abbot of fools was
elected, to whom the prelate of the diocese, if present, was
accustomed to pay homage.  A mock bishop was also chosen, who was
carried to the house of the diocesan, where from the principal window
he pronounced a benediction on the neighbouring town.  Mock sermons,
prayers, and other religious services, were connected with these
absurd proceedings, and the whole thing, from beginning to end, was
characterized by noise, disorder, folly, and impiety.

Still greater excesses afterwards arose, and Du Cange gives us the
rubric of what was called the Feast of Asses, as celebrated in the
cathedral of Rouen.  It appears to have been a kind of drama in which
a number of characters were introduced, Jewish and pagan, each one in
turn repeating something in accordance with the part he assumed.
Balaam, sitting on an ass, seems to have been the hero of the piece,
and from this circumstance the feast derived its name.  A young
person appeared in the character of an angel, with a drawn sword,
standing before the animal, and a dialogue ensued, founded on the
Scripture narrative.  Another absurdity, somewhat of the same kind,
in commemoration of the flight into Egypt, prevailed in the churches
of the diocese of Beauvais, at least as early as the thirteenth
century.--A girl richly attired, with a child in her arms, was seated
on an ass, and solemnly conducted to the altar, where mass was said,
and the ceremony was concluded by the priest braying three times, to
which the people all yielded an asinine response, three times
repeated.[7]  Who but must blush for the men calling themselves
Christian ministers, who could not only tolerate, but even engage, in
such impious fooleries?  The rulers and teachers of the church in
such instances, so far from having raised the people in piety and
intelligence, had sunk down to the level of popular degradation.  It
is said that the bishops endeavoured to abolish these absurdities by
ecclesiastical censures: but it was strange indeed, if they were
strenuously resolved on putting them down, that they should still
have permitted them to be performed within the walls of their own
cathedrals.

Some examples of the superstitious character of the period before us
have appeared in the preceding pages; but the shape which
superstition took in reference to the legends, relics, and miracles
of the saints, demand a distinct, though it must be a brief notice.
Indeed scores of volumes like the present might be filled with the
stories of the middle ages on these subjects.  It is enough to dip
into one of the portly tomes of father D'Achery, and take from his
ample collection of mediæval documents a specimen of the tales
commonly believed.  For example, read the following extract from a
sermon, by St. Theodore, upon the blessed apostle Bartholomew,
preached in the ninth century, not as, by any means, the most
marvellous story which might be selected, but as a sample at once of
the superstition of the times, and of the kind of instruction
imparted by the clergy to their people.

"The Saracens arrived, and seized and ravaged the island.[8]  They
burst open the sepulchre of the apostle, and scattered his bones.
When they had departed, the saint appeared in a vision to a certain
Greek monk, belonging to his church, and said to him, 'Arise, collect
my scattered bones;' to which he replied, 'Why should we collect thy
bones, or pay thee any honour, since thou hast permitted us and this
people to be ravaged by the pagans, and hast afforded us no help?'
But he said, 'For many long years I besought the Lord on behalf of
this people, and, in answer to my prayers, he has preserved them; but
because their sins are multiplied, and their iniquity is so
increased, I am able to prevail no longer for their safety, and
therefore they perish.  But arise, and collect my bones, as I have
said, and preserve them as I shall direct thee.'  To whom the monk
rejoined, 'But how shall I be able to find them, since I know not
where they are scattered?'  'Go by night,' said the apostle, 'to
gather them up, and what thou shalt see shining like fire are my
bones.'  Immediately he arose, and went to the place, and found the
bones as the apostle had said.  Having collected them together, he
put them in a coffin, and departed, a friend being left to watch
them.  Some vessels of Lombardy having come to the place in pursuit
of the Saracens, received the monks and the body of the saint on
board, and sailed away.  The Saracens afterwards surrounded the ship,
in which the holy body of the apostle was conveyed, so that no hope
of escape remained, when suddenly a thick mist enveloped the ships of
the Saracens, so that they knew not where they were; and by this
means the vessel escaped.  While pursuing their voyage, the divine
benignity of the apostle healed one of the sailors of a grievous
malady."[9]

Miracles, in the middle ages, lost their miraculous character by
their great frequency.  "They became," as Jeremy Taylor observes, "a
daily extraordinary, a supernatural natural event, a perpetual
wonder, that is, a wonder and no wonder."  They could, therefore, be
sometimes dispensed with, and we are informed that abbot Stephen, of
Liege, in the beginning of the eleventh century, prayed St. Wolbodo
to refrain from working any more miracles, on account of the
inconvenience which was felt by the brethren of the monastery, from
the number of sick persons who came to be healed by day and by
night![10]  It should, however, be observed, that gross as was the
credulity of the middle ages, in reference to the miracles of their
saints, it scarcely surpasses the credulity of many of the fathers of
the Nicene period.  Ambrose, Augustus, and Jerome may be matched to a
great extent, in this respect, with the legendary writers of a later
period.  It has often been asked, Were these stories the result of
deliberate imposture, or the mere offspring of ignorance and
superstition?  No doubt there is room, in many cases, for the
charitable interpretation so benevolently conceived and elegantly
expressed by sir James Mackintosh: "The illusions of sight, the
shades by which dreams sometimes fade into waking visions, the
disturbance of the frame from long abstinence, and from the
stimulants incautiously taken to relieve it, together with a
permanent state of mental excitement, sanctioned by the firm faith
which then prevailed in the frequent and ascertainable interpositions
of Divine power, are sufficient to relieve us from the necessity of
loading the teachers of our forefathers with a large share of
fraudulent contrivance, and unmingled fiction.  The progress of a
tale of wonder, especially when aided by time or distance, from the
smallest beginning to a stupendous prodigy, is too generally known to
be more particularly called in aid of an attempt to enforce the
reasonableness of dealing charitably, not to say justly, with the
memory of those who diffused Christianity among ferocious
barbarians."[11]  But while the benefit of such a charitable
construction may be extended to many instances of pretended miracles,
it cannot be denied that a large portion of them were the work of
fraud.  Gregory of Tours, in the sixth century, candidly admits that
a certain miracle which he records had been ascribed, not to the
Divine power, but to the contrivance of the clergy.  A writer of the
eleventh century relates a characteristic instance of a man who was
accustomed to dig up dead bodies, recently interred, and to dispose
of them as wonder-working relics.  On one occasion, at the dedication
of a church, it was discovered, from conversation with the man
himself, that the relic which he had sold, and to which most
extraordinary virtues were ascribed, was a gross and flagrant
imposture; but still the clergy, though convinced of the fraud, went
on with the rites of consecration, and solemnly placed the pretended
relic among the other precious treasures of the shrine.[12]  It may
also be remarked, that the actions of one saint are often ascribed to
another, and whole legions are repeated with only the change of a
name.[13]  With facts of this description before us, we are
compelled, though with deep pain, to believe that deliberate
imposture was often practised in reference to relics and miracles.
The disposition of the people to believe in these absurdities shows,
that superstition must have been the very element of their being.
Their appetite for incredible stories was truly voracious.  Still it
might be hoped, that though the mind was degraded by such a credulous
temper, vice would, in some measure, be held in check, by a belief m
the close and miraculous intercourse which the departed saints kept
up with the dwellers upon earth.  But these spiritual beings, instead
of having ascribed to them such a character of inflexible hatred to
all transgression, as would make it impossible for any but the
virtuous, or sincerely penitent, to obtain their favour, were
represented as taking under their patronage the worst of sinners,
upon the easy condition of their presenting some offering to the
church, or of their even uttering a simple prayer.  Among the popular
legends of those days, there are stories of the Virgin Mary having
interceded with her Divine Son, for the salvation of a dissolute
monk, who had died without confession; and of her having, to the no
small surprise of the executioner, kept alive on the gallows, for two
days, a favourite thief, who addressed his usual prayer to her while
the rope was round his neck.[14]


[1] Bede, Ecc. Hist. lib. i. 30.

[2] See an able article on the Popular Mythology of the Middle Ages,
Quarterly Review, vol. xxii. p. 356.

[3] Com. Laws of England, vol. iv. c. 27.

[4] Fosbrock's Antiquities, Art. "Ordeal."

[5] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. 87.

[6] Du Cange, in v. Kalendæ.

[7] Du Cange, v. Festum.

[8] One of the Lipari islands.

[9] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. 126.

[10] Mabill. Ann. lib. liv. No. 101.  See Giesler, Text Book of
Ecclesiastical History, vol. ii. 124.

[11] History of England, vol. i. p. 55.

[12] Glaber Radulph, iv. c. 3.  Giesler, Text Book of Ecclesiastical
History, ii. 124.

[13] Ibid.  Giesler gives examples.

[14] Hallam gives these and other stories more fully.  Middle Ages,
c. ix. p. 1.



SECTION III.

MORALS.

At an early period in the middle ages bishops might be seen wearing
the helmet and buckler, and leading troops to the field of battle.
This resulted from their holding lands of the king, as his vassals,
upon condition of their performing military service.  Charlemagne
attempted to reform the church, and perceiving the incompatibility of
martial pursuits with the clerical character and functions, released
the prelates in his dominion from the duty of serving in person, if
they sent their vassals into the field.  In one of his capitularies,
A.D. 769, he prohibited their carrying arms, their engaging in war,
or even in the chase, as occupations unbecoming the servants of God.
But the regulation had little effect, for after his time, as well as
before, instances are found of bishops being armed, and killed in
battle, or taken prisoners of war.  Charlemagne himself, though
forbidding the clergy to use military weapons, regarded them as
proper instruments of promoting religion, when they were employed by
others, nor did he object to the display of a decidedly martial
spirit in the exhortations of churchmen.  Previous to his expedition
against the Saracens in Spain, he summoned the clergy to his
counsels, and addressed them in the following manner: "Noble men, we
have suffered much for Christ, in order to extend the Catholic
church, and subdue the Saracens.  Notwithstanding, our sufferings for
him are not a thousandth part so great as his sufferings for us, who,
that he might deliver us from the devil, poured out his precious
blood......  Since then he suffered so much that he might deliver us
from the punishment of hell, and the power of the devil, and since he
has promised to us a place in glory, we ought to extend the Christian
faith and confound the pagans: wherefore, we propose, by his
assistance, to enter Spain, which has greatly troubled us, and, if
possible, to take Narbonne."  Leo, the pope of Rome, afterwards
addressed Charlemagne's army in the following strain: "You should
know for certain, that, if any of you fall in battle, you shall
receive an incorruptible and eternal crown.  Let every one confess
his sins, and thus we shall be secure of conquering our foes, and in
life, and in death, we may expect a reward.  With great boldness and
cheerfulness we ought to enter on the expedition, and valiantly
subdue them.  And we, who occupy the place of St. Peter, by the power
which is given to us, confer on you the pardon of all your sins."[1]
We see here much of the same spirit as that which animated the
crusaders of a later period.  It was supposed that the sword was the
proper instrument for subduing the enemies of Christ.  Those who
considered that their priestly vocation forbade them to use it
themselves, encouraged and enforced its employment by others, and, in
their addresses, breathed a ferocious and martial temper, strangely
at variance with the mind of Him who said to his rash disciple, of
whom a line of military pontiffs, military in spirit, if not in act,
were the proud pretended successors: "Put up again thy sword into its
place; for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword."

From what has been already stated, some conclusion may be drawn
respecting the morals of the middle ages.  The impostures which were
frequently countenanced and even practised by the clergy, and the
palpable falsehoods which were propagated by them in the legendary
tales of the saints, evince a most deplorable disregard of truth, the
very first of virtues.  There is scarcely anything that strikes the
reader more forcibly, on looking into the records of this dark
period, than the general moral obtuseness of feeling which prevailed
relative to the guilt of practising deception and telling lies.
Connected with this disregard of truth was an equal disregard of the
principles of justice.  Complaints were made, as early as the sixth
century, of bishops who had appropriated to their own use endowments
conferred on the church, and who were guilty of various acts of
injustice and oppression.  Instances of unjust conduct abound in the
annals of monkish historians, and sometimes acts of shameful perfidy
are recorded, as if they were by no means immoral.  In the history of
Ramsey Abbey, there is related a strange anecdote of a bishop who
made a Danish nobleman drunk, that he might cheat him out of an
estate--an exploit which the ecclesiastical historian records with
much approbation.[2]  In further illustration of the want of truth
and justice, on the part of many of the clergy, may be noticed the
notorious prevalence of simony, that evil with which the famous
Hildebrand so vigorously grappled.  It is not in its spiritual
character, as a sin of most heinous magnitude against the Head of the
church, that we notice it now, but as a crime against the laws of
society.  Ecclesiastical benefices were in fact social trusts--trusts
to be employed for the good of mankind; and, therefore, when they
were made mere matters of bargain and sale, an entire disregard to
public rights was openly proclaimed.  But the heaviest element of
social guilt in the sin of simony, is to be found in the practice of
perjury which it invariably involved.  Ecclesiastical law severely
condemned simony, and looking at the law we might imagine that the
practice was never tolerated; but looking only at the practice so
common among churchmen, and so little checked, except now and then by
some bold reformer, we might suppose no law against it was in
existence.

There are also abundant proofs of a general laxity of morals among
the clergy of the dark ages.  It is difficult to convey a correct
impression on this subject.  A style of sweeping declamation upon the
vices of the clergy, through the space of about eight or nine
centuries, is very often adopted: but it cannot be justly supposed
that licentiousness prevailed equally in all places, and at all
times, during that period.  Here the clouds of moral gloom are of a
deeper--there, of a lighter, shade: while it must be acknowledged, as
will be shown more particularly hereafter, that some gleams of virtue
occasionally relieve the darkness.  Immediately after the barbaric
invasion, the morals of the clergy in Europe seem to have been very
low.  Charlemagne certainly endeavoured to raise them throughout his
wide dominions, and, perhaps, with some success.  But, in the ninth
century, some facts of a most revolting nature are disclosed.  In the
canons of a council held A.D. 888, the bishops complain of the
numerous instances of vice among the clergy, which had come to their
knowledge, and go on to state that they had heard of certain priests
who were guilty of incest.[3]  A bishop of Italy, in the tenth
century, after complaining in the strongest terms of the vices of the
age, laments that the clergy were deeply tainted with them.[4]  In
the eleventh and twelfth centuries, efforts were made, by zealous
churchmen, to reform the moral habits of their brethren, but they
seem to have been attended with little success.  Of the manners of
the clergy during the _twelfth_ century some most lively sketches are
supplied in the letters of Peter of Blois, an English ecclesiastic,
who was by no means tolerant of the vices of his fellow clerks.  "I
was dean of the church of Wolverhampton," says this honest writer,
"which is in the diocese of Chester, but not under the jurisdiction
of any one, except the archbishop of Canterbury, and the king.  For
by very ancient custom, which with many is reckoned as a right, the
kings of England have always presented to that deanery.  The dean
gave the prebends, and instituted to them.  As the clergy belonging
to this church were wholly undisciplined, like the Welsh and Scots,
(qu. Irish?) such a dissoluteness of life had crept in on them, that
their vices tended to produce contempt for God, destruction of souls,
infamy to the clergy, and derision and mockery in the people.  In
Scripture language, their base deeds were sung in the highways of
Gath, and 'in the streets of Ascalon.'  I frequently reminded them of
the words of Hesca, 'Though thou, Israel, play the harlot, let not
Judah offend.'  But they fornicated openly and publicly, proclaimed
their sin like Sodom, and regardless of popular infamy, married the
one the other's daughter or niece; and so close was the tie of
relationship among them, that no one could dissolve their bonds of
iniquity.  They were like the scales of Behemoth, one of which joins
the other, and the breath of life does not pass through them.
Moreover the earth cries against them, and the heavens proclaim their
iniquities.  I took the greatest pains to cut off the poisonous
branches of vice among them, but it would have been easier to turn
wolves into sheep, or beasts into men; for the Ethiopian will not
change his skin, nor the leopard his spots.  As often as I could
collect any of them in the church, that I might have an opportunity
of holding some conference with them, they shut their ears like the
adder; and like the mountains of Gilboa, on which no dew nor rain
descends, they were deaf to all wholesome advice, and careless about
their own dangers.  They rushed headlong, like stallions, to every
vice.  I did all in my power to correct them, and with all possible
kindness, for their conduct gave me constant grief at the heart.  But
'they hated him who stopped them in the gate, and abominated him who
spoke health to them.'  I betook myself to prayer; I spoke groaning
in the bitterness of my heart; and, that fat might not be wanting to
the sacrifice, I seasoned my groaning with tears.  The king and the
archbishop wrote them tremendous letters.  I assured them most
positively that the pope would take away their place and nation, and
that they should be turned out of house and home.  But the more they
were threatened the more obstinate they were; the more they were
exhorted, the more contemptuous did they grow.  They were few in
number, but their iniquities made them a multitude; the generations
of vipers were multiplied.  From the seed of Canaan came forth an
evil and provoking race, sons of Belial, wicked children.  They
wished to possess the sanctuary of God as an inheritance, and
therefore, when a canon died, and any respectable man was appointed,
the nephew, or son, of the deceased, claimed that which is the Lord's
patrimony as his.  He then betook himself to the woods, joined the
robbers and banditti who plunder by fire and the sword, and fell on
the new canon so as to destroy him.  When I saw that these insensible
men were drawing near to the grave; and that I could produce no
impression on them, I desired to be cut off entirely from men whose
vices did not end with the end of life."[5]

In the gross immoralities of the clergy of the middle ages, which
form a standing theme of lamentation with so many of the councils and
writers of the period, are seen the result of forced celibacy.  While
the censors of ecclesiastical morals maintained that unnatural
system, it was vain for them to be ever struggling with its
inevitable consequences--it was useless with one hand to apply any
medicines for the cure of a disease to which with the other they were
continually administering the most feverish stimulants.

The clerical character being too generally what we have now
described, the moral condition of the laity may be inferred.  While
so many of the priests were regardless of justice, truth, and purity,
it would be unreasonable to look for much virtue among the people.
There was a general regard paid to the forms of religion, but there
was shown as general a disregard of its principles and spirit.
Hallowed rites were associated with immoral practices; deeds of
injustice and cruelty were prefaced by acts of devotion; the vilest
characters breathed forth their aspirations to the Deity, and the
virgin; and multitudes were punctilious in their observance of the
ritual of the church, who were totally ignorant of the truths and
duties of Christianity.  This forms a state of society the most
fearful.  It was the condition of the Jews in the time of Isaiah, and
the language of God to them, by the mouth of the prophet, applied
with equal force to a large number of the religionists of the middle
ages: "To what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifices unto me?
saith the Lord: I am full of the burnt offerings of rams, and the fat
of fed beasts: and I delight not in the blood of bullocks, or of
lambs, or of he goats.  Bring no more vain oblations; incense is an
abomination unto me; the new moons and sabbaths, the calling of
assemblies, I cannot away with: it is iniquity, even the solemn
meeting.  Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hateth;
they are a trouble unto me; I am weary to bear them."

We have given the dark side of the picture: we must now, for a
moment, glance at sentiments, and traits of character, of another
order.  Throughout the middle ages, traces of these may be found.
Indeed the very strong terms in which the vices of an age are
reprobated, by a contemporary author, evince on his part a better
state of moral feeling.  There are sermons extant, belonging to those
times, which, among much that is superstitious and unscriptural,
contain some excellent moral and religious maxims.  One preacher of
the seventh century has not, generally, had justice done him.
Maclaine, Robertson, and other authors, have given a few sentences,
extracted from different parts of a sermon by Eligius, bishop of
Noyes, whence it would appear as if he had taught the people that
nothing else was necessary to make a man a Christian than that he
should go to church, present offerings to God, and repeat the creed
and the Lord's prayer.  That Eligius did not clearly understand the
way of salvation by faith in the Divine Redeemer, is clear enough to
any one who will peruse his discourse contained in D'Achery's
Spicelegium; but justice also demands the statement, that this
sermon, so often cited, but so little read, certainly inculcates a
vast deal more than mere ceremonial religion, and contains many
passages which are full of good sense and correct moral feeling.
Indeed, in the very paragraph which precedes that from which garbled
extracts have been taken, the bishop remarks: "It will not profit
you, beloved, to receive the Christian name, if you do not cultivate
Christian practice.  Christian profession avails a man only when he
preserves in his mind, and exemplifies in his conduct, the precepts
of Christ; that is, who does not steal, nor bear false witness, nor
tell falsehoods, nor commit adultery, nor hate any man, but loves all
even as himself; who does not render evil to his enemies, but rather
prays for them; who does not excite strife, but on the contrary
promotes peace.  For these things Christ hath commanded in the
gospel, saying, 'Thou shalt do no murder,' etc., Matt. xix. 18, 19."
The sermon is lamentably defective as it regards an exposition of the
way in which a sinner is to obtain acceptance with God; no clear view
is given of the work of Christ as the medium of our pardon, and of
the work of the Spirit as the fountain of holiness; but it certainly
is not wanting in moral exhortations, nor in a forcible statement of
many important scriptural truths.[6]

Benevolence, at least so far as it consisted in almsgiving and
kindness to the poor, was the cardinal virtue commended in many of
the sermons, and exemplified in some of the lives of the saints of
the dark ages.  We may fairly conclude that the ecclesiastics were,
in this respect, friends to the lower classes of society, and often
relieved the wants of the indigent, and soothed the minds of the
sorrowing.  The value of such influence, during ages of disorder and
violence, when a stern and almost savage spirit pervaded the upper
classes of society, cannot be too highly appreciated.  The spirit of
kindness nurtured by many in the bosom of the church, produced an
improvement in the condition of domestic slaves, and the gradual,
but, at length, total extinction of slavery itself.  Slaves who
belonged to monasteries, or ecclesiastics, were in far better
circumstances than those who were in the possession of laymen.  Their
sufferings under a stern master, are sometimes bewailed by the
writers of the day, who allude to them under the touching appellation
of those "whom Christ had redeemed at a rich price."  Gregory the
Great, in the sixth century, set a noble example of manumission, in
granting liberty to a number of his own slaves, whom he described as
free by nature, but placed by unjust law, under the yoke of bondage.
Manumission was a religious ceremony.  The person to be set free held
a lighted torch in his hand, and was led round the altar; he then
laid hold upon its horns, when the formulary of liberation was
solemnly repeated.[7]  Several charters of manumission, avowedly
proceeding from religious motives, are cited by antiquarian writers.
Slowly did the great curse of slavery yield to the influence of
Christian principles; but its eventual extinction is to be ascribed
solely to that spirit of humanity and justice, which Christianity
alone could kindle.

Examples of individual purity and benevolence might be adduced, in
contrast with the wide-spreading corruption already noticed.  The
lives of the saints, though pervaded by a thick cloud of
superstition, do, nevertheless, reveal some traits of moral
excellence.  Christianity, in spite of the manifold corruptions which
had gathered around it, exerted a renewing power over the minds of
some.  And it is very beautiful to catch, amidst the deep gloom of
that period, glimpses of sincere piety, however faint.  In the
cloisters of the monastery, and in the more active scenes of
religious life, might be found spirits who were partakers of a better
nature than comes from earth.  They had been born from above.  They
could not escape injury from the tainted atmosphere which filled the
entire region around them.  They often betrayed signs of feebleness,
the moral pulse was low and faint; but life continued, till, raised
above the unhealthy element they breathed, they entered those purer
regions to which they aspired, and there felt the quickening
influences of the presence of God, and were united to "the spirits of
just men made perfect."

Before closing this brief survey of the influence of the church on
the social condition of Europe, it will be proper to notice two
institutions--The right of sanctuary, and The truce of God--which had
their origin from that source, and which produced incalculably great
and beneficial effects in an age of oppression and violence.  The
precincts of a church afforded refuge to the fugitive.  Had laws been
firmly established and equitably administered, such a privilege would
have proved little else than a bounty upon crime, and such, at a
later period, it became: but at a time when the innocent were often
falsely accused, and the weak were generally oppressed, the place of
sanctuary, like the Jewish city of refuge, afforded a shelter to
those who, otherwise, would have been crushed by the hand of
injustice or revenge.  Rushing through the thickets of the forest,
towards the church or the monastery, which stood in the bosom of the
valley, or on the brow of the hill, the victim of savage cruelty
rejoiced in the protection there afforded; and one can imagine him
lifting the huge knocker of the gate, of which a specimen remains to
this day on the door of Durham cathedral, and, with a palpitating
heart, entering the portal under the conviction of perfect safety.
There can be no doubt that this right was often abused; but still it
may be fairly concluded, that, in many instances, it yielded
protection to those who deserved it.  The other custom we mentioned,
The truce of God, was of unquestionable and still more decided
advantage.  The prelates of the middle ages often endeavoured to
repress those private feuds which were among the most prevalent evils
of the time.  They availed themselves of seasons of public calamity
to prevail upon the barons, who were ever waging war with each other,
to form treaties of peace.  But, at length, they were able to
establish a permanent law, which secured a periodical and frequent
interval of quietude in those troublous times.  It was enacted in
Aquitain, A.D. 1041, that from vespers on Wednesday evening, till the
hour of dawn on Monday morning, no one should dare to assault his
enemy without incurring the dreaded penalty of excommunication.[8]
The law was soon afterwards extended to other countries; and in
England, also, it was observed--the time of the truce being altered
to the Ember days, Advent, Lent, the vigils and festivals of Christ,
the virgin Mary, the apostles, and all saints, and every Sunday,
reckoning from the hour of nine on Saturday evening to the dawn of
light on Monday morning.[9]  This was a welcome boon, and many would
anxiously anticipate, and joyfully hail, the appointed time of
vespers, when the authority of the church threw around them a defence
more impregnable than the walls of a castle, and they could lie down
and sleep in peace.


[1] Gesta, Caroli Magni, Florence, 1823, p. 37.

[2] Hallam, Middle Ages, chap. ix. 1.

[3] Mansi, xviii. 67, 177.  Quoted in Giesler, ii. 112.

[4] Ratherii, Itinerarium.  D'Achery, Spic. i. 381.

[5] We have adopted the vigorous translation of this letter in the
Quarterly Review, vol. lviii. 437.

[6] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. 87.

[7] Robertson's View of the State of Europe, Note xx.

[8] Glab. Radulph Giesler, ii. 118.

[9] Lingard, Hist. of England, i. 472.



SECTION IV.

LITERATURE AND ART.

Next to the moral condition of mankind, their intellectual state is
the most interesting subject of inquiry.  The dark ages form a kind
of parenthesis in the history of the human mind in Europe.  A long
and brilliant period of intellectual cultivation and energy preceded
them; and an era, in many respects, of still higher attainment and of
richer promise has followed.  The night which comes between two such
days seems very gloomy, yet is there much truth in the observation,
"that there was always a faint twilight, like that auspicious gleam,
which, in a summer's night, fills up the interval between the setting
and the rising sun."[1]  Nor should it be forgotten, that before the
commencement of the mediæval period, there had been a great decline
in sound learning; and that the nations of Europe, whose ignorance we
deplore, were, for the most part, the descendants not of the classic
nations of antiquity, but of the rude barbarians of the north.

Whatever measure of intellectual cultivation may have relieved the
prevailing darkness, it emanated from the church.  To men of the
ecclesiastical profession we are indebted for the preservation of
ancient literature; and they were almost the only authors who wrote
during the period.  The church afforded an asylum for the studious;
and, in those times, quiet and reflective minds would naturally seek
refuge in its bosom.  It is difficult, even after much inquiry, to
form a definite and accurate idea of the literary aspect of Europe in
the dark ages; and next to impossible to convey, in the short space
which we can here allot to it, a correct impression of the result of
such inquiries.  The seventh century may be fixed on as the nadir of
the human mind.[2]  Faint traces of the spirit of literature cheer
the subsequent space of five hundred years, after which a very
considerable revival of learning took place.  General remarks as to
the state of literature in Europe, daring the whole of this period,
are likely to mislead, because the state of one country and of one
century materially differed from another.  The spirit of literature
may be said to have migrated from land to land; now visiting the
shores of Ireland and England, then passing over to France and
Germany, and touching upon Italy, till there, in its classic form, it
found a congenial home.  Ireland and England were, probably, much in
advance of their contemporaries, in the seventh and eighth centuries,
but afterwards declined.  France revived in the ninth, and went on
progressing during the following ages; and, towards the latter part
of the tenth century, Germany possessed many learned churchmen.  In
Italy, signs of improvement are perceptible in the eleventh century,
but classical literature did not flourish there till the fifteenth.

A considerable number of books were written during the very darkest
periods of the middle ages.  They treat of various subjects connected
with theology and the church.  Several of the authors were evidently
studious men, and were, for the time in which they lived, extensively
acquainted with books.  It should also be stated, that they were
certainly not so ignorant of Scripture, so far as the letter of it
was concerned, as is generally supposed.  In looking over the writers
of the middle ages, down to the monkish chroniclers and legendary
tale-tellers, the reader finds frequent use made of Scripture
language; the application of it, however, shows, in a great number of
instances, a deplorable ignorance of its proper sense, and but little
sympathy with its true spirit.  "It is the most striking circumstance
in the literary annals of the dark ages, that they seem to us still
more deficient in native, than in acquired ability.  The mere
ignorance of letters has sometimes been a little exaggerated, and
admits of certain qualifications; but a tameness and mediocrity, a
servile habit of merely compiling from others, runs through the
writers of these centuries.  It is not only that much was lost, but
that there was nothing to compensate for it, nothing of original
genius in the province of imagination: and but two extraordinary men,
Scotus Erigena and Gerbert, may be said to stand out from the crowd
is literature and philosophy."[3]

What might be the average state of the clergy, in reference to the
possession of knowledge, during the middle ages, is an interesting
question, but one, like many others, difficult to answer.  There can
be no doubt that many ecclesiastics could not write, but it appears
that ability to read, at least the service books, was a common
attainment.  Notices of extreme ignorance, in some countries, at
certain times, may be found; for instance, king Alfred complains, in
his day, that there were very few on the south side of the Humber,
and none on the south side of the Thames, who could translate the
Latin service into English; and Ratherius, bishop of Verona, in the
tenth century, laments that he had found many clergy in his diocese
who did not know (_sapere_) the apostles' creed.[4]  But, perhaps, it
would be unfair to take these as decisive proofs of the ignorance of
the clergy in general, during the dark ages.  The state of things
assuredly was mournful enough, without adding to them any imaginary
aggravations.

Ecclesiastics were the only instructors in those days; but there is
no evidence of their having shown much zeal in the enlightenment of
the mass of the people.  It is true there were schools connected with
monasteries and cathedrals, but these institutions were for the
education of such persons as were intended for the service of the
church.  The chief promoters of learning among the laity, to any
great extent, were Charlemagne and Alfred, who brought to their
assistance the more enlightened men of their times.  Parish schools
were established by the bishop of Orleans, upon whom Charlemagne
placed much dependence in carrying out his liberal views, and, in
these schools, education was gratuitously provided for such children
as their parents might choose to send.[5]  Alfred also greatly
exerted himself to extend the benefits of education over his own
country: most of the noble, and many of the inferior orders, were
placed under the care of masters, who taught them not only to read in
Latin and Saxon books, but also to write.[6]  Such facts, however,
constitute the exception, rather than the rule, respecting the
cultivation of the minds of laymen.  Undoubtedly the higher as well
as the lower classes were immersed in the deepest shades of
ignorance; pursuits conducive to the improvement of their physical
strength being, as a matter of course, in such an age, much more
highly valued than those which tended to increase intellectual
vigour.  "For many centuries, to sum up the account of ignorance in a
word, it was rare for a layman, of whatever rank, to know how to sign
his name.  Their charters, till the use of seals became general, were
subscribed with the mark of the cross.  Still more extraordinary was
it to find one who had any tincture of learning.  Even admitting
every indistinct commendation of a monkish biographer, (with whom a
knowledge of church music would pass for literature,) we could make
out a very short list of scholars.  None, certainly, were more
distinguished as such than Charlemagne and Alfred.  But the former,
unless we reject a very plain testimony, was incapable of writing,
and Alfred found difficulty in making a translation from the pastoral
instruction of St. Gregory, on account of his imperfect knowledge of
Latin."[7]

The church did more for art than she did for literature.  It is in
the nature of Christianity, even when imperfectly understood, or
greatly corrupted, to produce an influence friendly to civilisation,
and its attendant comforts, and thereby to foster the growth of the
useful arts, of which the changes wrought in the barbaric nations,
during the early part of the mediæval period, by the introduction of
Christianity among them, are striking proofs: and in addition to
this, it must be acknowledged that the innovations which, by that
time, had been made upon the simplicity of gospel worship, operated
in the same direction.  The advantage, however, which thus accrued to
the artistic civilisation of society, will be deemed, by Christian
minds, a poor compensation for the mischief done to the interests of
religion, and the souls of men, by the corruption of the service of
God.

The study of architecture was a pursuit to which many of the clergy
early devoted themselves; and though the ecclesiastical structures,
from the seventh to the twelfth century, were far inferior to those
which were afterwards reared, they were undoubtedly much superior to
the generality of buildings of the period to which they belonged.
The edifices reared by our Saxon fathers, in this island, before the
arrival of the missionaries from Rome, were extremely humble; but the
latter soon introduced a taste for structures of a higher order.
Places of worship, rudely constructed of oaken planks, and covered
with thatch, were succeeded by churches of polished masonry, with
lofty towers, glazed windows, and roofs sheeted with lead.  But
convenience and taste, such as might have comported with the
simplicity of Christian worship, did not suffice; the magnificence of
Romish decorations and ceremonies found their way into the Saxon
sanctuary.  Pictures were brought from Rome by Augustin and Benedict,
and placed in churches: a stimulus certainly was thus given to the
art of painting.  Images, crucifixes, and lamps of precious
materials, and elaborate workmanship, were also introduced, and the
manufacture of these afforded employ and encouragement to the
goldsmith.  The making of church bells was another important branch
of industry; and the costly robes worn by the priests put the arts of
weaving, embroidery, and dyeing in requisition.  Splendid service
books were also used; and for the production of these it was
necessary to cultivate the art of ornamental writing, gilding, and
setting precious stones.  Servants skilled in these various
employments might be found in the establishments of ecclesiastical
dignitaries, and among the inmates of monasteries: nor did the clergy
themselves deem it any degradation to practise the useful and elegant
arts.  The performance of mass led to the cultivation of a taste for
music.  Beside the harp and different kinds of wind instruments, such
as the flute and horn, early mention is made of the organ, an
instrument of which Bede gives a minute description: and attention
seems to have been paid to music regarded as a science.  The gentle
and soothing influence of harmonious sounds will scarcely fail to be
recognised as having been a civilizing power upon the minds of many a
rude inhabitant of the British isles; and, in a little melody which
has floated down to us from those distant times, we find express
mention of the effect produced upon Canute the Great, who as he was
approaching Ely in his boat, with his queen and courtiers, heard the
music of the monks at their devotions, and was so affected that he
told the rowers to pause, that he might listen to the sounds which
were wafted by the breeze from the church, which stood on the rock
before him.[8] Some of the hymns sung in those days were very
beautiful; and to those who understood them, they conveyed sentiments
adapted to elevate the tone of moral and religious feeling, by
directing the heart to the source of all piety and virtue.  Such was
the following hymn, chanted in many a monastery at the hour of
prime:--

  "Now that the sun is gleaming bright
    Implore we, bending low.
  That He, the uncreated light,
    May guide us as we go.

  No sinful word, nor deed of wrong,
    Nor thoughts that idly rove,
  But simple truth be on our tongue,
    And in our hearts be love.

  And while the hours in order flow,
    O Christ, securely fence
  Our gates, beleaguer'd by the foe,
    The gate of every sense.

  And grant that to thine honour, Lord,
    Our daily toil may tend,
  That we begin it at thy word,
    And in thy favour end."[9]


In bringing to a close this rapid survey of the influence of the
church, during the middle ages, upon the manners, morals, literature,
and arts of society, we cannot suppress the remark, which, however,
must be obvious to every one, who at all thinks upon the subject,
that the decided benefits emanating from this source, proceeded from
so much of the genuine spirit of Christianity as still remained
within its bosom, while benefits of but a doubtful, or imperfect
kind, and evils, some of them most flagrant in their nature, were the
fruit of institutions which men had officiously planted around the
temple of God.  Nor, when attempting to estimate the social good and
evil thus produced, should we forget to think of the far larger
amount of good, with no attendant evil, which might have been
produced had Christianity been preserved in her purity, and her
heaven-born energies been fully developed and directed to the
improvement of mankind.  Assuredly the church failed to perform her
mission; and the benefits she actually conferred on society were but
scanty and imperfect specimens of those rich and clustered blessings,
which, if faithful to her Lord, she would have been enabled
plentifully to scatter over all the nations of the world.  It affords
matter for curious speculation to inquire, what might have been the
course of European history if Christianity had continued uncorrupt
from the beginning, and the church had maintained her purity.
Perhaps the progress of decay in the Roman empire might have been
arrested, and the spirit of a new and righteous civilisation might
have been infused into the commonwealth: or, if that had not been the
case, yet the destiny of the nations, into which that colossal power
was broken up, might have been one of far more rapid and decided
advancement than it has proved to be.  Much of the social conflict
and confusion of the middle ages, perhaps, might have been prevented,
and the human mind preserved from its deep and long degradation.  The
course of civilisation, instead of being like the troubled mountain
stream, dashing, roaring, foaming, and eddying on its way, might
rather have resembled the deep broad river, flowing calmly and
steadily on, and reflecting from its glassy surface the hues of
heaven.


[1] Harris, Phil. Enq.

[2] See Hallam, Introd. to Lit. of Europe, vol. i.

[3] Hallam, Introd. to Lit. of Europe, vol. i. 11.

[4] D'Achery, Spic. i. 381.

[5] Mansi, tom. xiii. p. 993.  Giesler, ii. 34.

[6] Sharon Turner, Anglo-Saxons, vol. iii. 14.

[7] Hallam, Middle Ages, chap. ix. p. 1.

[8] Sharon Turner Anglo-Saxons, vol. iii. 279.

[9] Translation from Quarterly Rev. No. 118, p. 324.



CHAPTER III.

THE MONASTERY.

Monachism was so closely interwoven with the church system of the
middle ages, that it may be thought a review of its history and
tendencies should have been included in the former chapter: but it
exerted so much influence peculiar to itself, and presents so many
illustrations of the state of mediæval society, as to claim distinct
consideration.



SECTION I.

RISE OF MONACHISM.

Monachism did not spring from pure Christianity, but was engrafted
upon the system, after it had been grievously corrupted.  It is
evidently one of the great offshoots of that ascetic principle which
is indigenous in human nature, and of which the developments may be
traced in the Jewish Essenes, the Greek Cynics, the Alexandrian
Platonists, the British Druids, and the Eastern Brahmins.

The practice of a monastic life, in its connexion with the church,
commenced in Egypt, in the third century.  The storms of persecution
drove many into the deserts, where they sought to carry out the
ascetic principles, which, even at that time, were so strongly
advocated by Cyprian and others.  The spirit of self-righteousness,
which had led to the pharisaism of the Jews, and had produced no
little of pharisaism among Christians, doubtless helped on the
result; to which, perhaps, the contemplative habits of the east, the
preference of quietude to activity, and the notion, that the height
of religious excellence consists in the absorption of the mind by
spiritual meditation, in some measure contributed.  The founders of
monachism were, in fact, hermits, who sought the cavern and the den,
the ruins of sepulchres, and the dreariest spots of the desert, as
scenes favourable to piety and communion with Heaven.  That they were
ignorant, deluded, and superstitious, is apparent enough; but it
would be uncharitable, and contrary to historical evidence, to deny
the sincerity and earnest devotion of many of these anchorets.  They
were men who felt the corruption of their nature, who realized the
presence and agency of fallen spirits, and who sought to subdue the
one, and to conquer the other, by their self-mortification.  The
desert was to them a place of awful silence, and sublime solitude,
but no place of repose and peace, for there they were ever striving
to crucify the flesh, and were hourly struggling with the powers of
darkness.  Gleams of noble feeling dart from amidst the darkness of
their gross superstition; and, while we deplore the course they all
pursued, we cannot but perceive the sublimity of the purpose by which
many of them were animated.  The first of the anchorets, whose name
was Paul, has been immortalized by Jerome, who, in his inimitable
biography of that singular person, affords a characteristic specimen
of the absurd superstition and credulity, or something worse, which
then overflowed the church, mingled with those elevated sentiments
which, in many happy instances, were still cherished and expressed.
The eloquent father relates the most absurd stories respecting his
hero, telling us, that he was met by a hippocentaur--a being half
horse and half man--who begged him to intercede with Christ for his
salvation; that a raven, who brought him half a loaf every day,
brought him a whole loaf on the occasion of St. Antony's visit; that
Paul was seen ascending to heaven amidst bands of angels and
prophets, and that two lions were sent to dig his grave, who, when
they had finished their task, crouched at the feet of the saint, and
sought, and received, his blessing.  Yet this monstrous fable
concludes with the following magnificent passage.  "Perhaps at the
close of this little book, some who are ignorant of his
inheritance--who adorn their houses with marble, and cover their
estates with elegant villas--may ask, Why were all these wanting to
this poor aged man?  You drink out of a cup of gems; he was content
with one which nature supplied, the hollow of his own hands.  You
clothe yourself in embroidered tunics; he was clothed in a garb such
as your slaves would not wear.  But on the other hand, to this poor
man paradise was opened; for you, rich men, perdition is prepared.
He, though naked, was clothed in the robe of Christ; you, clothed in
fine linen, lack that better raiment.  Paul, covered with a little
dust, is about to rise to glory; you, slumbering under marble
sepulchres, shall be consumed with all your possessions.  Spare
yourselves, I beseech you, spare the wealth you love.  Why should you
wrap your dead in gilded robes?  Why should your vain pride linger
among your mourning and your tears?  Will not the bodies of the rich
decay unless they be folded in silk?  I intreat you who read these
things, that you would be mindful of Jerome a sinner, who, if the
Lord wrong give him the choice, would much rather have Paul's humble
clothing with his merits, than the purple robe of kings with their
punishment."[1]

This production, by Jerome, strikes us as being a type of the early
system of monkery; a mass of superstition, illumined here and there
by noble sentiments, while these very sentiments are themselves
tinctured by fearful errors.  The allusion to the naked soul being
clothed in the robe of Christ is very beautiful, and accords with the
apostle Paul's sentiment in his Epistle to the Philippians, where he
exhibits the ground of his own personal hope--that ground on which
every true Christian rests exclusively--"Yea doubtless, and I count
all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ
Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and
do count them but dung, that I may win Christ, and be found in him,
not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that
which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of
God by faith."  Resting there--building on that blessed foundation,
"Jerome a sinner" would be safe; but instead of alluding to that as
his only ground of hope, he speaks of "the merits" of his departed
friend.  That was the robe "better than the purple of kings" in which
he would fain be wrapped.  He seems to forget the Divine and perfect
garment he had before mentioned, in his admiration and desire of the
human, imperfect, and tattered robe of the poor hermit's
righteousness.  Such was the theology of the day, so ruinous to
souls, either substituting the merit of man for the merit of the
Redeemer, or endeavouring to unite them; such was the pestilential
heresy that was ravaging the church; such was the principle which lay
at the foundation of the monkish system; and such is the sentiment
which, in the present day, as in former times, fastens on the minds
of many, distracting their thoughts, bewildering their attention, and
cheating them out of the safety and peace they would secure by a
simple reliance on "the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the
world;" for "neither is there salvation in any other: for there is
none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be
saved."

Monks were a different class of ascetics.  They were men not living
in solitude, but associated together under certain laws, yet keeping
aloof from the world, and practising great self-denial.  Antony was
the founder of monastic establishments in Egypt, whence they rapidly
spread over every part of Christendom.  Athanasius introduced them
into the west, where, at first, they seem to have been unpopular; and
Martin of Tours was the founder of them in Gaul.  But these
establishments were so agreeable to the spiritual pride of some, the
indolence of others, and the misguided piety of many more, that they
soon multiplied, and became crowded with inmates; so that no less
than two thousand of the fraternity in Gaul followed to the grave the
remains of their zealous patron the famous St. Martin.

The discipline of the western monks was less severe than that of
their brethren in the east, a change produced perhaps partly by the
greater severity of the climate, and partly from regard to popular
feeling.  Nor did they cultivate the industrious habits of the
Egyptian recluses.  Even St. Antony spent a life of labour, and he is
described by his biographer as diligently employed in basket-making:
but complaints were early made of the monks in Gaul, that they
neglected the useful arts, and, with the exception of the younger
brethren, restricted themselves to the exercises of devotion.

In the early part of the fifth century, there arose an individual who
created a great and a permanent change in the monastic life, by
reducing the institute into a regular and defined system.  This was
Benedict, the founder of the first monastic _order_ properly so
called.  Marvellous are the stories related of this celebrated monk.
He is said to have been frequently buffeted by Satan, who sometimes
appeared with horns and hoofs, and sometimes in the form of a
blackbird.  The miracles the saint performed were more than usually
numerous even in that miraculous age; and so strong and inherent was
the devotional temperament of his mind, that he is described as
having sung psalms before he was born!  But some account of the rules
of his institute will be more to our present purpose, as they
constituted the basis of all the monastic institutions of the middle
ages, and will therefore introduce us to an acquaintance with the
social life of an immense class of persons for many centuries.

After describing four classes of monks, the Cœnobites, Anchorets,
Saraibaites, and Gyrovagi--the last two of whom seem to have been
licentious and idle vagabonds--he states that his rule was intended
for the first class, the Cœnobites, who, while they secluded
themselves from the society of the world, lived together in
monasteries, under the government of an abbot.  The qualifications
for this high office are specified, and the person selected to fill
it, is charged to instruct the community by his life as well as his
counsels, and to treat the brethren, who were to look up to him as to
a father, in a spirit of paternal kindness and impartiality.  He had
power to admonish offenders, and even to punish the refractory with
stripes.  The whole fraternity were to form a chapter, or council,
with whom he was to consult on the business of the monastery; but he
was left, after deliberation, to form his own judgment, to which the
whole brotherhood were bound to submit.  Obedience was the cardinal
virtue of monks, with which silence and humility were closely
connected.  Benedict details the order of the church service which
the brethren were to observe, and appoints the canonical hours,
lauds, prime, tierce, sexts, nones, vespers, and complines.  Every
ten monks were placed under a dean, (_decanus_,) who was to sleep
with them in their dormitories.  Delinquents were to be punished
according to the guilt of their offence, by separation from their
brethren, the infliction of stripes, or total expulsion.  The
possessions of the monastery were common property, and no one was to
call anything his own.  The brethren were required to serve in the
kitchen and refectory, from which nothing but sickness could exempt
them; they were allowed, as a reward, an extra draught of wine, and a
piece of bread.  Dinner, in general, was at sexts, (twelve,) but on
fast days at nones, (three,) when it was the only meal.  The sick
monks were treated with special kindness, and were allowed meat and
wine; but those who were in health were only provided with cooked
vegetables and fruit; the abbot, however, seemed to have a
discretionary power in such matters.  Edifying books were to be read
to the assembled brethren after supper, or even-song on fast days.
He particularly inculcates the duty of manual labour, observing that
"idleness is injurious to the mind;" and he also enjoins upon the
monks the practice of reading, for which, however, they could have
little time after spending so many hours in devotion and labour.  The
rites of hospitality were to be liberally maintained, and the abbot's
table was to be open for the reception of guests, who were to be
welcomed with the kiss of peace, but not till after prayer had been
offered.  The abbot was to appoint the dress of the fraternity, and
each brother was to have two tunics, cowls, and scapularies, the best
being reserved for wear when they went from home.  When travelling,
they wore breeches, but, at other times, their gown was to suffice.
A blanket, quilt, and pillow was allotted to each brother, and the
abbot was frequently to search under the beds to see whether a monk
had concealed anything which he had not received from the convent.
Severe were the terms of entrance--four or five days was the
applicant to bear the rebuffs of the porter; and then to be received
in the room appointed for the guests, where some aged brother was to
explain to him the most rigorous parts of the monastic discipline,
when, if he were willing to submit to them, he was received into the
class of novices, upon trial for twelve months, after which, if
obedient and willing to give up all he had, he was to be fully
admitted into the order.  A solemn profession was made, his secular
garments were placed in the wardrobe, his vow was considered
irrevocable, and the bond he subscribed, or signed with the cross,
was laid up among the archives of the monastery, as the pledge of
obedience for ever.

Strange monks who visited a monastery were to be kindly entertained,
so long as they chose to remain in obedience, but the abbot was not
to receive the member of any other known monastery without letters of
dismission.  The brethren were to take precedence according to their
seniority in the convent: but all were to be obedient to the abbot;
not even going out, without seeking his permission and prayers.  To
these regulations, respecting the order of the society, are appended
a number of short moral and religious maxims, breathing a pure,
benevolent, and devout spirit.[2]

St. Benedict was a reformer, and the rule he instituted was
undoubtedly a great improvement upon the monastic habits of earlier
times.  Its success was great beyond expectation, for, being approved
by popes and councils, it was, in process of time, adopted as the
universal system of the west.  The reader, no doubt, in perusing
these rules, has caught some glimpses of the monastic life, and has
pictured to himself the habits of the brotherhood: and now, to assist
him in his imaginings, to give a local habitation and a name to the
picture he may form, let us open the chronicle of a monastery in the
eighth century, and take a peep at one of the structures within which
communities of this kind were gathered.

The monastery of Centule, after having fallen into decay, was
restored by Angilbert.  He repaired the buildings, "and employed
skilful artificers in wood, stone, glass, and marble."  The emperor,
who cherished a special regard for Angilbert, and who desired to see
the abbey magnificently rebuilt, directed that marble columns from
the city of Rome should be conveyed to Centule for the adornment of
the edifice.  During the progress of the works, an accident
occurred--one of the columns fell, and was broken in two; but, early
in the morning, when the workmen came to the spot, they found, to
their surprise, the broken pillar restored, and placed erect; for,
according to the historian, an angel had been there, and united the
broken parts, and left the impress of his hand upon the marble, where
the pieces were joined!  The monastery is described as triangular;[3]
it contained three churches, which were united to each other by three
walls.  The largest of the churches was dedicated to St. Richard, the
founder of the abbey, and had two towers, one at the east, and the
other at the west end.  The next in size was consecrated to the
virgin Mary; and the third, which was the least, was set apart to the
honour of St. Benedict, who established the order.  The monastery was
arranged according to his rules, so that every useful art and
necessary employment might be carried on within the circuit of the
walls: the church had numerous altars, which were abundantly enriched
with relics--some of the virgin Mary's milk, and a portion of St.
Peter's beard, occupying a very conspicuous place in the precious
inventory.  A long enumeration follows of vases, crosses, crowns,
lamps, chalices, etc.; of gold and silver, adorned with gems, beside
a vast number of splendid vestments: the monkish chronicler adding,
at the close, that there were many more ornaments and useful things,
in lead, glass, and marble, which it would be tedious to enumerate.
It was ordained that there should be, at least, three hundred monks
supported in this abbey; and one hundred boys, to be fed and clothed
like the brethren, who were to arrange them in three choirs, that
they might assist in singing, and in playing on instruments; each of
the three churches having a choir appropriated to itself, so that, in
canonical hours, they might be all employed at the same time in
religious worship.[4]

But we must leave all this, to trace the bearings of monachism on the
interests of society.


[1] Vita Pauli.

[2] Regula Benedieti.  Hospinian de origine et progressu Monachatus,
etc. p. 116.  A good sketch of the Benedictine rules is given in
Quarterly Review, vol. xxiii. 59

[3] Monasteries were generally quadrangular.

[4] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. 303.



SECTION II.

MONASTIC LIFE AND MANNERS.

On looking at the social influence of monachism, one of the first
things which strikes us, is, the effect which it was calculated to
produce upon the mind of the fraternity; who, after the order had
spread, formed no small portion of the population of Europe.  Strict
conformity to the rules of St. Benedict, and obedience to the
superior of the convent, formed the beau ideal of the monk.  Implicit
submission, moral and religious, was yielded to a fellow man.  The
more abject this submission, the more meritorious it was deemed.  St.
Columbanus, who has been described as "the most remarkable character
of his age,"[1] stretched the principle of obedience so far, in his
penitential discipline, as to lay down the following rules: that any
monk who did not sign with a cross the spoon with which he ate, or
who struck the table with his knife, or who should cough at the
beginning of a psalm, should receive the punishment of six lashes.[2]
The way in which submission to a superior was sometimes expressed, by
the monkish fraternity, is amusing enough.  We read of one of these
worthies, who, when his superior, an illiterate man, stopped him as
he was reading a Latin sentence, and bade him pronounce the _e_ in
_dŏcēre_ short, he at once gave up the right pronunciation:
knowing, it is remarked, that to disobey his abbot,
who commanded him in Christ's name, was a greater sin than to adopt a
false quantity.[3]  And this very monk was no other than the
celebrated Lanfranc, afterwards archbishop of Canterbury.  This
picture of the prostration of the human understanding to the vows of
monastic obedience is truly humiliating; and, in many cases, there
can be no doubt that the minds of the monks were decidedly enfeebled
by the discipline they observed.  Monasteries soon became, but too
generally, most corrupt establishments, which the energy and zeal of
the more devout of the order in vain attempted to reform.  There is
sufficient evidence running through the whole history of the middle
ages, of the moral evils of the system.  While an extreme party often
appeared doing their utmost to tighten the cords of discipline, and
rushing to the most ridiculous excesses of monkish severity; another
party, more numerous, was never wanting, who practically relaxed the
bonds of their order, and indulged in various irregularities.  Nor
were the scenes of monastic seclusion quite so peaceful as the
romantic imagination is wont to picture, or the vows of obedience
quite so binding as would appear from the theory of the system
established by Benedict: for, if we are to believe the testimony of
those times, it not seldom happened that one fraternity quarrelled
with another; that monasteries were scenes of confusion; that monk
fell out with monk; that the brotherhood rebelled against their
superior, and that some discontented member turned fugitive, fairly
escaped from the convent, and sought refuge in another establishment,
in consequence of which a warm correspondence took place between the
dishonoured abbot and some neighbouring prior who had taken the
runaway under his patronage.  Some were dissatisfied because
discipline was too lax; some rebelled because it was too strict; and
some did just as they liked, because there was no discipline at all.
The effect of all this vice, disorder, and misrule, upon society,
could not fail to be pernicious.  The influence of such men who,
while they set themselves up as models of sanctity and obedience,
thus violated their vows, fostered the practice of all sorts of evil
among the people at large.  Historians have, therefore, justly laid
at the door of these institutions, thus grossly corrupted, the blame
of much of that social depravity which darkened the middle ages.

According to the strict interpretation of the rule of St. Benedict,
the monks were by no means to accumulate secular wealth: but a more
liberal construction was generally put on the terms of the institute,
so that the monasteries grew richer in this world's goods than in
spiritual fame.  A correspondence on this point, which arose in the
twelfth century between Bernard, of Clairvaux, and Peter the
Venerable, of Clugni, has been preserved, from which we find that the
monks of Clugni were charged with violating the rules of the order by
holding estates.  "What will you reply," it is asked, "respecting the
secular possessions which you hold, just like secular persons?  For
towns, villages, peasants, slaves, and handmaids, and what is more,
the revenue of tolls and taxes, and property of that description, you
receive indifferently, and retain unlawfully; and when you are
attacked, you are not scrupulous about the means of defence.
Contrary to all monastic law, ecclesiastics conduct secular causes,
and turn advocates--and thus in heart return to Egypt."[4]  This is a
specimen of the disputes which sometimes arose among the monastic
orders; and it proves, what none can deny, that the monasteries,
whether in violation of the Benedictine rules or not, grew rich.  One
cannot look over a few of the old monastic histories without finding
numerous allusions to their wealthy endowments.  Immense tracts of
lands, numbers of villages, farms, gardens, slaves of both sexes, are
found registered in the inventory of their possessions.  In later
days the wealth of monasteries became enormously great, so that, in
the twelfth century, the territorial property of the church, of which
the larger part was vested in monasteries, amounted to nearly
one-half of all England, and, in some countries, to a still larger
proportion.[5]  Much of this property was freely bestowed by the
wealthy, with a view to secure thereby the salvation of their souls:
but the brotherhood are charged with not being very particular as to
the means they employed for the aggrandizement of their order; and
are said even to have prostituted "their knowledge of writing to the
purpose of forging charters in their own favour, which might easily
impose upon an ignorant age, since it has required a peculiar science
to detect them in modern times."[6]

But though there be evidence enough of monkish worldliness, avarice,
and rapacity, in a multitude of instances, it must not be supposed
that these societies, powerful as they were, had it all their own
way.  It is common for persons to think of the monks as having all
lived in the midst of abundance, enjoying their possessions in
perfect security, their spiritual authority encircling their domains
as with a wall of fire.  But this is a mistake.  Many and sad are the
lamentations poured out by monkish chroniclers over the spoliation of
their property.  Princes and barons were very far from always
standing in awe of prelates and abbots: convents were often plundered
without mercy, and if the church had spoiled the laity, the laity
retaliated with vengeance.  "The poverty and distress of the
convents, and their want of the necessaries of life, was another
feature of ancient society which we little expect.  To find Anselm
writing to archbishop Lanfranc, and telling him, that oatmeal and
beans had been so dear, for a long time, that the great monastery of
Bee was in the depths of difficulty, and that, dreadful as the last
year's sufferings had been, the next would be worse; to find the
archbishop assisting them with twenty pounds, and to hear moving
complaints of the distress occasioned to the monks by the town toll,
which was rigorously exacted, even on the pot-herbs which composed
their scanty _cuisine_, would certainly be quite new matter to most
readers."[7]  Yet there can be no doubt that these instances were the
exceptions, and not the illustrations of the rule; proofs of the
wealth of monasteries in general being abundant, and seasons of
calamity and depression, of which we find complaints, being only
temporary, and owing to accidental circumstances.


[1] Rome under the Popes, vol. ii. 245.

[2] Man. Bibl. tom, xii. 6

[3] Maitland's Dark Ages, 178.

[4] Max. Bibl. pat. xxii. p. 841.

[5] Hallam, Middle Ages, chap. vii.

[6] Ibid.  "A monk of the Abbey of St. Medard, being on his
death-bed, confessed, with great contrition and repentance, that he
had forged numerous bills of exemption, in favour of various
monasteries."--_Palgrave's Proofs and Illustrations_, etc., ccxi.

[7] Quarterly Review, vol. lviii. p. 424.



SECTION III.

MONKISH EMPLOYMENTS.

Manual labour was strongly recommended by Benedict, and, from the
first establishment of his order, the monks engaged themselves in
tilling the soil.  It is difficult to form an idea of the deplorable
state of agriculture in Europe, for some centuries after the invasion
of the barbarians upon the south.  The change which has since been
wrought in the appearance of towns, in the state of trade, and in the
general character of political and social institutions, is scarcely
greater than the change which has been produced in the aspect of
nature.  Many an immense tract of country now smiling with
cornfields, meadows, gardens, and vineyards, was, in the middle ages,
a miserable morass, or a straggling forest, haunted by the wolf, and
unvisited by man.  In the first attempts to transform the desert into
"a fruitful field," we find the monks most active.  In the early
charters granted to monasteries, frequent mention is made of
extensive districts, uncultivated and barren, made over to them as
their property, which, by their labour, they turned to profitable
account.  Wild and inaccessible forests were cleared for the site of
a new convent; and the monkish historian, as he recorded the fact,
exclaimed, "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O
Israel!  In the place where dragons lay shall there be reeds and
rushes."  Some of the most pleasing parts of the monastic annals are
those in which an account is given of the change produced in the face
of the country, by the enclosure of land around the monastery.  There
is some interest felt in looking on the following picture:--"The
place," says the biographer of Eligius, in describing an abbey which
he built, "the place is so fertile and so pleasant, that when any
person walks there among the orchards of fruit, and the gardens of
flowers, he is ready to burst forth into the exclamation, 'How goodly
are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel! like shady
woods, like cedars near the waters, and as gardens by the river'--of
such, Solomon says, 'the habitations of the just are blessed.' ....
It is surrounded by an enclosure, not of stone, but consisting of a
foss and bridge, about a mile and a quarter in circuit; on one side
guarded by a beautiful river, from which there rises a lofty hill,
crowned with wood, and rocks towering to a great height.  The inner
space is filled with fruit-bearing trees of various kinds, where the
mind is cheered, and may fancy itself surrounded by the delightful
scenes of Paradise."[1]

The buildings which rose in these cultivated spots, were the work of
monks.  They were the architects and masons of the day; and whatever
signs of strength or beauty might be displayed in the structure of
the convent, the cathedral, or the church, was the fruit of their
labour, or their genius.  For example, two distinguished monks in
England, Bennet and Wilfred, are described by our historians as being
possessed of much architectural skill.  The churches of Weremouth and
Jarrow were erected by the former; the cathedral of York was repaired
and beautified, and that of Ripon entirely built by the latter.  We
are told that the masonry was nicely polished, that rows of columns
supported the roof, and that porticoes adorned each of the principal
entrances.  The monastery of Hexham was the last and most admired of
his works.  "The height and length of the walls, the beautiful polish
of the stones, the number of the columns and porticoes, and the
spiral windings which led to the top of each tower, have exercised
the descriptive powers of Eddius, who, after two journeys to the
apostolic see, boldly pronounced that there existed not on this side
the Alps a church to be compared with that of Hexham."[2]  When
reading such descriptions, we must remember that they belong to an
age of comparative ignorance and barbarism, and that, therefore, the
buildings so much extolled would probably excite but little, if any,
admiration now; yet, doubtless, they did evince some buddings of that
architectural taste which was afterwards developed in great
perfection.  It may not be uninteresting to add a notice or two of
the Saxon method of building.  The foundations of Medhamsted were
laid with stones, each of which was drawn by eight yoke of oxen.
Those of Croyland were composed of piles of oak, and alder between,
which were compressed with great quantities of dry earth.  At Ramsey
the stones for the foundation were beaten down with rammers; a
windlass was employed to raise the stones to the top of the wall.
The ceilings were generally framed with oak.  Vaulted roofs of stone
forming a triumph of architectural skill which they rarely attempted,
and which they were unable perfectly to accomplish; and it should be
stated, that it was only in rare instances, and in particular
situations, that buildings were of stone at all--wood was commonly
employed.

Allusion has already been made to the decorations of the monasteries
and churches, and to the works of art employed in religious
ceremonies; there were further proofs of monkish skill.

An ingenious work of art, intended to represent the solar system, was
possessed by the monks of Croyland, and destroyed by the fire which
consumed the abbey, in 1091.  It was a table composed of different
metals.  The planet Saturn was of copper, Jupiter of gold, Mars of
iron, Mercury of amber, Venus of tin, the Moon of silver, and the
solar orb of brass.  It is described by the monkish chronicler,
Ingulf, as charming the eyes, and instructing the mind, by its
precious materials, its brilliant colours, and its exquisite
workmanship.  This scientific instrument, however, was not the work
of the monks themselves, but a present to the abbot of Croyland, by
the king of France.  Yet it seems that similar tables were not
uncommon in England; and these, no doubt, were the handyworks of the
monastic brethren, who alone understood scientific matters.  Another
proof of mechanical skill, not so well known, is to be found in an
anecdote of St. Bernard and his friends.  Weakened by his
austerities, he retired to his cell, where he could not be persuaded
to have a fire, but there were some who were more solicitous than
himself to promote his comfort, and they contrived to introduce hot
air into the apartment, through the stone floor under his bed.[3]
There was a touch of good feeling, as well as of skilful contrivance,
exhibited by these friends of the old abbot; whence it appears, that
warming rooms by hot air is no modern invention, and that the
reverence felt for genius and piety, and a desire to promote the
comfort of those we love, are not peculiar to any age or country.
Further light is thrown upon monkish employments in a letter written
by Peter the Venerable, a friend and correspondent of the
above-mentioned St. Bernard.  After exhorting his friends to study
and write, he says, "If, however, from its injuring your sight, or
from its wearisome sameness, you cannot, or will not be content, with
one manual employment, make a variety of other handy works.  Make
combs for combing and cleaning the heads of the brethren; with
skilful hand and well-instructed foot, turn needle-cases; hollow out
vessels for wine, such as they call _justitiœ_, or others like
them, or try to put them together.  And if there are any marshy
places near, weave mats (an ancient monastic employment) on which you
may always, or frequently sleep, may bedew with daily, or frequent
tears, and wear out with frequent genuflexion before God; or, as St.
Jerome says, weave little baskets with flags, or make them of wicker.
Filling up all the time of your blessed life with these and similar
works of holy purpose, you will leave no room for your adversaries to
intrude into your heart, or into your cell, but that when God has
filled all with his virtues, there shall be no room for the devil,
none for sloth, none for the other vices."[4]  They were truly odd
employments which the abbot prescribed; yet, it is to be feared, that
many of the brotherhood were far from being always so well employed;
certainly, the latter part of the advice is very good, and, though
written by a man in the dark ages, is not unworthy of consideration
in these enlightened times.

There was, in many monasteries, a room specially devoted to
employment of the highest value.  This was the _scriptorium_, or
writing-room.  After the twelfth century, small cells, only capable
of accommodating a single person, were used by the monastic scribes;
but, at an earlier period, one large apartment was appropriated to
their use.

  "Meanwhile, along the cloister's painted side
  The monks, each bending low upon his book,
  With head on hand reclined, their studies plied,
  Forbid to parley, or in front to look;
  Lengthways their regulated seats they took.
  The strutting prior gazed, with pompous mien,
  And wakeful tongue prepared with prompt rebuke;
  If monk asleep in sheltering hood were seen,
  He wary often peep'd beneath that russet screen.

  "Hard by, against the window's adverse light,
  Where desks were wont in length of row to stand,
  The gown'd artificers inclined to write,
  The pen of silver glisten'd in their hand;
  Some on their fingers rhyming Latin scann'd,
  Some textile gold from halls unwinding drew,
  And on strain'd velvet stately portraits plann'd;
  Here arms, there faces shone, in embryo view,
  At last to glittering life the total figures grew."


The last stanza describes the business carried on in the scriptorium,
and may help the reader, the next time he visits the ruins of an old
monastery, and sees among the mouldering remains, the traces of such
an apartment, to picture to himself the scene which enlivened that
spot when the abbey walls, now covered with moss, appeared in all
their stately pride.  Deep silence, as the above description
indicates, was observed by the monks, when carrying on their studies
and their writing; and, to prevent its being broken, they were
required to adopt a whimsical system of communication with each other
respecting anything they wanted.  "Of course there was a sign for a
book.  For a book, in general, they were to extend their hand, and
move it, as if turning over the leaf of a book.  The general sign
being made, another was added to distinguish the sort of book wanted;
and there were distinct signs for the Missal, the Gospels, the
Epistolary, the Psalter, the Rule, and so on; but to distinguish a
book written by a heathen, the monk was to scratch his ear like a
dog."[5]

From catalogues of monastic libraries preserved in D'Achery's
Spicelegium, it may be concluded that it was considered a large
collection, when an abbey possessed from two to three hundred
volumes.  The rich abbey of Centule had such a collection, in the
ninth century.[6]  The mention of a library like this will give to
some readers the idea of books having been more common in the dark
ages than they had supposed; for there can be no doubt that the
scarcity of books, at that period, has been somewhat exaggerated; but
still, even a library of this extent, in a wealthy abbey, does not
say much in proof of a large multiplication of manuscripts, and of
great diligence on the part of monastic transcribers.  The process of
copying was, as every one must admit, tedious and expensive; but the
Romans, the Egyptians, and the Saracens, had to contend with the same
difficulties, yet their libraries were some of them prodigiously
large.  Seven hundred thousand volumes, it was calculated, were in
the famous library of Alexandria: but that was beyond all parallel.
The library of Pergamus, however, amounted to 200,000 volumes.
Doubtless, many of the books of the ancients were small, for Ovid
speaks of his fifteen books of Metamorphoses as forming an equal
number of volumes;[7] yet, allowing for this, some of the libraries
of antiquity must have been very extensive.  Nor were very
considerable libraries at all uncommon, in the houses of men of
literary taste, before the fall of Rome.  The libraries of the
Saracens were also extremely large.  That of the Fatimites consisted
of 100,000 manuscripts; and that of the Ommiades, in Spain, amounted
to 600,000.  It would be unfair to place large public libraries, or
the private collections of princes, in comparison with the library of
a monastery; but still, when we see how the difficulty of multiplying
books by the pen has been overcome in many instances, and when we
look at the vast numbers of persons in Europe, during so many
centuries, devoted to the monastic profession, their literary labours
do not appear to have been very great.

Instances of the high prices given for books in the middle ages have
been often quoted.  Mabillon relates that the countess of Anjou paid
to the bishop of Halberstadt, for a copy of the Homilies of Haimon,
two hundred sheep, a modius of wheat, and the same of rye and millet,
beside four pounds in money, and some marten skins.[8]  It would be
very unreasonable to take an instance like this as a sample of the
value of mere manuscripts at that time.  Volumes were often most
splendidly illuminated and adorned, and this was probably one of the
most costly kind.  For instance, in the catalogue of books in the
library of Centule, already referred to, we find mention made of an
illuminated volume of the Gospels, bound in plates of gold and
silver, and richly adorned with precious stones.[9]  Facts, of the
order just cited, are not to be deemed so much proofs of the scarcity
of books, as of the extreme value of certain volumes, arising from
the precious materials of which they were composed, and the labour
bestowed upon illuminating and adorning them.  Still, books plainly
written, and without ornament, must have been far from numerous, and
therefore very valuable; as is evident from the catalogues of
monastic libraries, which were almost the only collections having any
pretension to that name.

It will not be uninteresting to the reader to be informed what were
the kinds of books which these libraries contained.  In the abbey of
Centule, we find Homer, Cicero, Josephus, Pliny, Socrates, Sozomen,
Theodoret, Philo, Eusebius, Origen, Augustin, Jerome, Gregory,
Isidore, Hilary, Chrysostom, Cassiodorus, Fulgentius, Bede, beside
several authors of lesser note, together with a number of service
books.  After enumerating these works, the writer of the chronicle
speaks of them as the aliment of celestial life, feeding the soul
with sweetness, so that, in Centule, the saying was fulfilled, "Love
the study of books, and you will not love the practice of vice."[10]

Few of the classical writers are found in these catalogues; for, in
general, during the former part of the middle ages, no attention was
paid to the study of them, even by those who made pretensions to
literary taste and acquirements, though a few writers may be found,
even at that period, who discover some acquaintance with them; but,
at a subsequent era, a taste for classical studies revived, and,
after the eleventh century, a large number of transcripts from
classic authors were made by the monks of the Benedictine order.
Yet, as we are indebted to the western monasteries for the
preservation of the Latin classics, it is quite plain that there must
have been throughout the middle ages, in some or other of them,
enough of value set upon these works to induce the monks to copy them.

But the most interesting part of the catalogue is, that which relates
to the Scriptures.  At the commencement of the list of books we find,
"One entire Bible, containing seventy-two books, in one volume; also,
a Bible divided into fourteen volumes;" and then the Commentaries of
Jerome on many of the books of Scripture.  In other catalogues, also,
parts of the Bible, and even the whole of it, may be found included.
A whole copy of the Scriptures, however, was rare, but detached
portions of the sacred volume were much less so.  In a list of
monastic treasures, belonging to the abbey of Fontenelle, the
following item occurs.  "The four Evangelists, on purple vellum,
which Augesius (the abbot) ordered to be written in the Roman letter,
of which he completed Matthew, Luke, and John, but death coming,
(_interveniente morte ejusdem_,) the rest remained imperfect."  There
is something touching in this simple record of the abbot's purpose
thus cut off by the stroke of mortality, reminding us all of the
possibility of our being taken away in the midst of plans more
characteristic of modern times, but which, nevertheless, may be not
so worthy of our spiritual and immortal nature.

Of course it will be understood that the Bibles, and parts of Bibles
found in the monasteries of the west, were not written in the
original languages, but were copies of the Latin version.  To the
Greek monasteries we owe the preservation of Grecian literature.  The
convents, which covered, with picturesque beauty, the sides of Mount
Athos, were the chief scenes of these learned labours.  Not only were
the manuscripts of the Iliad of Homer copied within sight of the very
sea once traversed by the black and hollow ships which he describes,
but the epistles of Paul were also transcribed on the shores of the
same waters, over which he sailed on his errands of Divine mercy.

The multiplying of manuscripts and the collecting of books, whether
sacred or profane, during these times of ignorance, were owing no
doubt to the taste for learning which was cherished by a few, who had
influence sufficient to engage others in the manual departments of
literary occupation.  Such men as Bede, Alcuin, and Raban Maurus,
were enthusiastic lovers of books, and would do everything in their
power to imbue others with the same feeling.  They are distinguished
names, shining out as stars of peculiar brilliancy during that season
of gloom; but there were other men, whose names are preserved only in
the obscure records of monasteries, long since dissolved, who seem to
have been most diligent students.  An amusing instance of a love for
reading, occurs in the records of the abbey of St. Benignus, in the
eleventh century.  "The abbot Halinard," says the writer, "was so
fond of reading that, even on a journey, he often carried a little
book in his hand, and refreshed his mind by perusing it on
horseback."[11]  An abbot riding on horseback, with a book in his
hand, would certainly be no fitting type of the generality of
ecclesiastics at that time; all the more honour, then, to him and
others like-minded, for their strong literary predilections.  They
were persons who finely exemplified "the pursuit of knowledge under
difficulties," and we, in the present day, may derive, from their
simple histories, a stimulus to renewed ardour and perseverance in
the cultivation of the mind: for if they, with all their
disadvantages, thus laboured to furnish themselves with knowledge,
how much more ought we, in these times, to do so, when the means of
literary acquisition are so widely diffused.

The benevolence of the church has been already noticed.  In
monasteries especially was this virtue displayed.  If we are to
believe what is said in the Chronicle of the Abbey of Centule, the
brotherhood there actually impoverished themselves, and brought the
establishment into a very critical position by their extreme
liberality and simple-heartedness; but admitting, as perhaps the
reader will be inclined to do, that it is quite possible the
generosity of the brethren is a trifle overrated, and that, even when
some deduction is made from the statement, the case of Centule was
not a common one; yet it must be confessed that there is sufficient
evidence extant to induce a belief that benevolence was not an
uncommon virtue in these fraternities.  Peculiar kindness was shown
in monasteries to travellers who sought their hospitality; and it was
the injunction of Benedict to his followers, that they should prefer
to render service to the poor brethren of Christ rather than to pay
attention to the wealthy sons of this world.  The _xenodochium_, or
guest-house, within the precincts of each monastery, stood open to
receive all visitors who came, as well as to yield support to a
certain number of paupers; and though such an institution was liable
to great abuse, and this system of relief altogether was open to
objection, yet, doubtless, it supplied desirable assistance to many
of the aged, the sick, and the weary--offered a useful place of
sojourn to the traveller, who found no inns to go to, as in modern
times, and proceeded from a kind and generous spirit, which appears
peculiarly beautiful in those days of violence and semi-barbarism.
But, in seasons of famine, which were not uncommon, the monks often
displayed more than usual liberality.  It is related of an abbot of
St. Albans, in the eleventh century, that, in a time of great
scarcity, he not only emptied his granaries, but parted with many of
the valuables of the church to supply food for his starving
neighbours; and that, when expostulated with, by some of his
brethren, for parting with possessions consecrated to the service of
God, he replied, that living temples were more valuable than material
edifices, and that to support the former was more important than to
decorate the latter.[12]


[1] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. 83.

[2] Lingard's Anglo-Saxons, vol. i. p. 201.

[3] Maitland's Dark Ages, p. 406.

[4] Quoted in Maitland's Dark Ages, p. 453.

[5] Maitland's Dark Ages, p. 403.  Du Cange, Glossary, voce _Signum_.

[6] "The volumes," says the chronicler, "amount to 256, but some of
these volumes contains several manuscripts, so that if we were to
number these separately they would exceed 500."--_D'Achery, Spic._
ii. 311.

[7] Ovid. i. 29.

[8] Benedict An., lib. lxi., No. 6.

[9] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. p. 306.

[10] D'Achery, Spic. vol. ii.

[11] D'Achery, Spic., tom. ii. p. 392.

[12] Matt. Paris, Lingard's Anglo-Saxon Antiq. vol. i. p. 214.



SECTION IV.

EFFECTS OF MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS ON SOCIETY.

But we must not extend these illustrations of monastic life and
influence.  Enough has been said to show that the effect of these
institutions on society was of a mixed character.  They were
fountains both of good and evil.  Their effect on society at large,
would mainly depend upon the effect which they produced on their
members: and that effect would be greatly modified by the peculiar
character and temperament of each individual.

Their natural influence upon idle and sensually-minded men was to
cherish their indolence and depravity, and to lead to that vice and
dissoluteness which, unless we are to disbelieve the strongest
evidence, did really characterise the inmates of many an abbey.  To
the man of ambition and energy the scenes of the cloister, though
apparently separated from the world, presented no unsuitable sphere
for the exercise of qualities which fitted him to take a leading part
in the political affairs of the nation;--for a monastery of some
three or four hundred brethren, (in certain cases it contained many
more,) with, their gradations of rank, their forms of government,
their legislative power in the chapter-house, their judicial
proceedings, and their different employments, formed a little world
which was a type of the greater world, with its intrigues,
controversies, conflicts, and struggles after place, power, and
influence;--hence, from these retreats there came forth many a
churchman animated by a spirit, and possessing policy and tact, which
prepared him to take a leading part in the transactions of the day,
and even to lay his hand on the helm of affairs, and to guide the
vessel of the state for good or evil.  As it regards persons of a
studious turn, the monastery was a sort of college, where, in
quietude, and with the best assistance which the age supplied, they
could train and improve their minds, and write for the instruction of
their brethren.  And as it respects men of a mechanical genius, or of
artistic taste, there were employments for them, suited to their
predilections, and adapted to call forth their industry and skill.

Individuals of a contemplative cast, and of devout habits, it cannot
be doubted, found aliment for their piety in the better parts of the
services of the church--in some of those beautiful hymns sung at
vespers, or the hour of prime, which cannot be read, in these days,
but with the deepest pleasure--in certain writings of the
fathers--and in those scenes of nature's loveliness which lay
outspread around the convent walls, reminding the beholder of their
Creator's power and goodness.  And further, in the case of men of a
benevolent disposition, with hearts open to the appeals of distress,
the monastery might furnish them with the means of supplying relief
to the suffering sons and daughters of humanity, and might give some
scope, though limited, to the exemplification of the active virtues.

With regard to some of the beneficial, as well as some of the evil
effects of the monastic institute, it is to be observed that they
arose from innovations made upon the original system.  If any contend
that the profligacy of monks arose from the corruption of monastic
discipline, and is not to be charged upon the system, as it proceeded
from its founder, they must also admit that the literature of the
monks, and whatever they accomplished as architects, and artists, and
men of taste, equally arose in a departure from the strict rules of
monastic order, and cannot, therefore, be regarded as fruits of the
original institute.  That an attention to literature, in its secular
branches, and the cultivation of art, in its highest forms, was not
provided for in the letter, nay, was out of harmony with the spirit
of the rules of St. Benedict, must be apparent to every one who looks
at that code of discipline; and, moreover, that these things were
blamed by monastic reformers in the middle ages, and by those who, in
the spirit of monachism, aspired to ascetic perfection, is evident
from a glance at their history and writings.

We have said nothing respecting nunneries.  "Their rules were formed,
for the most part, upon those which bound the monks.  Like the monks,
they lived from common funds, and used a common dormitory, table, and
wardrobe; the same religious services exercised their piety; and
habitual temperance and occasional fasting were enjoined with the
same severity.  Manual labour was no less rigidly enforced; but
instead of the agricultural toils imposed upon their 'brethren,' to
them were committed the easier tasks of the needle, or the distaff.
By duties so numerous, by occupations admitting so great variety,
they beguiled the tediousness of the day and the dulness of monastic
seclusion."[1]  The sister of St. Benedict is said to have been the
founder of the Benedictine order of nuns, who soon became so
numerous, that, in the city of Rome, under the pontificate of Gregory
the Great, there were no less than three thousand of these
"_ancillœ Dei_," "hand-maids of God."  In the ninth century, they
had risen to such an elevation of rank and power, that it became
necessary to repress the pretended right of the abbesses to
consecrate and ordain, and perform other sacerdotal functions.[2]
"The establishment of female recluses followed very closely the
numerous diversities of the monastic scheme, and imitated the names
of the male institutions, where they could not adopt their practice,
or even their profession.  An order of Canonesses Regular was
founded, or, at least, presented with a rule, by the council of Aix
la Chapelle, in A.D. 813.  And we read, in later times, of a
community of noble young ladies, who were associated under a very
easy discipline, and unrestrained by any vow of celibacy, under the
title of Canonesses Secular.  But these last pretenders to religious
seclusion were, on more than one occasion, discountenanced by the
authorities of the church."[3]

The taking the veil was a ceremony in harmony with the ascetic spirit
of the institute, and the scene within the convent chapel, as the
priestly voice pronounced the accustomed formula in the ears of the
novice,--"Behold, daughter, and consider; forget thine own people,
and thy father's house, that the King may desire thy beauty,"--seemed
to indicate a complete abandonment of the world; but there is
abundant evidence that a secular temper, and a love of earthly
vanities, often followed the recluse to her cell, however she might
attempt to conceal it beneath the foldings of her veil.  The worldly,
the ambitious, the sensual, the devout, the literary, the benevolent,
might be found within the walls of the nunnery, as within the walls
of the monastery; and the influence of the institute upon its
professors in the one case, as in the other, and through them upon
society in general, would vary accordingly.

Such is an outline of the character and effects of monasticism--a
principle which constituted a leading element in what has been termed
"the mediæval system."  It is worthy of a deeper consideration, and
of a more philosophical and Christian method of inquiry into its
nature and results than it has commonly received.  It sprung out of
mistaken views of the human mind and of the Christian religion, and
was wholly opposed to the latter in spirit and practice.  It is
deeply affecting to think of the many earnest and pious men who were
misled by such a system, and who vainly sought by its artificial
expedients that deliverance from the power of sin, which can be
obtained only by faith in the Redeemer, by contemplating Divine
truth, by prayer for the Holy Spirit, and by the discharge of the
manifold duties of social life.  Yet does the record of this great
mistake, with all the evils which followed it, furnish us with a most
important and invaluable lesson.  "From the very nature of man, and
of the Divine government on earth, when man is left to try all his
inventions, the age of monasticism must, in all probability, one day
have come.  And had it not come when it did, we might now have been
dreaming in the depths of its midnight.  We may be grateful, then, as
well as solemn, while contemplating the mistakes and consequent gloom
of the past, and may thus become the more forbearing in the sweeping
judgments we are apt to form of those who, with no bad intention, and
in an age of but little light, and less experience, were left to lead
the way in untried paths, which have since conducted to results so
appalling and unforeseen."[4]  The failure of the monastic system to
yield to the aspirant after holiness and peace the help he needs,
should warn us against adopting any human devices for the
accomplishment of an end so infinitely important, and induce us to
cleave to the simple methods prescribed in the Bible--belief of the
truth, self-watchfulness, and prayer.

Unsound in principle, the system yielded, as might be expected, a
harvest of mischief, not only to pure and noble minds whom it misled,
but to other minds whose indolence and vice it nourished, while to
mankind at large, it exhibited, in many an instance, a most unlovely
spectacle of religious pretensions allied with irreligious practice;
and, at the same time, poured over the mass of society the contagion
of a pernicious example.  Yet, during an age of barbarism, it
preserved the seeds of taste and art--during an age of misrule, it
afforded a shelter for the oppressed--during an age of ignorance, it
kept alive some germs of learning--and during an age of cruel
selfishness it illumined the world by some kindly gleams of
benevolence.  By an overruling Power it was made to serve some useful
purposes, for many centuries after its establishment; but when its
corruption had reached its height, and the better results it had once
produced were neither felt nor needed, because a new state of things
in the civilised world had come, it was smitten by the hand of
Providence, and left to wither.  In the control exerted over it for
good, and in its destruction to such an extent, when it only produced
evil, we see the wise and mighty hand of Providence, and are
constrained to exclaim--"This also cometh from the Lord of hosts,
which is wonderful in counsel, and excellent in working."


[1] Waddington's History of the Church, p. 398.

[2] Wellington's History of the Church, p. 400.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Bibliotheca Sacra, vol. i. p. 312.



CHAPTER IV.

THE FEUDAL CASTLE.

Feudalism is a leading fact in the history of the middle ages.  It is
characteristic of the social condition of Europe at that time.  We
cannot at all understand the state of things which then prevailed,
unless we have a distinct conception of feudalism.  It was a system
which wrought most extensively and vigorously.  It produced an
immense effect in the hour of its zenith; it created an influence
which lingered long after its decline, and which has not yet spent
all its force.

We shall attempt to trace the rise and progress of feudalism out of
the mingled elements of Roman and barbarian society.



SECTION I.

RISE OF FEUDALISM.

When the northern warriors subdued Europe, they divided the lands in
the conquered territories between the vanquished and themselves, not
forgetting, however, to retain in most cases the lion's share.  The
Vandals seized upon all the best lands in Africa.  The Visigoths and
Burgundians, who settled in Spain and Gaul, took two-thirds of the
territorial property; but the Lombards, who descended upon Italy,
more moderate in their desires, were content with a third part of the
produce of the soil.

In the distribution of land among the victorious Franks, unequal
shares were received by different parties, according to their rank or
merit; but the chief, or leader of the army, had not the power of
supreme disposal, and did not, as some seem to suppose, divide among
his followers the conquered lands, to be held on condition of their
rendering him service.  Too proud a spirit of independence reigned
among those fierce warriors to admit of any such arrangement.  Each
soldier felt his individual importance, and, when an enemy was
subdued, looked for the share of the spoil that might fall to him,
not as a gift from his leader, but as his own indefeasible right.
Nay, he watched with the greatest jealousy the claims of his
sovereign, of which a proof is given in the following well-known
story.  Clovis, king of the Franks, when plundering a church at
Soissons of its rich utensils, appropriated to himself a splendid
vase, over and above what fell to his share; but one of his soldiers,
dashing it in pieces with his battle-axe, exclaimed, "You shall have
nothing here but what falls to you by lot."  The existence of a
spirit like this was quite inconsistent with the supposition, that
the leaders of the army established themselves at once, as the
paramount lords of the soil, in the countries they conquered, and
divided it among their followers, as among so many beneficiaries, who
were bound to render service in return.  The property acquired in the
first instance by the followers, as well as the chief, was
_allodial_, that is, independent--absolute.  It was, to all intents
and purposes a freehold, burdened with no other obligation than the
duty of the owner to appear in defence of the commonwealth.

But though the barbarian kings were not the sovereign lords of the
whole soil, yet they received a much larger share than any of their
officers.  Fiscal lands, or royal demesnes, were appropriated to them
for their own use, and for the maintenance of their proper dignity.
These were, in many cases, granted to their favourites, to be held
under certain conditions.  It is said that no obligations of military
service were expressly annexed to these grants; but there cannot be
the shadow of a doubt that some substantial return of that kind was
expected from the persons thus favoured by their chieftain.  Indeed,
a positive proof that such was the case, is found in the fact, that
under Charlemagne, the possessors of these estates were required to
take the field in person, while the holders of allodial property were
only required to furnish soldiers, at the rate of one for every three
farms.

These estates thus bestowed by the barbarian kings were called
BENEFICES, and were the germs of the _feuds_, or fiefs, which
constituted the foundation, and which gave the name to the feudal
system.  Much antiquarian research has been expended on the origin
both of the arrangement and the name.  We are inclined to believe
that the parent principles are to be found in the _emphyteusis_ of
the Romans, and the _comitatus_ of the Germans.  The word
_emphyteusis_ signifies engrafting or planting, and was applied to
property granted for cultivation.  The property of the estate was
vested in one party, and the usufruct in a second, who held it on
condition of certain payments, and retained the use of it so long as
the stipulated rent was paid.  The relation between the parties seems
to have been something more than the common one between landlord and
tenant, even when the latter is secured in possession by the covenant
of a lease, for a term of years.  It approaches nearer to a copyhold
tenure.  In this arrangement, we see the prototype of the feudal lord
and his tenant, permanently holding lands upon condition of rendering
some acknowledgment of dependence.  The _comitatus_ of the Germans
was different from this.  The word signifies a band of retainers who
accompanied their chief in war.  The union was voluntarily formed,
but, when once formed, it was deemed disgraceful to break it.  The
favour of these martial adherents was gained or preserved by presents
of horses and arms, and by rude and profuse hospitality.  In this
custom, we have a further prototype of the lord; this warlike band
were attached to his person, shared in his quarrels, and fought under
his banner; and, as the ground of their services, received from him
certain benefits, chiefly the possession and use of landed estates.
Sir Francis Palgrave is of opinion that the word _fief_ is a
contraction of _fitef_, which he further supposes to be a colloquial
abbreviation of _emphyteusis_, usually pronounced _emphytefsis_.
"The essential and fundamental principle of a territorial fief, or
feud," he observes, "is, that the land is held by a limited or
conditional estate, the property being in the lord, the usufruct in
the tenant."[1]  And other antiquarians have derived the term vassal
from the German _gesell_, which signifies a subordinate associate, or
helper.  The feudal principles and usages certainly sprung from the
intermingling of Roman and Gothic society, amidst the convulsions of
the fifth and the following centuries; and it is therefore by no
means unreasonable to look for the seeds of them among the
institutions of both parties.

Some have maintained that the benefices granted, in the way
described, were originally revocable by the lord at pleasure, and
that it was not till some time afterwards that an hereditary interest
was possessed by the tenant; but Mr. Hallam, whose learning and
judgment in such matters are equally admirable, questions this, and
believes that hereditary fiefs obtained in many instances, from the
beginning.  Subinfeudation, or the parcelling out a territory to a
number of under-tenants, was an early result, proceeding from the
possession of hereditary benefices.  Traces of this practice are
found in the times of Pepin, king of France; they are more numerous
under Charlemagne; and in later times they are so general as to prove
that the custom was nearly universal.  Thus two classes of fiefs
arose--the _royal_, or principal fiefs, held immediately from the
crown; and the _arrière_, or subordinate fiefs, which were dependent
upon the nobility.  The parties who had received their fiefs from the
king swore allegiance to him as their lord; and they, in their turn,
exacted a similar oath of fidelity from their own tenants.

Still, only some part of the property of a country was held on the
feudal tenure; a considerable part remained allodial, or free.  But
what guarantee had the proprietor for quiet possession?  A number of
small landholders found themselves surrounded by mighty chieftains,
whose estates were extensive, and whose power was increased by the
number of vassals they gathered about them through the practice of
subinfeudation.  In an age when the spirit of justice was scarcely
known--when law furnished no shield of protection--the freeholder was
constantly exposed to the oppression of his haughty neighbours.  If
some feudal baron cast his eye upon the field of the allodialist, as
Ahab did on Naboth's vineyard, it was in vain for the proprietor to
resist.  It was better to yield it up to him at once, as a feudal
estate, and to occupy it as a fief incident to certain services, than
to have it taken away altogether, or even subjected to depredation
and pillage.  Beside, in seasons of anarchy and war, when foreign
enemies invaded a kingdom, or rapacious lords issued from their
castles to gather a harvest of spoil, the possessor of an independent
estate felt that if he would keep what he had, it would be better for
him to put himself and his estate under the wing of feudalism, and
thus secure the only kind of protection which the times afforded.

The incipient forms of the feudal relation arose at a very early
period; but to suppose that what is called the "feudal system"
existed then, is a great mistake.  The state of things, designated by
that appellation, did not reach its definite form, nor did its
ramifications branch out to their full extent, till the tenth
century.  In France, feudalism had the deepest root, and arrived
earliest at maturity; but during the ninth century, even there, we
see it but gradually rising amidst the storms of anarchy which ensued
upon the dissolution of the empire founded by Charlemagne.  Feudalism
was not, as some seem to imagine, a system introduced, at once, by
the barbarian invaders, wherever they established their sway, but a
form of social existence and power, which, though its parentage may
be partly attributed to the German tribes, was also indebted, for its
being, to causes which came into operation after the settlement of
the northern warriors in their conquered territories; and, when it
had attained its full vigour, it was very unlike anything which had
been ever before seen either by themselves or others.


[1] Proofs and Illustrations of the Origin of Eng. Commonwealth, vol.
i. p. 208.



SECTION II.

FEUDALISM IN FRANCE.

Feudalism, as already intimated, reached its height in France, where
we find it in its palmy pride, during the tenth and eleventh
centuries.  Had we travelled through the country at that time, we
should have been especially struck with the vast number of castles
scattered over the land.  Within them were concentrated the elements
of strength.  Feudal owners were the captains, rulers, and
magistrates of the age.  These important personages might be divided
into two classes, according to the nature of the fiefs which they
held.  The holders of royal fiefs formed the first class, the holders
of arrière, or subordinate fiefs, formed the second class.  The
former comprised dukes, marquises, counts; the latter included those
of the lesser barons, who were denominated châtelains, as having a
right to occupy fortified houses.  The latter class of nobles were
dependent on the former, and stood to them in the relation of
vassals; they again, in their turn, had a number of dependents,
subject to their authority, and owing them military service.  Each of
these nobles was a sovereign in his own domain, the fountain of law,
polity, and order.  His superior lord did not interfere with him in
his internal rule, but simply required from him certain external
feudal services.  Sovereignty in France had sunk, at this time, to a
very low ebb, and retained but a shadow of authority.  The kings of
that country were then little more than nobles, holding fiefs of
their own, subject to no superior; over their own territories they
had complete feudal power, like other lords, but beyond that, their
authority was feeble.  A tie of supremacy scarcely more than a
name--a memento of the past, resulting from the original grant of
benefices by the crown, alone remained.

The noble, or aristocratic class, was not limited by the rank of
secondary barons, who had the privilege of establishing themselves in
their own castles.  There were other persons deemed to be possessors
of noble or gentle blood.  Every knightly dependent belonged to the
privileged order.  "The distinct class of nobility became coextensive
with the feudal tenures.  For the military tenant, however poor, was
subject to no tribute, no prestation, but service in the field;--he
was the companion of his lord in the sports and feasting of his
castle--the peer of his court: he fought on horseback--he was clad in
a coat of mail--while the commonalty, if summoned at all to war, came
on foot, and with no armour of defence.  Every possessor of a fief
was a gentleman, though he owned but a few acres of land, and
furnished his slender contribution towards the equipment of a
knight."[1]  Members of all these noble classes were eligible to hold
offices of state; but none beside them had this privilege, except the
clergy.  These advantages being hereditary, all marriages between the
noble and the plebeian class were forbidden.  Thus an immense
aristocracy was formed, having no sympathies with the lower classes.
Such of the latter who retained the name of freemen were chiefly the
inhabitants of towns; beside these, were a few scattered allodialists
and rural tenants, subject to certain pecuniary payments.  The
inhabitants of towns, were least dependent, and suffered least from
feudal oppression; freemen in the country were quite at the mercy of
their powerful military neighbours.  Next to these were the villeins,
or cultivators of the land, who were attached to the soil, but yet
were permitted to hold property of their own; and below them came the
serfs, who were in a state of abject slavery.  The power of the lord
over them was so absolute, that, in the language of a feudal
law-book,[2] "he might take all they had, alive or dead, and imprison
them when he pleased, being accountable to none but God."  In this
degraded class, slavery existed, in a form quite as revolting as we
ever find it in the worst days of the Roman republic; though,
perhaps, the power of the master was less severely exercised by the
feudal lord than by the ancient patrician.

Thus, then, all power, political and civil, centred in the feudal
aristocracy.  They only were lords of the soil, and rulers of the
state; property, military command, judicial authority, were all
vested in them.  The "people" had no political existence.  The
popular element of society, as developed in the ancient world, as
seen in the Roman commonwealth, had perished in the convulsions which
succeeded the fall of the empire; and the popular element of modern
society had not yet appeared.  Aristocracy had little or nothing to
struggle with, either above or below it.  The principle reigned in
all its power; it exerted an unchecked influence.  Yet it was not the
union of the noble class that gave them strength.  The feudal lords
of the same rank were independent of each other, and assumed isolated
positions.  Entrenched within his own fortress, each stood aloof from
the rest; and when they did meet, it was not unfrequently front to
front, as enemies in the field.  They inherited and displayed much of
that spirit of proud individual independence which had burned in the
bosom of their German ancestors: each one relied upon himself rather
than upon his order; and thus they greatly differed from the
aristocracies of ancient and modern times; in all of which we see a
principle of union at work--a measure of personal importance, derived
from association with others of the same class, and a measure of
individual strength and influence, derived from a feeling of common
interest.

In the feudal aristocracy were included the higher orders in the
church--the prelates, and the abbots of large monasteries.  The fiefs
they held rendered them to all intents feudal lords, and the spirit
and practice of the system were displayed by them in whatever related
to their territorial possessions.  They swore fealty to the king as
the lord paramount, and divided their estates among vassals on
military tenures, while at the same time they claimed and exercised
in their own territory the same sort of civil jurisdiction as
belonged to the temporal barons.  Their sovereign demanded that they
should equip a certain number of men for his service in war; and
hence it was customary for an abbot to choose some baron in the
character of "advocate," to lead the vassals of the monastic fiefs to
battle, and generally to protect the interests of the abbey.

Having presented this brief outline of the distinctions of feudal
society, we shall attempt a sketch of the forms, relations, and
usages of feudal life, as exhibited in France, during the period of
their most striking exemplification.

Let us, then, suppose ourselves carried back, through the interval of
some eight or nine centuries, to one of the provinces of France.  Let
the reader's imagination supply the place of those powers of
enchantment whose existence was fully believed at the time of which
we treat.  We land in France in the eleventh century, and fancy
ourselves walking on the banks of a river skirted by hills and woods.
Yonder, on the summit of the rising ground, stands a stern looking
castle, just catching the beams of the setting sun.  It is a building
of some considerable size, constructed of stone.  The outer wall is
flanked by towers, and a fosse, or ditch, runs round the enclosure,
and communicates with the river.  The chief entrance is through a
gateway in the wall, guarded on each side by a tower, and spanned by
a plain semicircular arch.  On entering the gate, we observe the iron
points of the immense portcullis ready to fall, in case of the
fortress being attacked.  On entering the castle-yard, the lofty keep
stands before us, appropriated as the residence of the feudal owner
and his family.  It is the very type of stability, but has no
pretensions to architectural taste and display.  Safety, not
elegance, is what the lord of this rough dwelling regards.  Many of
the apartments in the keep are small, and all are comfortless.  The
windows are mere loopholes, through which the light of heaven
struggles for admission.  The great hall is the chief room in the
baronial residence, where, seated on the dais at the upper end, the
lordly owner presides at the table of his family and household, and
sometimes entertains his guests with banquets and festivities, in
accordance with the character of the age.  Rude, for the most part,
is the furniture which even the best of the apartments contain, and
when the nearest approach is made to magnificence, there is little of
ease or comfort associated with it.  Let us ascend the battlements of
the tower, and look over the surrounding country, diversified by
field and flood, all of which, far as the eye can reach, and far
beyond, is subject to the owner of this castle.  Gazing on the
prospect, we at length perceive the gleaming of lances among the
trees that skirt the road up to the barbican, or entrance of the
fortress; a band of horsemen, some in plain mailed armour, ride up to
the gate.  It is the lord and his retinue, just returned from the
sovereign's court, where he has been doing homage for his barony.

It was a scene of splendour, characteristic of the times, which he
witnessed there.  At two seasons of the year, Easter and Christmas,
the French king holds his court, when he appears robed in his regal
mantle, glittering with gold, and adorned with his richly-jewelled
crown.  These occasions are made choice of for a display of royal
magnificence before the vast crowd of barons, prelates, and state
officers.  The monarch entertains them with feasts, and bestows on
them rich suits of raiment, (_livrées_--liveries,) suited to their
rank and the season of the year.  The king sits at table with his
court, and is waited on by the great officers of the household: other
acts of condescension and liberality are performed.  Gifts are
bestowed upon the royal favourites; heralds are sent among the
concourse gathered together by the pageantries of the occasion, to
shout the well-known "largesse;" and hanaps (cups) full of silver are
scattered among the people.[3]

From such a scene has yonder baron just returned, and there, by a
significant ceremony, he has sealed the feudal compact with his
sovereign as liege lord.  He has been doing homage and swearing
fealty.  His head was uncovered, his belt was ungirt, his sword and
his spurs laid aside, while, kneeling, he placed his clasped hands
within those of his lord, and swore to serve him with life and limb,
and worldly honour, faithfully and loyally for ever.  This done, the
monarch, on his part, accepted the baron as his vassal, promised to
protect his property and his person, and then sealed the compact with
a royal kiss.  Connected with all this was the act of investiture, by
which the baron became possessed of his lands; it consisted in the
monarch's delivering to him some type of the property, such as a
stone, or the branch of a tree.  A relief, as it is called--a sum
equal to one year's produce of the estate--was paid at the time of
the investiture.  He now enters on his lordship over the surrounding
domain.  As we have already intimated, it is very extensive.  It
contains several other castles, inhabited by the holders of arriere
fiefs.  Over all the inhabitants of that territory, he is the ruler.
His authority is real, while that of the king over him is merely
nominal.  He is bound by no laws which his sovereign may make, unless
he give his consent; and it is very probable that he will never
attend any of the royal councils, and, therefore, will not be brought
under any legal obligation to regard the statutes enacted.  He is
subject to no taxes whatever--feudal aids, like those which we shall
presently notice, as payable to himself from his vassals, are all the
pecuniary tributes which he owes to his prince.  Military service is
the chief thing which he is required to render.  The sovereign has no
power over the baron's territory, either legislative or judicial; and
the provinces of France are in truth separate states, among which a
loose sort of federative connexion exists, at the head of which the
monarch appears possessed of nominal, rather than virtual
sovereignty.  There are, however, certain moral obligations which ran
through all the grades of the feudal relation, which he is bound by
honour to observe.

He is bound not to divulge any secret with which his lord intrusts
him, nor to conceal from him the traitorous designs of his enemies,
nor to injure his person or property, nor to violate the honour of
any of his family.  Breaches of fidelity, in these respects, are
deemed acts of the highest treason.  Moreover, he is under obligation
to give up his horse to his lord, in case he is dismounted in
battle--to fight by his side to the last, and to go into captivity as
a hostage for him when taken prisoner.

We have seen that the baron is supreme lord over the whole of his own
territory; all the minor barons, knights, and tenants of every
description are his vassals.  They hold their lands of him on feudal
conditions.  He renders them protection, and they return allegiance
and service.  Without going so far as one of the castles held by the
subordinate nobles in his domain, let us look a little at the
relation borne to him by a neighbouring tenant, who holds what is
termed a knight's fee, or such an extent of land as is sufficient to
maintain a man-at-arms as well as his horse.  An old vassal of that
class, who has long tenanted the little estate which lies on the bank
of the river, at no great distance from the castle, has lately died,
and the property now comes to the eldest son; for, whatever might be
the original nature of fiefs, whether revocable at pleasure or not,
they have long since become, not merely estates for life, but
hereditary possessions.  The young man cannot enter on the enjoyment
of the paternal lands without doing homage to his lord, and receiving
investiture at his hands.  He therefore enters the baron's presence,
and passes through a ceremony similar to that which was performed a
little while ago, when the baron himself became the vassal of his
sovereign.  Connected with the proceeding is the payment of the
relief, which in this case, as in the former, amounts to one year's
produce of the land.  He is now in full possession of his fief, and
may go his way and inherit the paternal domain.

Other pecuniary payments, in the shape of aids, as they are called,
may, under certain circumstances, be exacted from the tenant.
Whenever the baron's daughter, whom we saw just now walking on the
parapet of the castle, her half-drawn veil blown aside by the evening
breeze, shall be married to the young count, whom she was watching as
he kissed and waved his hand on his prancing steed, and then vanished
among the trees--whenever the eldest son, the heir of his father's
estates and honours, shall be made a knight--or whenever it shall
happen that the baron himself is taken captive, and a ransom is
demanded for his release, the tenant will be bound to contribute
pecuniary aids to his lord, which aids appear to be unfixed in their
amount, and to depend much on the arbitrary will of the exactor.

Soon a quarrel breaks out between the baron and another noble, and as
there is no common jurisdiction to decide the matter, in these times,
when the royal authority over its vassals has sunk into utter
inefficiency, an appeal is made to arms.  It is one of the savage but
boasted rights of the barons, that they are at liberty thus to settle
their disputes by the sword.  The vassals must be armed to attend
their lord to the field, and, therefore, the young knight must mount
his horse and follow his feudal master to the scene of conflict.
Forty days' service may be demanded from all who hold a knight's fee;
but the law as to the distance to which they are bound to follow
their lord, is by no means fixed: according to the usage, in some
baronies, the vassal is not bound to go beyond the limits of the
lordship; in other cases, he must follow wherever his superior may
lead, provided it be not more than a day's journey from home.  Upon
the knights in this barony, we will suppose, it is obligatory to
attend upon their suzerain to a much greater distance.  The battle
has been fought--the victory gained: and now the knight returns to
his home, and suspends his shield and helmet in the paternal hall.

Ere long, he receives another summons, not to perform the service of
a soldier, but to discharge the functions of a judge.  It has been
noticed already that the baron has a legislative and judicial
authority over his own territories; but it is necessary that his
knightly vassals, who are peers of his court, should attend to aid
his councils, and to unite with him in the decision of such cases as
may be submitted to his tribunal.  The assembled vassals may be seen
standing about that little mound of earth in the court-yard, which is
the place of justice, and there our young knight mingles among them.
By this baron's court is possessed the power of life and death--or
_la haute justice_, as it is called--a prerogative not confined to
barons of the highest class, but extended to all châtelains, or
possessors of castles, and sometimes even to the inferior nobility;
an odd distinction, however, is kept up among them, in the form of
the instrument of death which they employ, for the baron's gallows
may have three posts, or supporters, the châtelains but two, and the
inferior lord only one.

In the present instance, the court is summoned to determine a case of
disputed civil right between two tenants.  It is difficult to decide
the point: the defendant impugns the statement of the plaintiff,
declares him perjured, and, throwing down his gage, appeals to the
judgment of God, and claims trial by combat.  This practice has
succeeded the trial by ordeal, and is of the same absurd and cruel
character; for the man who, perhaps, has already been deprived of his
rights, is now in danger of being deprived of life.  The privilege of
making this appeal extends still further, and even were the case
adjudged by the baron's court, the party who conceived he had
suffered wrong, might call his judges into the field, and decide the
question by the sword.  The wager of battle just thrown down by the
defendant is accepted by his adversary, and the day of combat is
appointed by the baron.  They are to meet on horseback, accoutred as
knights, for they are of gentle blood--were they plebeians, they
would be armed with club and target.  They must fight till one party
is slain or cries for mercy.  In the latter case the person who gives
in will lose his cause, and be further subject to a fine.  Women,
ecclesiastics, and men above sixty years of age, may employ champions
to assert their cause in the field of combat; but should the proxy
yield, he is liable to have his right hand cut off.

One of the tenants of the baron wishes to part with his lands to a
stranger, in other words, to alienate his fief.  The assent of his
lord is requisite.  He has received his fief, it is supposed, for
reasons relating to himself and family, at least his heart and arm
are bound to his superior, and his service is not to be changed for
that of another, who might be unwilling or unable to render it.  By
the law of France, the lord is entitled, upon every alienation made
by the tenant, either to redeem the fief, by paying the
purchase-money, or to claim a certain part of the value, by way of
fine upon the change of tenancy.

Another event occurs.  An old vassal dies, and leaves no one to
inherit his lands.  What becomes of his estate?  It is _escheated_,
to use the legal phrase, that is, it reverts to the lord.  He is the
fountain whence property and power emanate, and the reservoir to
which, under these circumstances, they return.

The fiefs now described are regular and military; but before we leave
the baron's domains we must glance at another development of the
feudal principle.  Among the horsemen whom we saw accompanying the
baron to the castle there were certain retainers, holding land upon
conditions different from those which we have just enumerated: and
there are others filling domestic offices in his household, who, on
that tenure, hold certain estates.  Among the former, are the baron's
marshal and master of the horse, who, by filling such offices, secure
possession of some of the neighbouring fields.  Among the latter are
his cup-bearer and steward, who swell his retinue on state occasions,
and receive their reward in landed property.  By keeping up this kind
of pomp, the baron emulates the splendour of the sovereign.
Mechanical arts, also, are carried on in the castle, (coining money,
for instance, which is one of the baronial rights,) and the workmen
engaged in such occupations, like the rest of the baron's dependents,
are repaid for their skill and toil by receiving lands on condition
of their rendering these useful services.

Feudalism has also extended its influence over other persons than
warriors and domestics, and over other things than landed estates.
The fisherman mooring his bark on yonder bank of the river, and
throwing out his nets, is a vassal of the lord, and holds as a fief
the right of fishing in the stream, for which he pays certain dues;
and the woodman, whose axe resounds in the neighbouring forest,
possesses the right of cutting down the trees, upon condition of
rendering some feudal service.  The system has entered the church,
and the priest of the village pays to his ecclesiastical superior an
acknowledgment for the revenues he receives from baptisms, marriages,
and the churching of women.  In fact, society is pervaded by the
spirit of feudalism.  The state, the church, every thing takes a
feudal form.

Such was feudalism in France, and its leading features are to be
traced in the state of things prevalent in other European
countries--in Germany, Spain, Italy, and England.  The modifications
it received, in each of these countries, we have not space to
describe; but a brief account of the form which it took in our own
land ought not to be omitted.


[1] Hallam, Middle Ages.

[2] Beaumanoir.

[3] Du Cange, sur Joinville, Dies. 5.



SECTION III.

MODIFICATION OF THE SYSTEM IN ENGLAND.

It was transplanted hither from Normandy, by William the Conqueror.
Some customs of a feudal character existed here among our Anglo-Saxon
ancestry, but they were not moulded into a system.  The strong arm of
William bent the English constitution into the feudal shape; but,
happily, it had an elasticity as great as that of his own bow, and at
length regained its wonted liberty.  He took care to employ feudalism
so as to make it subservient, as much as possible, to the
establishment of his own authority, and so as to avoid the evils by
which it beset and limited the French monarchy.  In France the barons
were almost independent sovereigns, and the king had but little
power, save in his own immediate domains.  But when William divided
the broad lands of England among his followers, he innovated upon the
French system.  In France, it was held as a doctrine, that an oath of
allegiance was due from the vassal to his immediate lord, and to no
other.  But William, as sagacious in the cabinet as he was valorous
in the field, required that all the land-owners of England, whether
sub-tenants, or tenants in chief, should swear fealty to him as their
sovereign.  In England, then, the vassal was not exclusively
dependent on his lord; he was dependent also on his prince; hence,
allegiance was divided, and consequently the barons' power was
lessened.  The judicial institutions of England were also different
from those of France.  In the latter country, the baron was the chief
justice in his own province, and all were bound to submit to his
authority; but in England, besides the baron's court, there were the
old Saxon county courts, where the freeholders and the barons were
required to assist the sheriffs in the administration of justice;
and, supreme over the whole, there was the king's court, (whose
judges were afterwards made itinerant,) appointed to give sentence
even among the barons, and to receive appeals from the courts below;
so that all judicial power was gradually drawn from the Anglo-Norman
barons, and grasped by the strong hand of royalty.  It is further to
be observed, that the largest fiefs under the English crown, were far
inferior in extent to some held under the crown of France; and that,
while the latter were compact, the former were scattered through
several counties.  The English baronies were consequently far more
feeble than those on the other side the channel, and hence our feudal
monarchy under the Normans and the first Plantagenets was in a much
more palmy state than the feudal monarchy of our neighbours under the
early princes of the house of Capet.  Louis VI. and VII. had but the
shadow of royalty; the Williams and the early Henries grasped a real
sceptre.  It may seem inconsistent with this that at the period in
question the French monarch ruled without a parliament, while the
Norman princes convoked the peers of the realm to aid them in
conducting affairs; but this very difference, in fact, arose from the
independence of the French and the subjection of the English crown
vassals.  The barons of France cared not to attend upon the king's
council, since no law emanating thence could bind them without their
personal consent; but the barons of England were constrained to
attend upon the royal summons, for if they remained absent, they were
still bound to obey any laws that might be made.  Another
characteristic of English feudalism remains to be noticed.  In
addition to the usual feudal incidents, such as reliefs, fines,
alienations, and aids, two other customs, which probably had before
existed in Normandy, prevailed in England.  These were, certain
claims connected with wardship and marriage.  The lord of the fief
was the guardian of the heir during his minority; he had the custody
of his person and his lands, without rendering any account of the use
made of the profits.  In the case of a male, the guardianship
continued till the minor arrived at the age of twenty-one; in the
case of a female, it terminated at the age of fourteen, when the
young lady could marry, and her husband do suit and service for her.
But before she attained that age, her lord could offer her in
marriage to whom he pleased, provided it was without disparagement or
inequality of rank; and if she refused the alliance, she had to
forfeit from her estate just so much as the person to whom her hand
had been offered would have given for the match.  The penalty was
still more severe if she married without the baron's consent; for, in
that case, a fine, equal to double what an alliance with her was
valued at, was exacted by her ruthless sovereign.  In addition to all
this, the feudal lord in England extended his authority over the
daughters of all his vassals, not allowing any of them to be married
but on condition of the payment of a certain sum; so that marriages
yielded him an abundant harvest of revenue.

These incidents were, obviously, oppressive to no small degree.  They
fell with especial weight on the immediate tenants of the crown; and
so intolerable were the exactions of royalty, so rapacious and unjust
was the whole of the regal administration, from William to John,
that, at length, the system could be endured no longer; and though,
singly, the English barons might be weak, united, they formed an
effectual breakwater against the proud surges of monarchical
oppression, and obtained the grand palladium of English liberty, the
great charter.  That venerable instrument materially modified the
feudal demands, limiting reliefs to a certain sum, restraining the
wastes committed by guardians in chivalry, forbidding the
disparagement of female wards in matrimony, and securing widows from
compulsory marriages.  Beside these special provisions, in reference
to feudal claims, the principles of our constitution which are there
laid down, such as the _habeas corpus_, trial by jury, and the
necessity of the people's consent to their own taxation, tended to
modify the working of feudalism; in short, they struck at its vital
principle, drained out its very life blood, and left it slowly to
expire.  The charter was admirably contrived; its principles were
slowly developed.  "Its effect," says Mackintosh, "was not altogether
unlike the grand process by which nature employs snows and frosts to
cover her delicate germs, and to hinder them from rising above the
earth, till the atmosphere has acquired the mild and equal
temperature which insures them against blights."

Feudalism is a system which has borne a conspicuous part in the
civilisation of Europe.  It has left a visible impression on the laws
and habits of our own country.  We find its remains, we feel its
lingering power in various directions.  The lawyer traces its
influence on our jurisprudence; the statesman sees its impress on our
constitution; the antiquary recognises its relics in many of our
customs; and the philosopher detects its spirit as an element in the
mass of society, which has not yet lost all its power.  As the
disintegrated portions of primary rocks may be discovered in recently
formed strata--as fragments of ancient structures may be sometimes
seen wrought up in buildings of modern date; so portions of the
feudal system may be discovered in our present laws and institutions,
and may be seen staring forth in the political and social fabric of
the present day.



SECTION IV.

ESTIMATE OF THE EFFECTS OF FEUDALISM.

Certain evils often attributed to feudalism did not spring from it.
For instance, slavery was not its offspring, nor indeed an integral
part of it.  The lord and the vassal were the parties who formed the
feudal relationship; and though the latter was not a freeman,
according to our views, he was not a slave, but had certain personal
and social rights, which his lord was bound to respect and preserve.
Slavery of an abject kind existed in Europe long before the feudal
system appeared.  It existed in the free republic of Rome; in Greece,
too, the cradle of liberty; and while Athens knelt at the shrine of
freedom, and poets, and philosophers, and orators, were her
ministering priests, there were thousands of slaves within the narrow
limits of Attica.  The Germans had slaves; the Saxons had slaves--all
Europe had slaves.  Feudalism found slavery in existence, and
attached it to itself.  The system was not inimical to it, but it did
not create the evil.

In relation to the social disorders of the middle ages, the
insecurity of property, the personal dangers, the robberies and
cruelties which prevailed, it may be remarked, that the feudal
system, if it did not quench them, did not kindle them; and if, in
some cases, it should appear that the system fanned them into greater
violence, it also appears that, in other cases, it checked their
operation.  The state of society, at the commencement of the feudal
era, was most deplorable.  It was disorganized and dissolved.  The
Roman empire was shattered to pieces.  Monarchy made some abortive
attempts to mould the scattered fragments of the social fabric into
form, but failed.  The kingdom of Charlemagne shone like a meteor,
and vanished.  The church sunk in ignorance and corruption.  The
religious power almost entirely left it.  The times were awful.
Men's hearts failed them because of fear.  The moral heavens blazed
with strange portents, and many cried, "The end of all things is at
hand."  Amidst all this disorder, the feudal principle was developing
itself; on this scene of social strife and misery it had to work;
this was the theatre of its operation, the field of its career; and
when it terminated its course, it certainly left Europe better than
at the beginning.

Mr. Hallam has shown that feudalism accomplished two great political
results.  In Germany, it stood in the way of the ambitious designs of
an Otho and a Barbarossa, and prevented the establishment of a great
empire,--a powerful despotism, crushing the seeds of commerce and
liberty, and retarding, perhaps for ages, the progress of
civilisation.  In France, it prevented the dismemberment of the
monarchy, and its reduction into a number of petty and despotic
sovereignties; for "who can doubt that some of the counts of France
would have thrown off all connexion with the crown, if the slight
dependence of vassalage had not been substituted for legitimate
subjection to a sovereign?"

As to its moral influence, it cannot be denied that feudalism
nurtured fidelity and gratitude.  It also inspired a sense of
honour--far different, indeed, from a sense of duty, especially as it
exists in a Christian's mind, and having in it much of lofty
pride--yet it may be justly observed, "Was it not much that such
honour could be felt, and its dictates obeyed in so tumultuous an
age?"  "Everything is to be measured according to its times."[1]  And
further, there can be little doubt that, in the interior of the old
castles, where the baron, or knight, during intervals of peace, had
no society but his own family, domestic life and the condition of
women were in some instances improved, contributing toward the
inspiration of that lofty and pure affection, which has shed so
beautiful an influence over modern civilisation.  The soft charities
of home thus sprung up, like myrtles, among the dark wild rocks of
feudal society, relieving and adorning them with its snow-white
blossoms.

At the same time, it generated and sustained many unhallowed and
anti-social habits and principles, especially, war, injustice, and
revenge.  The records of the middle ages contain the expression of
sentiments, and the history of deeds of the most unchristian and
revolting character.  The worst passions of the human mind are seen
playing around the system, like lightning around the summit of one of
its hoary castles at midnight.  If flowers are growing at the base,
there are weeds of deadly poison too.  It must be allowed also, that,
as, a political system, it was most defective; it left almost
everything to the mercy of the ruler, made no provision for the
rights of the governed, supplied no constitutional guarantee for
social order, and might easily prove an engine of oppression and
cruelty to those who were so disposed to employ it.

It could, of necessity, last but for a season, being a transition
state of things.  It evidently contained the elements of its own
dissolution, and nurtured a spirit of resistance which was sure at
length to destroy it.  On the whole, it was a rough process of
discipline, tending to social improvement: and the thoughtful and
devout mind will recognise in it, a course of things somewhat
analogous to what obtains in the government of nature, whereby the
tempest purifies the atmosphere, and the snows of winter prepare for
the bloom of spring.


[1] British Quarterly Review, vol. i. 255.




CHAPTER V.

THE TOWN.

Cities and towns are the grand theatres of civilisation.  Its
elements, it is true, have their place and their influence amidst
rural scenes, but they commonly appear there as the reflection of
what obtains in city life.  It is of great importance, then, to take
a view of the social condition of the towns and cities of Europe at
that period, in order to estimate aright the character of European
civilisation.

The era of the general enfranchisement of boroughs, when the elements
of modern civilisation came into vigorous play, is coincident with
the close of the period over which the present survey extends--it
marks the eleventh and twelfth centuries; and, therefore, the state
of towns previous to that grand civic awakening, is what chiefly
demands attention in the present chapter.



SECTION I.

ROMAN MUNICIPALITIES.

The remains of the Roman municipalities obviously present themselves,
as forming the first division.  Rome herself stands at the head of
these.  "We find a considerable obscurity spread over the internal
history of Rome, during the long period from the recovery of Italy by
Belisarius, to the end of the eleventh century.  The popes appear to
have possessed some measure of temporal power, even while the city
was professedly governed by the exarchs of Ravenna, in the name of
the eastern empire.  This power became more extensive after her
separation from Constantinople.  It was, however, subordinate to the
undeniable sovereignty of the new imperial family, who were supposed
to enter upon all the rights of their predecessors.  There was always
an imperial officer, or prefect, in that city, to render criminal
justice; an oath of allegiance to the emperor was taken by the
people; and upon an irregular election of a pope, a circumstance by
no means unusual, the emperors held themselves entitled to interpose.
But the spirit, and even the institutions of Rome were republican.
Amidst the darkness of the tenth century, which no contemporary
historian dissipates, we faintly distinguish the awful names of
senate, consuls, and tribunes, the domestic magistracy of Rome.
These shadows of past glory strike us at first with surprise; but
there is no improbability in the supposition that a city so renowned
and populous, and so happily sheltered from the usurpation of the
Lombards, might have preserved, or might afterwards establish a kind
of municipal government which it would be natural to dignify with
those august titles of antiquity."[1]  There can be no doubt that
through the whole period of the dark ages a lingering attachment was
felt by the citizens of Rome to their ancient institutions--an
attachment which local traditions of bygone glory, historical
associations connected with the very soil on which they trod, and the
mutilated yet magnificent remains of the ancient structures which
graced the forum, could not but keep alive.

Some considerable degree of architectural splendour must have
distinguished the papal city, at least from the time of Charlemagne.
It is described by Eginhard, in a letter to Alcuin, the emperor's
friend, as surrounded by walls, defended by three hundred and
eighty-seven towers, and as presenting a very imposing appearance
from the lofty castles erected by the nobles upon the hills, and
along the Tiber.  He especially dwells upon the ecclesiastical
structures which adorned the city, consisting of colleges,
monasteries, and churches; the latter of which, according to his
account, were enriched with a variety of most costly ornaments, which
must have made a very glittering and attractive show to the citizens
and the pilgrims who frequented the various shrines.  The
architecture of the period was of the Roman kind, and the churches
were formed upon the model of the ancient basilicas, or courts of
justice.  They were generally in the shape of a parallelogram, with
aisles formed by rows of columns, and a choir enclosed by rails; the
upper end of the building being in a circular form, in which was
fixed the bishop's throne.  Pillars and marbles, the spoils of the
ancient city, contributed to increase the magnificence of these
structures, which also contained sacred vessels and other articles of
gold, silver, and precious stones.  The palace of the Lateran, and
other edifices, were of considerable magnificence, and reflected,
though, perhaps, but dimly, some of the splendour and luxury of
imperial times.  The arts never perished in Italy.  Architecture,
sculpture, painting, and music always found some patronage in Rome,
as the handmaids of her religious worship; though the taste and
genius which they displayed were very low.

The habits of the upper classes in the city, and especially of the
papal court, towards the latter part of the period we embrace, were
doubtless as expensive and luxurious as prevailed in any part of
Europe at that time, perhaps more so; but still we must not form our
notions of them from the standard of luxury in the present day.  At a
time when the manufacture of linen had made but little progress, and
articles of that material for clothing and for domestic use were
little known; when monarchs were content to lie on beds of litter;
when eating with forks was thought to be a species of most ridiculous
refinement, and a comb of ivory, or bone, was deemed a rare and
curious instrument--all of which was the case in the twelfth
century--habits then esteemed luxurious must have been rude in
comparison with those which now prevail.

The lower orders of Rome were, throughout the dark ages, in a state
of deep social degradation, and must have experienced a very great
degree of misery; for a sad catalogue of oppressions, tumults,
outrages, robberies, and diseases, mark the history of the city for
many centuries.  The morals of all classes were most depraved; the
nobles and highest ecclesiastics were generally corrupt and
licentious; the character of many of the popes was vile in the
extreme; and moral influences were shed over the population, by the
men who called themselves the heads of the church, more pernicious
than the deadly malaria that rose from the marshes round the city.

It has been already remarked, that in the Roman empire, at the time
of its decline and fall, there were a number of cities formed upon
the model of the parent municipality.  When the Gothic nations passed
the frontiers of the empire, and poured down upon these provinces,
they swept over these cities, levelling their walls, plundering their
treasures, and materially reducing their importance.  They also
diffused around them their own wild barbarian sentiments, infusing
new elements of thought and feeling into the minds of men; but still
the municipalities remained, for the most part, Roman in their form
and spirit.  The ancient magistrates gave place to new kinds of
officers, such as dukes and counts, introduced by the conquerors;
yet, in the documents of the middle ages, numerous instances may be
found in which there is an evident regard for the official titles
which belonged to the days of the empire.[2]  Convocations of the
senate, meetings of the curiæ, or Roman courts, for the
administration of justice, and the laws of the imperial code, still
obtained in the ancient towns; and the citizens of Metz, Cologne, and
Treves, in the time of Charlemagne, proudly retained the remembrance,
and carefully preserved the traces, of their Roman origin.  The
architecture of their churches and public buildings was on the Roman
plan, and probably whatever branches of art remained beside, chiefly
connected as they were with their religious worship, were cultivated
according to the taste which prevailed in the mother city of
Christendom.

The history of Roman towns, from the fifth to the tenth century, is,
in general, a history of decline.  They were wasted by war, and by
the oppression of imperious lords.  Their commercial spirit subsided,
their resources diminished, and by the end of the time just mentioned
they had reached their lowest point--the very nadir of civilisation.
The Lombardic cities, however, did not suffer so much as the other
municipalities in the empire.  The barbarian influence there was not
so strong, and they retained some wealth, commerce, and activity
throughout the dark ages.


[1] Hallam, Middle Ages, chap. iii. p. 1.

[2] Muratori gives several instances, Antiquitates, etc., Diss 18.



SECTION II.

RISE OF MODERN ITALIAN CITIES.

In the tenth century cities began to revive.  Those in Lombardy, even
in the ninth century, showed signs of returning prosperity.  They
rebuilt their walls, purchased or manufactured arms, addicted
themselves more to commercial industry, and acquired some wealth;
and, as a natural consequence of this, they felt the desirableness of
self-government and self-defence.  About the same time, the political
institutions of the towns of Lombardy underwent a change.  The
bishops, in many instances, became counts or temporal governors of
their sees.  The citizens elected their own magistrates, subject to
the approval of the bishops; the emperor--though not always without
the consent of the people--appointing them to their sees, in
consequence of the introduction of the feudal principle into the
church, the prelates having become temporal lords and feudatories of
the empire.  The emperors also appointed commissioners or vicars for
these towns, who there represented the imperial authority.  The
episcopal government in cities seems to have been favourable to the
growing independence of the towns, the churchman, even if disposed,
being by no means able to become so formidable an oppressor as the
soldier, while the consent, at least, of the people, on his
appointment, kept up a notion of their municipal importance.  During,
and after the war of investitures, when the cities of Italy took part
in the quarrel between the emperor and the pope, some arraying
themselves on one side and some on another, they received an impulse
which quickened their desire for independence.

A considerable mist rests over the morning of Italian liberty.  The
history of the rise of her republican cities is extremely obscure.
They seem to have silently grown up, and to have gradually
appropriated to themselves the prerogatives of sovereignty.  We
discern an increasing spirit of activity and independence among the
people--the assembling of the citizens, at the sound of the great
bell, in the square, or market-place, of the town, for
consultation--their election of consuls, who had the charge of
justice at home, and of war abroad--and the organization of militias
for self-defence.  In the eleventh century "the militia of every city
was divided into separate bodies, according to local partitions, each
led by a gonfaloniere, or standard-bearer.  They fought on foot, and
assembled round the _carroccio_, a heavy car drawn by oxen, and
covered with the flags and armorial bearings of the city.  A high
pole rose in the middle of the car, bearing the colours and a Christ,
which seemed to bless the army, with both arms extended.  A priest
said daily mass at an altar placed in front of the car.  The
trumpeters of the community, seated on the back part, sounded the
charge and the retreat.  It was Heribert, archbishop of Milan,
contemporary of Conrad, the Salic, who invented this car in imitation
of the ark of alliance, and caused it to be adopted at Milan.  All
the free cities of Italy followed the example: this sacred car
intrusted to the guardianship of the militia gave them weight and
confidence."  "It was from A.D. 900 to A.D. 1200, that the most
prodigious works were undertaken and accomplished by the towns of
Italy.  They began by surrounding themselves with thick walls,
ditches, towers, and counter-guards at the gates--immense works which
a patriotism ready for every sacrifice could alone accomplish.  The
maritime towns, at the same time, constructed their ports, quays,
canals, and custom-houses, which served also as vast magazines for
commerce.  Every city built public palaces for the _signora_, or
municipal magistrates, and prisons, and constructed also temples,
which, to this day, fill us with admiration by their grandeur and
magnificence.  These three regenerating centuries gave an impulse to
architecture, which soon awakened the other fine arts."[1]  Yet it
must not be supposed that these renovated cities, in the early stages
of their modern history, presented an unmingled scene of social
advancement, prosperity, and happiness.  Very far from it.  In their
struggles with the emperor of Germany for the establishment of their
liberties, they endured sieges and sufferings the most heartrending;
nor were they free from dissensions among themselves, and from acts
of infamous oppression perpetrated by the strong upon the weak.
While a city was fighting for its own liberties, it often invaded the
rights of its neighbours; an implacable spirit strongly marked the
private habits of the citizens; sufficient security for human life
was not provided, the moral condition of the mass of the people was
degraded; peace was made the prey of faction, and, in too many cases,
the blossoms of freedom, which might have set into precious fruit,
"went up as dust."

There were some Italian cities, especially Amalfi and Venice, which,
in consequence of their dependence on the eastern emperors, their
relations and intercourse with Constantinople, and their commercial
activity, differed in their social condition from the cities of
Lombardy.  They were decidedly in advance of their
neighbours--civilisation there made more rapid strides and reflected
some tinge of orientalism.  Amalfi shines with conspicuous lustre
from the sixth to the twelfth century, when its glory was
extinguished by the Norman king of the Sicilies.  There can be no
doubt that its commercial intercourse with Constantinople, where
eastern luxury prevailed, in the middle ages, and the trade which it
carried on with the Saracens, who were the chief cultivators of the
arts and sciences during that period, tended to raise the city of
Amalfi, as it relates to artistic civilisation, to a proud position.
Some additional refinement might probably be imparted to it, by its
close vicinity to Salerno, which was only seven miles distant, where
learning was cultivated, and a school of medicine established--the
first of the kind in Europe.

But the lustre of Amalfi is eclipsed by that of Venice, which, if at
an earlier period she were inferior, at a later period vastly
surpassed her rival in commercial greatness.  Formed by bands of
refugees who fled from the sword of Alaric and Attila to the lagoons,
which spread at the extremity of the Adriatic gulf, this city of the
waters rose till she became the ocean queen.  For a hundred years,
Venice consisted only of some scattered fishers' huts, like the nests
of aquatic fowls, on the shifting sands, protected by slender fences
of twisted osiers.[2]  The population was supported by fishing, the
making of salt, and some other humble manufactures; and probably the
insignificance of the infant republic preserved her from the attacks
of enemies, and from the oppression of the eastern emperors, to whom
she owed subjection.  Her earliest form of government was essentially
democratic, for tribunes elected by the people ruled her affairs; but
owing to the factions and jealousies which arose among them it was
resolved, at the close of the seventh century, that one chief
magistrate, called a doge, should be elected by the people, who
should be invested with sovereign authority, and should choose
inferior officers.  Many were the civil commotions of Venice under
this form of government; and out of about forty of her citizens who
successively wore the ducal bonnet, nearly half were killed, deprived
of sight, or banished.  Yet, withal, Venice went on growing in
importance, wealth, and power, and as we look upon her history, a
sort of magical effect is produced, somewhat like a dissolving view.
The huts on her lagoon became palaces; her humble boats, splendid
argosies; her fishermen, princes; and her traffickers the honourable
of the earth.

  "And whence the talisman whereby she rose
  Towering?  It was found there in the barren sea.
  Want led to enterprise; and far or near
  Who met not the Venetian?"


In the tenth and eleventh centuries, Venice presented the picture of
a rich and prosperous commercial city, though still far inferior to
what she afterwards became.  She could boast, even a century earlier,
of the commencement of the famous church of St. Mark, with its five
hundred columns of marble,--an edifice, built on the Byzantine model
of architecture, and showing the influence of eastern example upon
the opening taste of the Venetian people.  Saracenic luxuries and
arts also began to flow into Venice, and before the close of the
period under review, she sent forth her fleets, which returned to the
lagoons, after anchoring in the port of the Egyptian Caliph; and the
Arabian maiden wove the rich sandal of silk and gold which arrayed
her priests, when they prayed before the altar.[3]  There might then
be seen the brides of Venice with ostrich plumes, and "veils
transparent as the gossamer, and jewelled chains in many a winding
wreath, wreathing a gold brocade;" and her youthful sons "walking
with modest dignity, folding their scarlet mantle," and her doge,
gliding in a stately barge of gold, through the canals, while

                                "Old and young
  Throng'd her three hundred bridges: the grave Turk
  Turban'd, long vested; and the cozening Jew,
  In yellow hat and threadbare gaberdine,
  Hurrying along."[4]


Arms, silks, furs, fine linen, and other luxuries from the east,
formed the staple commodities of the Venetian markets, and were
supplied by her merchants to other parts of Italy.  Indeed, almost
all the commerce of Europe was carried on through the medium of
Venice and Amalfi.  But it should not be forgotten, that the amount
of traffic there, at that period, compared with the commerce of
modern times, must have been very limited, as neither these cities,
nor any others in Europe, had any manufactures which they could
exchange for the commodities of the east; and they were, therefore,
limited to the export of their gold and silver in payment for their
purchases.  There was, indeed, another kind of traffic which these
Venetians pursued, and it is, observes Hallam, "a humiliating proof
of the degradation of Christendom, that they were reduced to purchase
the luxuries of Asia, by supplying the slave-market of the Saracens.
Their apology would, perhaps, have been that these were purchased of
their heathen neighbours; but a slave-dealer was, probably, not very
inquisitive as to the faith or origin of his victim."  This
abominable trade in human flesh and blood, must then, as ever, have
brought a number of vices in its train, tending greatly to demoralize
the Venetian merchants, so that, at an early period, the language of
Scripture, in reference to Tyre, was applicable to Venice: "By the
multitude of thy merchandise they have filled the midst of thee with
violence, and thou hast sinned."


[1] Italian Rep. 22.

[2] Cassiodorus.

[3] Quarterly Review, vol. xxv. p. 144.

[4] Rogers' Italy.  The poet thus describes the Costumes and luxury
of the Venetians, in his beautiful tale of "The Brides of Venice,"
which belongs to the tenth century: perhaps the description more
correctly applies to a somewhat later period.



SECTION III.

CITIES OF GERMANY AND THE NETHERLANDS.

But we must leave the Italian towns to look at the cities which
sprang up in the northern parts of Europe.  The Lombardic cities were
Roman municipalities, keeping up a struggle for existence after the
fall of the empire, and Venice and Amalfi were communities, which
sprung up immediately upon that fall, imbibing some elements of Roman
civilisation, intermingled with others of an oriental cast, derived
from their dependence on the eastern emperors and their subsequent
intercourse with the Saracens; but the cities to which attention is
now to be directed, had their origin in feudal times; they arose
amidst that state of disorder into which society was plunged by the
inroads of the northern barbarians; they exhibited new developments
of social life and manners; they derived their spirit of independence
from the Gothic races who founded them; their progress was a struggle
with their feudal lords, and their final establishment and prosperity
secured the overthrow of the feudal system.  The former were in a
great measure but the reflection of ancient civilisation, the latter
were the infant, but vigorous forms of modern civilisation.  There we
see the Roman city, here the German borough.  The ancient Germans,
according to Tacitus, had no cities.  The people lived a wandering
life, and when they settled anywhere for a time, they erected for
themselves rude, detached, and scattered dwellings.[1]  Long after
the invasion of the south of Europe the Gothic tribes retained their
uncitizenlike habits.  "Till the reign of Charlemagne," observes
Hallam, "there were no towns in Germany, except a few that had been
erected on the Rhine and Danube by the Romans.  A house with its
stables and farm buildings, surrounded by a hedge, or inclosure, was
called a court, or, as we find it in our law books, a curtilage--the
toft, or homestead, of a more genuine English dialect.  One of these,
with the adjacent domain of arable fields and woods, had the name of
a villa, or manse.  Several manses composed a march, and several
marches formed a pagus, or district.  From these elements in the
progress of population arose villages and towns."  The character of
these tofts, or homesteads, is well illustrated by a passage from Dr.
Whitaker's History of Craven:--"A toft is a homestead in a village,
so called from the small tufts of maple, elm, ash, and other wood,
with which dwelling-houses were anciently overhung.  Even now it is
impossible to enter Craven without being struck with the isolated
homesteads, surrounded by their little garths, and overhung with
tufts of trees.  These are the genuine tofts and crofts of our
ancestors, with the substitution only of stone to the wooden crocks
and thatched roofs of antiquity."  The little towns which thus sprung
up were subject of course to the feudal lord in whose domain they
were situate; but, probably, the condition of their inhabitants was
preferable to that of his dependents, who lived in the open country.
Some small amount of manufacture and trade would necessarily arise in
these infant communities, all of which doubtless had their weavers,
smiths, and curriers, for the supply of garments and implements of
husbandry to the rural labourers in the vicinity.[2]

Germs of civic communities also appeared, in many instances, under
the immediate shadow of the feudal castle.  Groups of serfs who
tilled the neighbouring fields, and some few artisans who
manufactured necessary articles for the household, gathered round the
baronial abode, and formed a little village, out of which, in process
of time, there arose a town of some importance.  In a similar way,
villages sprang up in the vicinity of convents; and no doubt, as
Guizot has remarked, the progress of towns was considerably promoted
by the right of sanctuary in churches.  "Even before the boroughs
were constituted, and before their force and ramparts enabled them to
hold out an asylum to the wretched population of the fields, the
protection which could be found in the church alone was sufficient to
attract a great many fugitives into the towns.  They came to shelter
themselves, either in the church itself, or around the church; and
they were not confined to men of the inferior class--serfs and
boors--but were frequently men of consideration and wealth who had
been proscribed.  The chronicles of the epoch are full of such
examples.  We see men, formerly powerful, pursued by a neighbour yet
more powerful, or by the king himself, abandoning their domains,
carrying off all their movables, and flying to a town to put
themselves under the protection of a church.  These men became
burgesses, and such refugees were, in my opinion, of some influence
on the progress of towns, as they brought into them both wealth and
the elements of a population superior to the bulk of the former
inhabitants.  Besides, is it not probable that, when anything like a
considerable association had been formed in any quarter, men would
flock to it, not only on account of the greater security afforded by
it, but also from the mere spirit of sociability which is so natural
to them."[3]  Thus these towns became places of refuge; characters of
all sorts, good and bad, those who fled from the oppressor, and those
who sought to escape the avenger, were gathered together; and thus
the rise of modern towns resembled the rise of ancient ones, and many
a European city had an origin like that of Rome.  "Many fled thither
from the countries round about; those who had shed blood, and fled
from the vengeance of the avenger of blood--those who were driven out
from their own homes by their enemies, and even men of low degree who
had run away from their lords.  Thus the city became full of
people."[4]  Such was the commencement of the proud patrician
families of Rome, and in like manner originated many a wealthy and
noble family of merchants in modern times.

Till the ninth century, the people of Germany lived in open towns, or
villages, under their feudal lords; but, at that period, the
privilege of having walls began to be allowed.  Hamburg was built, at
that time, by Charlemagne, and was so distinguished; in the following
century, a few more walled towns appeared on the banks of the Rhine
and Danube, but their commerce was low and feeble.  A charter was
granted to Magdeburg, A.D. 940, "to build and fortify their city, and
exercise municipal law therein;"[5] but the most northern parts of
Germany could not boast of any towns till a later period.  The first
which was erected on the shores of the Baltic was Lubeck, which was
founded, A.D. 1140, by Adolphus count of Holstein.[6]

In the Netherlands, the towns were in advance of those in Germany.
In the tenth century, Thiel contained no less than fifty-five
churches, from which it may be concluded that the population was very
large.  The people then had learned the art of draining their lands,
and by the formation of dykes, they recovered from the waters
extensive portions of territory.  Habits of industry, union, and
reciprocal justice were thus cherished, and the seeds of their
subsequent commercial greatness sprang up in these Flemish
communities.  Their woollen manufactures, enabled them to trade with
France, and thus to acquire considerable wealth, while their own
population was clothed in good apparel.[7]  Baldwin, count of
Flanders, established annual fairs, or markets in the cities of his
dominion, without demanding any tolls of the merchants who trafficked
there.  It was some time, however, before any of these towns could
boast of much that was imposing in their appearance.  The houses, in
the ninth, century, were made of watlings of rods, or twigs plastered
over with clay, and roofed with thatch, which, as trade advanced,
gave way, no doubt, to habitations of a better order.  But wood long
remained the chief material in the construction of edifices, even of
the superior order.  As late as the eleventh century, buildings of
stone were rare; and the parish church and the city bridges were
commonly of timber.

The noble cathedral of Tournay, bearing evident traces of resemblance
to the Byzantine architecture, is, however, a proof that, at an early
period, there were edifices to be found in the Netherlands of great
magnificence.  It is interesting to look at these communities in
their earlier history, located on the borders of vast forests, and in
the midst of wide-spread marshes, contending with the difficulties of
their situation, patiently laying the foundations of commercial
greatness and renown, and teaching posterity what can be accomplished
by earnest enterprising industry.

Some of the cities of the Netherlands were subject to episcopal
jurisdiction, and the bishops of Liege, Utrecht, and Tournay, are
distinguished in the annals of the middle ages; but other cities were
subject to the counts of the province in which they were situate.
Yet, at an early period, the shrewd people of that commercial country
banded together for mutual protection and assistance, under the forms
of guilds, or fraternities, which prepared for the municipal
corporations of later times: and, in the case of the Frisons, or
people of Friesland, they secured for themselves very considerable
rights in the ninth century.  These rights consisted in the freedom
of every order of citizens, the possession of property, the privilege
of trial by their own judges, a narrow limitation of military
service, and an hereditary title to feudal estates, in direct line,
on payment of certain dues.  These rights formed the Magna Charta of
the Frieslanders, and gave them a proud distinction among their
neighbours.

With regard to the cities of France, Mr. Hallam remarks: "Every town,
except within the royal domain, was subject to some lord.  In
episcopal cities, the bishop possessed a considerable authority, and
in many there was a class of resident nobility.  It is probable that
the proportion of freemen was always greater than in the country;
some sort of retail trade and even of manufacture, must have existed
in the rudest of the middle ages; and, consequently, some little
capital was required for their exercise.  Nor is it so easy to
oppress a collected body as the dispersed and dispirited cultivators
of the soil: probably, therefore, the condition of the towns was, at
all times, by far the more tolerable servitude, and they might enjoy
several immunities by usage before the date of those charters which
gave them sanction.  In Provence, where the feudal star shone with a
less powerful ray, the cities, though not independently governed,
were more flourishing than the French.  Marseilles, in the beginning
of the twelfth age, was able to equip powerful navies, and to share
in the wars of Genoa and Pisa against the Saracens of Sardinia."

If Paris is to be taken as a sample of the towns of France, before
the twelfth century, they must have been in a deplorable condition of
filth and wretchedness.  The swine were accustomed to wallow in the
streets of this metropolis, until a prince of the blood was thrown
from his horse, in consequence of a sow running between the legs of
the animal.  To prevent the recurrence of such accidents, an order
was issued to prohibit the swinish multitude from infesting the
public thoroughfares of the city.  But the monks of St. Antony
remonstrated at this--the pigs of their monastery having had, from
time immemorial, the privilege of frequenting, at liberty, every part
of the towns, of feeding on such scraps and offal as they could find,
and of reposing on the choice beds of mire which covered certain
spots in the great highway.  The monks were not to be resisted; and,
at length, there was granted to the swine of their convent, the
exclusive privilege of roaming about the Parisian streets without
molestation, provided, only, that the said swine went forth on their
peregrinations with bells tied about their necks.


[1] Germania, xvi.

[2] Hallam's Middle Ages, c. ix. p. 1.

[3] Guizot, Civilisation of Europe, Lect. 7.

[4] Arnold's History of Rome, vol. i. p. 7.

[5] Anderson's History of Commerce.

[6] Hallam.

[7] Macpherson's Annals of Commerce.



SECTION IV.

ANGLO-SAXON BOROUGHS.

The boroughs of our Anglo-Saxon fathers claim our notice.  When the
Romans conquered this island, they founded in different parts of the
country their _civitates_, or cities.  Twenty-eight of these are
enumerated by Gildas, an historian of the sixth century, as existing
in his time, which was about a hundred years after the Roman
conquerors had relinquished their dominion in Britain.  Beside these
cities, the Romans formed a number of military stations, or
strongholds.  These cities and stations became Saxon towns, after the
invasion of Britain by its new masters; the latter receiving the name
of boroughs from the Latin burgus, which signifies a fortification.
Other towns also sprang up in various directions, where local
advantages invited a settlement of population; and long before the
Norman conquest our island was thickly studded with townships of
various sizes.  It is very remarkable, that, with few exceptions, all
the towns and villages of England appear to have existed from the
Saxon times.  Some of these towns, however, must have been extremely
small, consisting of some few dwellings and other buildings, around
the homestead of the Saxon lord, and not bearing any more resemblance
to what they have since become, than some little hamlet bears to an
important city.

"We must abandon," says sir Francis Palgrave, "any conjectures as to
the government of the boroughs in the earlier periods.  We must rest
satisfied with the fact that, in the reign of the Confessor, the
larger boroughs had assumed the form of communities, which, without
much impropriety, may be described as territorial corporations.  The
legal character of the burgess arose from his possessions; it was a
real right, arising from the qualifications which he held.  The
burgess was the owner of a tenement within the walls, and the
possession might descend to his heirs, or be freely alienated to a
stranger."  The same writer considers that, in some instances, the
possession of land imparted the right of judicature in the borough
mote, or town assembly; but that while such persons were aldermen by
tenure, there were other boroughs which possessed an elective
magistracy.  The nature of the Anglo-Saxon institutions has long been
matter of dispute, and considerable doubt surrounds the interesting
subject, which the most diligent and learned antiquaries are unable
to dispel; but, so far as our municipal history is concerned,
probably the twofold view of the organization of the Saxon towns
suggested by sir F. Palgrave, is correct.  The towns in which the
tenure of land gave magisterial authority would most likely be the
smaller ones, while elective magistrates would distinguish the larger
communities.  The following account by M. Thierry is, perhaps,
accurate:--"The burgesses of London,[1] like those of most of the
larger Anglo-Saxon towns, composed, under the designation of _hause_,
a municipal corporation, which had the privilege of conducting the
government of the city, and regulating its police.  The presence of
the king made no difference in its institutions, and the burgesses
might, even without his permission, assemble and deliberate together
on the internal administration of their city."[2]  But this account,
we apprehend, must be carefully restricted to the large towns of the
Anglo-Saxons, or it will mislead the reader.  Towns in general we
cannot believe had attained to such power and independency.  Still,
even the existence of a few such towns, tending as they did to leaven
the mass of the community with their own free sentiments, indicate
the attainment of a no small degree of liberal civilisation by our
Saxon ancestors.

Whether the Saxon burghs were represented in the _witenagemote_, or
general assembly of the nation, is another question which has given
rise to much controversy.  On this point we are also inclined to
follow sir Francis Palgrave.  He considers that "the elected or
virtual representatives of townships, or hundreds, constituted the
multitude noticed as the people in the narratives describing the
great councils, and other assemblies; for the share taken by the folk
in the proceedings, forbids the conjecture that the bystanders were a
mere disorderly crowd, brought together only as spectators, and
destitute of any constitutional character."  Yet he does not consider
that they attended as mere deputies, chosen by popular election--but
that they were the municipal authorities, who came by virtue of their
office, or were sent to represent their brethren in the borough
magistracy, who were unable themselves to attend; and he thinks that
the expedient of authorizing a person not bearing office, to appear
as a deputy on behalf of those who did, would be easily suggested,
and would thus approximate to something like the modern system of
parliamentary representation.  All this seems feasible; but we are
not warranted to conclude that there was anything fixed and definite
in the modes of representing these boroughs; we should suppose that
they were rather irregular, and were shaped by local, and even
accidental circumstances.

As to the appearance, the classes of population, and the internal
economy of the Saxon towns, we have more precise information.  Almost
all the buildings were of wood.  Hence the complaint in King Edward's
charter to Malmesbury Abbey, that the monasteries of the realm were
to the sight "nothing but worm-eaten and rotten timbers and boards."
Yet there were some edifices of stone at an early period; witness St.
Wilfred's church, at Hexham, built A.D. 674, of which an elaborate
account is preserved, written by prior Richard, in the twelfth
century.  The churches built of stone were probably of a simple form,
resembling some of our oldest parish churches, with a nave and
chancel, and sometimes side aisles.  In cases where timber was
employed, there was, perhaps, more of decoration.  We read of glass
windows in the monastery of Wearmouth, as early as the seventh
century: but, as late as the time of Alfred, they must have been very
uncommon; for, when the ingenious monarch tried to measure the time
by burning candles, they so flared about in the wind, which came
rushing through the lattices of the apartment, that he made horn
lanterns to shelter them from the blast.  Chimneys were luxuries
unknown, the fires in the houses being made in the centre of the
floor, over which there was generally an opening in the roof to allow
the escape of smoke; and when the fire went out, or the family
retired to rest, the place in which it was made was closed by a
cover.  What must have been the state of the highways in provincial
towns, may be conjectured from the well-known fact that, in the
eleventh century, the ground in Cheapside was so soft, that when the
roof of Bow Church was blown off, four of the beams, each twenty-six
feet long, were so deeply buried in the street, that little more than
four feet of the timber remained above the surface.

The internal appearance of the Anglo-Saxon dwellings of the higher
class, according to the researches of antiquaries, exhibited some
advance in the cultivation of the arts.  Let us enter one of
them.--The walls are hung with silk, embroidered with gold, the work
of Saxon maidens, who, like the damsels of Israel, produce "divers
colours of needlework."  Chairs and benches may be seen in the
apartments, adorned with carvings of the heads and feet of lions,
eagles, griffins.  They are of wood, and some of them are adorned
with precious metals.  The tables are of a similar description.  You
see them spread with cloths for the approaching meal, and furnished
with knives, spoons, drinking horns, cups, bowls, and dishes.  Lamps,
and other vessels of glass, though rare, are not unknown; and silver
candelabra, and candlesticks of various descriptions, adorn the
rooms.  There are also lanterns of horn, and mirrors of silver.  The
Anglo-Saxon bedsteads resemble cribs, or cots, and are furnished with
beds, pillows, bed-clothes, curtains, sheets, and coverlets of skin.
The luxury of a warm bath, too, may be obtained.  Stepping into the
kitchen, you have ovens and boiling vessels, and yonder is a cook,
dressing some meat.  He is thrusting a stick, with a hook at the end,
into a caldron, which stands on a four-legged trivet, within which
the fire is made.  The roast meat is brought up to the table by the
servants, upon spits, the guests cutting off such portions as they
please.[3]

The Anglo-Saxons are addicted to the pleasures of the table; and to
their lasting dishonour be it said, "that excess in drinking is the
common vice of all ranks of people, in which they spend whole nights
and days, without intermission."[4]  A number of men and women
prepare the wine chamber, the minstrel sings his lay, the hall games
follow, and the drinking cup goes round the festive circle.[5]

Let us walk through the streets of an Anglo-Saxon town of the largest
class, and look at the different orders of the population.  The
greater number of persons we meet with are the Saxon ceorls, or
churls.  The Domesday-hook speaks of some who belonged to the class
of ceorls as "_liberi homines_."  Some of these are freemen: others,
though they have personal rights, and are under the full protection
of the laws, are notwithstanding bound to the soil on which they live
and labour.  They form a peculiar class of vassals, being under
certain obligations to their lord, yet having a property in the land
they till.  These churls constitute the commonalty of the country, in
distinction from the nobles, or eorls.  The weregild, or compensation
for murder, so common among the Germanic nations, who overthrew the
Roman empire, and forming an index of the social position of
different classes of the community, values the life of a ceorl at two
hundred shillings, and that of an eorl at twelve hundred.  These
churls are labourers, artisans, and traders, of various descriptions;
they wear a woollen tunic, descending to the knee, with a collar
round their necks.  The legs of some are naked; but most wear shoes.
Certain of these passers-by wear bandages, or cross garters, commonly
red or blue, above their ancles, and round the calf.  From the
shoulders of the better sort, you may also notice short cloaks, about
the same length as the tunics.  Their long hair, profuse beard, fair
complexion, and light eyes, evince their Teutonic origin; while their
countenance and bearing seem to proclaim that they belong to an
intelligent and freeborn race.  Yonder goes a Saxon eorl, alderman,
or thane.  He is of gentle blood, and has a place in the
witenagemote, or national assembly: persons of his class are lords of
townships, and are assessors in judgment with the bishop and the
sheriff, in the well-known county courts, which form the palladium of
Saxon justice.  Just by him there walks one of the inferior nobility,
or lesser thanes.  The dress of these parties distinguishes them from
the common multitude.  The same in form, it is costlier in material
and ornament.  The tunic is of rich cloth, and embroidered on the
border; the mantle is of silk, and lined with fur, with a large
brooch fastening it round the neck.  The women who are passing
through the street wear a long garment with loose sleeves, over a
kirtle, and their head-dress is made of a piece of serge, or silk,
wrapped round the head and neck.

The clergy rank with the nobility; indeed, they form the highest
order.  Their office invests them with a dignity, which men in
general revere.  Even the _world thane_, as the nobleman is called,
looks with respect upon the mass thane, or common priest, and treats
him as an equal; while the greatest eorl gives precedence to the
bishop.  Men of this class may be easily recognised by the
ecclesiastical garb.

We arrive at the house of a Saxon nobleman.  Before us is the great
hall, with a projecting porch, supported by pillars and arches.
Folds of drapery are discerned through the opening, and lamps are
seen suspended from the ceiling.  On the one side of the hall is the
chapel, with a curtain in front, withdrawn, and a lamp hanging near
the door.  On the roof of the building is a globe, surmounted by a
cross.  On the other side are various buildings appropriated to the
domestics.  The noble thane is now sitting in the open hall,
surrounded by his family, and attended by a number of servants, armed
with shields and spears; yet are they there for no warlike purpose,
for he is engaged in acts of charity, giving alms to the poor, who
throng around him in suppliant attitudes, and gratefully receive his
generous offerings.

We now reach the county court, where the thanes are assembled to sit
in judgment.  Oaths of allegiance are here administered to freemen;
inquiries are made into breaches of the peace, criminals are tried,
and civil claims determined.  The following is the record of a suit
in the reign of Canute:--"It is made known by this writing, that in
the shiregemot, county court, held at Agelnothes-stane, (Aylston,
Herefordshire,) in the reign of Canute, there sat Athexton the
bishop, and Raing the alderman, and Edwin his sone, and Leofwin,
Wulfig's son, and Thurkil the white; and Tofig came there on the
king's business: and there was Bryning the sheriff, and Athelweard of
Frome, and Leofwin of Frome, and Goodrie of Stoke, and all the thanes
of Herefordshire.  Then came to the mote Edwin, son of Euneawne, and
sues his mother for some lands, Weolintun and Cyrdeslea.  Then the
bishop asked, who would answer for his mother.  Then answered Thurkil
the white, and said that he would, if he knew the facts, which he did
not.  Then were seen in the mote three thanes that belonged to
Feligly, (Fawley, five miles from Aylston,) Loefwin of Frome, Ægelwig
the red, and Thinsig Stægthmans; and they went to her, and inquired
what she had to say about the lands which her sone claimed.  She said
that she had no land which belonged to him, and fell into a noble
passion against her son, and calling for Leofleda her kinswoman, the
wife of Thurkil, thus spake to her before them:--'This is Leofleda,
my kingswoman, to whom I give my lands, money, clothes, and whatever
I posses after my life.'  And this said, she spake thus to the
thanes, 'Behave like thanks, and declare my message to all good men
in the mode, and tell them to whom I have given my lands, and all my
possessions, and nothing to my son;' and bade them be witnesses of
this.  And thus they did; rode to the mote, and told al the good men
what she had enjoined them.  Then Thurkil the white addressed the
mote, and requested all the thanes to let his wife have the lands
which her kinswoman had given her; and thus they did; and Thurkil
rode to the church of St. Ethelbert, with the leave and witness of
all the people, and had this inserted in a book in the church."

It need scarcely be observed that the document shows "the crude state
of legal process and inquiry" at the time to which it relates, and
"in the practical jurisprudence of our Saxon ancestors, even at the
beginning of the eleventh century, we perceive no advance of civility
and skill from the state of their own savage progenitors on the banks
of the Elbe."[6]  It is important to remark that the county court is
the great constitutional judicature in all questions of civil right,
and, unless justice be there denied, no appeal can be made to the
royal tribunal.

Among the Anglo-Saxons the practice of "compurgation" obtains in
criminal cases; the accused has the privilege of clearing his
character, and establishing his innocence, by his own oath, supported
by the oaths of a certain number of persons who can pledge themselves
to the truth of his testimony.[7]  Where he fails to obtain these
compurgators he appeals to the ordeal, by the issue of which his
cause is decided.

In walking through the Anglo-Saxon town we perceive some indications
of trade.  Artificers are at work; among whom the tanner, the
blacksmith, and the carpenter are most distinguished and useful.  But
let us hasten to the market.  Some encouragement is afforded to
commerce by the laws of the country; by which it is enacted, that
every merchant who has made three voyages over the sea, with a ship
and cargo of his own, shall be elevated to the rank of a thane, or
nobleman.  That the principle of commerce is understood appears from
the following conversation which we overhear between a merchant and
his neighbour:

_Merchant_.--"I say that I am useful to the king, and to aldermen,
and to the rich, and to all people.  I ascend my ship with my
merchandise, and sail over the sea-like places, and sell my things,
and buy dear things, which are not produced in this land, and I bring
them to you here with great danger over the sea: and sometimes I
suffer shipwreck with the loss of all things, scarcely escaping
myself."

_Neighbour_.--"What do you bring us?"

_Merchant_.--"Skins, silks, costly gems, and gold; various garments,
pigments, wine, oil, ivory, orichalcus, (perhaps brass,) copper, and
tin, silver, glass, and such like."

_Neighbour_.--"Will you sell your things here as you bought them
there?"

_Merchant_.--"I will not, because what would my labour benefit me?  I
will sell them here dearer than I bought them there, that I may get
some profit to feed me, my wife, and children."

But commercial dealings in this market are sadly fettered.  Witness
the following enactments: "If any of the people of Kent buy anything
in the city of London, he must have two or three honest men, or the
king's ports' reeve present at the bargain."--"Let none exchange one
thing for another, except in the presence of the sheriff, the mass
priest, the lord of the manor, or some other person of undoubted
veracity.  If they do otherwise they shall pay a fine of thirty
shillings, besides forfeiting the goods so exchanged to the lord of
the manor."  These restrictions, which apply to the sale of all
articles above the value of twenty pence, are evidently intended for
the security of the revenue, to which a certain tax is paid on
everything which is purchased at a price above that sum.  We may add,
that the market is held once a week.  Sunday was once, in most towns,
the market-day--and still is, in some--to suit the convenience of the
people who then have leisure, and are congregated together in the
town to attend on mass: but the clergy, who justly consider this a
sad profanation, have long endeavoured to put a stop to the practice,
and to shift the market to the Saturday; in which laudable design
they have succeeded, in many places.

In our imaginary ramble through the Anglo-Saxon town, we have met
with a number of slaves.  They form the population below the ceorls.
Slavery existed in England before the Saxon invasion, and has been
perpetuated by the conquerors.  Part of the conquered Britons were
reduced to this degraded state by their new lords; and some freeborn
Saxons have, on account of debt, want, crime, or inability to resist
oppression, been drawn into this abject class of the population.  The
disenfranchisement of the free is attended by significant and
disgraceful rites.  The unhappy individual resigns his sword and
lance, and receives the bill and goad; he then humbly kneels, and
places his head under the hand of his master, as a sign of full
submission.  Slaves are common articles of traffic, and are publicly
sold in the Anglo-Saxon markets.  The importation of slaves from
other countries is allowed, but the exportation of native slaves is
forbidden; yet an illicit trade of the latter kind is carried on
particularly at Bristol, where the Anglo-Saxons may be found selling
to the Irish, not only their servants, but even their own children
and other relatives.

Here we must close our notice of the towns in the dark ages, and,
with it, our brief and imperfect review of the general social
condition of Europe, during that period.  It certainly was not the
age of great cities.  They did not flourish then; manufactures,
commerce, the arts and habits of peaceful enterprise, all of which
form the sinews of strength in civic communities, were in a feeble
state.  Towns did not take a leading part in the movement of society,
and did not give expression to the spirit of the age, as they do in
our day.  In looking at the church, the monastery, and the feudal
castle, it must be felt that there, not in the town, was to be found
the presiding genius of the times.  They were the chief social
elements then at work; they belonged to the period; they inspired it,
and gave a shape to its affairs; but towns, properly speaking, belong
to other eras, to times before and after, and come in, during the age
reviewed, merely as links uniting the forms of ancient and modern
civilisation.  Yet toward the end of the dark ages they are seen
reviving, and beginning once more to play a conspicuous part on the
stage of the world, giving obvious presages of what they have since
become.

Abundant materials for reflection are presented to the reader, in the
five short chapters which compose this little volume.

These sketches illustrate the plan of Divine Providence.  Perhaps, in
looking at the facts reviewed, the reader will be struck with the
slow advance of human improvement, and with the permission and long
continuance of so much that was apparently useless, and even
pernicious in the institutions, habits, and spirit of society.
Without touching upon the great problem of the ultimate cause of
moral evil in the universe of God--which is a question not to be
fathomed by the limited intellect of man--it may be observed, that
the state of things which obtained in Europe, for so many centuries,
is but analogous to what we find has taken place in the physical
creation.  In looking back upon the natural history of our world, we
find that the operation of the Divine laws has been slow and gradual;
that geological eras of long duration have occurred, in which much
was going on that might seem useless, and even hurtful: we see, for
example, that vast spaces of time were occupied by the growth of
vegetation in wild and rank luxuriance, which apparently yielded no
advantage, which was connected with a state of the atmosphere
unfavourable to animal life, and which was, at length, submerged
beneath the waters, probably by some terrific convulsions.  But these
slow and gradual changes have issued in the present beautiful and
useful condition of the physical world, and these long periods of
seeming useless, and even pernicious vegetation, were the eras of our
coal formations, when those treasures were being prepared upon which
modern comfort, modern art, and modern civilisation so much depend.
In the institutions and events of the dark ages, there were being
formed the elements of that civilisation which is now developing
itself, and which will, under Christian influence and the blessing of
God, doubtless, ultimately yield the highest benefits to man, in his
present state of existence.  But after all, it becomes us humbly and
devoutly to admit that Divine providence is a scheme but imperfectly
understood by the human mind, even when enlightened by the Holy
Spirit; and such a mind is willing now to leave the dark recesses
unexplored.  "Lo, these are parts of his ways: but how little a
portion is heard of him!"  Here we have but his whisper word!  the
Almighty!  we find Him not.  But what we know not now, we shall know
hereafter; and what a large measure of pure enjoyment will be
afforded, in a future state of existence, to those who, through the
atonement of our Divine Redeemer, and the sanctifying work of the
Holy Spirit, shall attain to a blessed immortality, as they receive,
in a manner of which we have now no conception, revelations of the
mystery of providence; as they stand before His throne whose glory it
will then be to unfold, as it is now his glory "to conceal a thing;"
and as they discern the connexion of the whole history of mankind
with the glorious economy of redeeming love.


[1] The population of London in the fourteenth century did not exceed
35,000.  Mr. Hallam thinks that, at the time of the conquest, it was
less.  York contained about 10,000 inhabitants.

[2] History of the Norman Conquest.

[3] Pictorial History of England, i. 323

[4] William of Malmesbury.

[5] Poem of Beowulf.  Pict. Hist. 337.

[6] Hallam.

[7] Trial by jury has often been described as an Anglo-Saxon
practice, for which we are indebted to the wisdom of Alfred.  Without
going into this disputed point we would refer the reader to an
article in the Penny Cyclopædia, (Jury,) where he will find it
discussed, and from which we quote the following extract:--"The trial
by twelve compurgators, which was of canonical origin and was known
to the Anglo-Saxons, and also to many foreign nations, resembled the
trial by jury only in the number of persons sworn: and no conclusion
can be drawn from this circumstance, as twelve was not only a common
number throughout Europe for canonical and other purgations, but was
the favourite number in every branch of the polity and jurisprudence
of the Gothic nations."



RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY: INSTITUTED 1799.









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