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the shepherd, the atmosphere was charged with the miasma of
death. When to the effects of such surroundings were added the
depressing influences of contagion and terror, the results were
appalling. The plague of the sixth century, whose course raged
unchecked from the Bosphorus to the Atlantic, desolated entire
countries; the Black Death of the fourteenth carried off seventy-five
million persons, one-half the inhabitants of Christendom. So
favorable to the spread of the pestilence were the climatic conditions
of the country and the personal habits of the people of England that
the majority of them perished in a few months by a single visitation of
this dreadful epidemic. It so diminished the population that the
pursuits of mechanical industry were seriously and permanently
affected. Wages became higher than ever before, and legislation
concerning the vexed question of the mutual rights of employer and
employed was inaugurated, a question which has not been settled to
the present day. The vicinity of the dying and the dead carried with it
almost certain infection. Even the extraordinary brilliancy of the eyes
of patients suffering from delirium was supposed, in conformity with
the prevailing superstition, to convey a malignant and fatal influence
upon all within the range of their glances. The air was so tainted that
domestic animals, cattle, horses, sheep, even the birds, died by
hundreds of strange and fatal distempers. The mortality was so great
in some districts that the helpless convalescents were unable to
perform the burial rites for their friends and neighbors. Ships
encumbered with the corpses of their crews drifted about in the
ocean without sailor or helmsman. Men became insane through
fright, and thousands committed suicide. The wealthy flocked to the
churches and poured their gold upon the altars; but for once
ecclesiastical avarice was forgotten, and the timid priests, through
dread of the scourge, often refused the proffered treasure. As a
result of the universal consternation inspired by the calamity,
negligent and hasty interment was, in many instances, responsible
for the rapid propagation of the pestilence. Multitudes of corpses,
covered only with a thin layer of earth, were placed in shallow
trenches. Others were cast into the rivers, to be in time lodged
against their banks, fresh sources of contagion and death. Through
all these scenes of physical and mental agony no scientific medical
aid was available. The few skilled Jewish practitioners, who,
graduates of the schools of the Moslem, had ventured into the
dangerous precincts of Christian courts, were looked upon with
suspicion as professors of sorcery and members of a proscribed and
accursed race. In the South of France it was unlawful to consult
them or to receive their prescriptions. No correct theories were
entertained concerning the cause and prevention of disease, even
by the intelligent and educated. The malady was attributed to the
active intervention of the devil or his agents, and the sick were
bound and brought, dozens at a time, to the Church as the most
suitable place for exorcism, where, in general, their sufferings were
speedily terminated by agony and neglect. There was no comfort for
the terrified but the whispers of the confessional; no resource for the
pest-stricken sufferer but the Host and the reliquary. Indeed, it was
but natural that these should be appealed to for succor, for it had
long been assiduously taught that Divine wrath was the immediate
cause of all physical misfortune. The pestilence was now considered
a tremendous judgment for the derelictions of mankind. The ravings
of insanity and delirium were declared to be due to possession by
demons, only to be relieved by bell, book, and candle, and all the
manifold impostures of sacerdotal mummery. During the continuance
of the plague the Church prospered amazingly, as she always does
prosper by the woes and the misery of mankind. Her gains were far
greater than during the Crusades. The zeal of the devout, the
superstitious fear and remorse of the wicked, alike paid enormous
tribute to her rapacity. Valuable estates were devised by dying
penitents to her ministers. Sumptuous cathedrals were raised and
endowed by the grateful piety of those who attributed their recovery
to the intercession of her saints. Monasteries and chapels were
founded by those whom her prayers were supposed to have rescued
from the very jaws of death. The portable wealth of empires poured
daily into her treasury. But all these sacrifices, all this generosity, all
this religious display, afforded no perceptible relief. If they proved
anything, they demonstrated effectually the worthlessness of cure by
the resorting to shrines and the application of relics. The pestilence
ceased its ravages on account of the want of material, not because
its progress was stayed by priestly intercession. But while its
violence abated and its characteristic symptoms disappeared, its
effects remained, and it bequeathed a frightful legacy to posterity.
Although respectable medical authority has contended for a different
origin of the disease, there can be little doubt in the minds of those
who have thoroughly familiarized themselves with the subject that
syphilis is either the result of a recrudescent form of leprosy or of a
modified morbid condition developed from the plague. Such is a
portion of the foul inheritance for which the twentieth century is
indebted to the ignorance, the filth, and the superstition of the Middle
Ages.
Wretched as was the physical condition of the people of Europe,
their moral state was even more deplorable. The revolting
characteristics and manners of the clergy have already been
considered in these pages. Under such instructors, whose
admonitions were so palpably at variance with their unholy lives, it
cannot be wondered at that society was permeated with treachery
and hypocrisy. It is one of the most remarkable of mental
phenomena that man should earnestly solicit the intercession of the
members of a sacred profession with Heaven, while at the same
time he demonstrates unequivocally by his actions that he has no
respect for their calling and no faith in their prayers. Such was
largely the case of the Roman Catholics of the Dark Ages. They
lavished their wealth with unstinted profusion upon the Church. They
greeted her ministers with servile tokens of respect and homage.
They sought her advice in worldly affairs; they obeyed her
oppressive edicts; they voluntarily relinquished their natural rights at
her despotic bidding. But when opportunity offered, the insincerity of
these professions became unmistakably evident. In the midst of the
apparent blind and devoted subserviency to the principles of a
debased religion, ancient Pagan ideas were constantly manifesting
themselves. The worship of fairies, often scarcely concealed, was
widespread throughout the Christian world. The knight placed far
more confidence in his armor, consecrated by heathen ceremonies,
than in the reliquary that was attached to his saddle-bow or the
Agnus Dei suspended about his neck. The anxious housewife on the
eve of a feast preferred to address her petitions to some popular and
beneficent Pagan spirit, accustomed to good living and luxury, than
to a female saint with whom abstinence was a duty, and whose life
had been passed amidst the privations of the convent or the
hermitage.
The death of a pope was hailed with indecorous joy in every
quarter of Rome. The election of a new pontiff was the signal for
disorder, riot, massacre. Yelling mobs filled the streets, singing
impious and obscene songs. The most indecent actions were
perpetrated in the face of open day. The papal palace was
repeatedly sacked and its precious contents destroyed. The
mansions of the cardinals and the nobility were plundered. It was not
safe for these dignitaries to appear in public until the popular
excitement had subsided, and the death of the spiritual sovereign of
the Christian world was often concealed until his successor had
been chosen, in order to prevent the scenes of anarchy certain to
result if this precaution was not taken. So far from conceding divine
attributes to the pontifical character, the Roman populace habitually
and openly derided its pretensions to infallibility. It not infrequently
interfered with the freedom of the conclave and, intimidating the
cardinals, dictated the selection of a pope. If such was the disrespect
manifested by the inhabitants of the papal capital towards the head
of the Church, little courtesy could be expected by his ecclesiastical
subordinates anywhere. The veneration they claimed by reason of
their calling was offered only by the more ignorant of the masculine
sex and by women. The latter, more weak and credulous in their
nature, were the bulwark of superstition, as indeed they have always
been in every age. But with the educated the case was far different.
As has been already remarked, the ecclesiastic was represented in
the most popular writings of the time as a foolish, licentious, and
degraded hypocrite. Public opinion would not have tolerated this
holding up the sacerdotal profession to derision had there not been
ample provocation for such a course. There are good reasons for
believing that the awkward and disgraceful predicaments of
profligate clerks described in the entertaining pages of the Cent
Nouvelles Nouvelles, Boccaccio, Poggio, the Queen of Navarre, and
similar collections were actual occurrences. It is indisputable that
many of these tales were obtained from the archives of religious
houses and the humorous traditions of monastic life. The existence
of universal corruption among the regular clergy indicated by these
satirical authors receives a significant illustration from the fact that
they invariably include the nunnery and the brothel in the same
category, and indiscriminately designate the heads of these
establishments by the title of “abbess.”
In the religious festivals and dramatic representations there also
appeared conspicuous indications of the prevalent irreverence and
mockery of the age. The most solemn and awful events of sacred
history were absurdly burlesqued amidst the jeers of a scoffing and
delighted mob. The grotesque features of these ceremonies were a
survival of the Roman Saturnalia not yet extinct among the less
enlightened peasantry of Europe. The most holy mysteries of the
Church were parodied in obscene and sacrilegious scenic
exhibitions. The actors in these profane representations were
selected from the lower orders of the priesthood. They assumed the
characters of popes, cardinals, bishops. Sometimes they were
dressed in the vestments and equipped with the insignia of their
rank,—the tiara, the mitre, the crosier, the crucifix; but often they
donned the parti-colored attire of the professional fool and jester and
carried his truncheon. The mass was celebrated in due form, but
accompanied with a thousand extravagant and often indecent
gestures by these privileged buffoons. Men entirely nude were
conducted into the churches and deluged with pailfuls of holy water.
Old shoes burned in the censers filled the atmosphere with a
sickening stench. A repast was spread upon the altar, and all who
desired regaled themselves while the representative of the celebrant
recited the impressive service of the Church. In the mean time, the
aisles were swarming with maskers, whose coarse jests and
lascivious contortions evoked the applause and laughter of the
audience. Men gambled within the rail of the chancel. Every excess
was indulged in without check or remonstrance during the
continuance of these festivals. Debauchery ran riot even in the most
holy places. Priests, stripped of their clerical vestments, danced half-
naked in the streets. The bells were removed from the church-towers
and concealed. During the Feast of Asses, a donkey with his rider
was conducted into the choir, and the responses of the congregation
were made in imitation of the unmelodious voice of that useful but
proverbially stupid animal. In this instance, sausages seasoned with
garlic supplied the place of frankincense. In the celebration of
another festival, a fox, dressed in the habiliments of the Papacy, was
carried in state by an escort of mock cardinals. A quantity of poultry
was distributed at intervals in the streets through which this singular
procession was to pass, and when the fox, dropping his tiara and
trailing his purple robes in the dust, occasionally attempted to seize a
hen, the delighted multitude fairly rent the air with acclamations.
The dramas, known under the name of miracle and moral plays,
were often fully as depraved in tone and as demoralizing in effect as
the festivals. They owed their origin to the lively imagination and love
of spectacular display characteristic of the Greeks of Constantinople.
In some instances, the actors represented Scriptural personages, in
others the virtues and vices of an allegory. The greatest incongruities
of locality, time, and character were introduced without question or
criticism. With the absurdities of the plot were mingled impious
sentiments and vulgar witticisms. Notwithstanding the coarseness
and profanity of these dramas, their value in controlling the minds of
the impressionable populace was fully recognized by the hierarchy.
Generally enacted by members of the priesthood, funds were
appropriated from the treasury of the Church for their celebration,
and indulgences granted to induce pilgrims to attend them.
The dramatic spectacles of the Middle Ages were, however, not
confined to representations of a nominally religious character. As
early as the tenth century, the plays of the nun Hrotswitha were
enacted in monasteries and convents for the amusement of their
inmates. These productions, imitations of the comedies of Terrence,
far surpassed the latter in freedom of language and action. Their
coarseness is such that they will not bear translation. The poems of
the same author, whose life was ostensibly devoted to pious
thoughts and communion with the saints, are even more
extraordinary. The sentiments they express and the scenes they
depict are the last which the reader would ordinarily expect to find in
compositions proceeding from such a source, and must have been
suggested by an extensive and varied experience.
These things, necessarily transitory in their character, have
vanished with the gross ignorance and credulity of mediæval life. But
more permanent memorials, carved upon the corbels, capitals, and
architraves of edifices dedicated to divine worship, disclose more
forcibly, if possible, the want of reverence for the rites of the Church,
and the callous indifference of the priesthood to what cannot be
construed otherwise than as a deliberate insult to religion. Monks,
priests, and bishops in full canonicals are depicted with the attributes
of cunning and filthy animals, such as foxes, wolves, asses, and
baboons. The hog is a favorite subject, and seems to have been
considered by the medieval sculptor as possessing traits peculiarly
applicable to delineations of monastic life and character. These
grotesque caricatures are frequently interspersed with indescribable
obscenities. A partial explanation of their occurrence may be found in
the fact that they were sculptured by the monks themselves. The
latter were the only class of their age skilled in the practice of the
mechanical arts. In their order was centred the architectural as well
as the literary knowledge of the time. They built and decorated their
own churches and abbeys. It is difficult to reconcile the spirit which
could conceive and execute such representations with that which
could endure their publicity, especially in the temples of God. For the
fact is only too well established that mediæval churchmen were far
from being noted for toleration. Still, the ruling sentiments of society
in those days were far different from those which obtain in ours. Its
standard of morality was lower, but, at the same time, it was
evidently not disposed to conceal its favorite vices. One thing,
however, is certain, the failings of the clergy were so open and
notorious as to have become a common jest, in whose merriment
even the subjects themselves were not ashamed to participate. It is
not a pleasing reflection upon the state of public morals that its
teachers had not only become insensible to contempt for their
violation of human and divine laws, but encouraged and even
rewarded the preservation of their monstrous vices in imperishable
materials for the amazement and disgust of posterity.
With the fall of the Roman Empire the knowledge of letters, in
common with every other accomplishment, had departed. From the
time of Charlemagne, no instruction was accessible save that
transmitted through the doubtful medium of ecclesiastical institutions.
That monarch had imparted a great impulse to learning by the
foundation of academies; by attracting to his court the wisdom of
other lands; by the appointment of monastic chroniclers; and by the
encouragement of the Jews. As it was the policy of the Church to
keep the masses in ignorance, the scanty and general information to
be derived from that source was restricted to members of the
privileged classes. The general and incredible abasement of the
people in those times may be inferred from the fact that so late as
1590, when a mouse had devoured the sacramental wafer in one of
the churches of Italy, it was gravely discussed by an ecclesiastical
council convoked for that purpose, in the presence of a pious and
wondering audience, whether the Holy Ghost had entered the animal
or not, and if the demands of religion required that it should be killed
or be made an object of worship!
Many of the priesthood could neither read nor write, and, having
memorized the service by rote, celebrated mass like so many
parrots, as ignorant of what they were saying as their stolid
congregations. Bishops made their marks upon important documents
with their fingers dipped in sacramental wine. The books used in the
service were more esteemed for their pecuniary value than on
account of the precepts they contained. Their golden, jewel-studded
covers often attracted the cupidity of the brethren, who defaced,
pawned, or bodily abstracted the volumes as opportunity offered or
their carnal necessities required. Almost incredible difficulties
attended the dissemination of learning. In addition to the hostility,
negligence, and incapacity of the clergy, who were its privileged
custodians, great expense was involved in the manufacture of
books. Parchment was generally of wretched quality and
commanded extravagant prices. The supply to be obtained by the
erasure of ancient manuscripts was limited, and, in the universal
decline of the arts, the knowledge of its preparation had been lost.
The skins which were brought to the monasteries were required to
be cleaned and smoothed by the writers themselves before they
could be rendered available. The time required for the completion of
a book was a serious impediment to the scholar. The transcription
and illumination of a manuscript often consumed years of arduous
labor. With the Hebrews, the copying of the Scriptures was a
proceeding not less solemn than the invocation of the sacred name
of Jehovah. The materials were prepared, with every precaution, by
the orthodox of the Jewish faith. The most dextrous and pious
calligraphists were employed. Every other occupation was
abandoned until this holy task—whose performance was considered
as not less important than the celebration of the rites of the
synagogue—had been completed.
As a rule, the productions of the scribe and the illuminator were
considered too valuable to be used for any other than religious
purposes. The donation was accompanied with the ceremony of
music and prayer as the missal, often enclosed in an exquisite
golden casket, was deposited upon the altar.
It was only through political or pecuniary necessity, or to obtain
the favor of royalty, that these specimens of art were allowed, even
temporarily, to leave the hands of their owners. In 1190 the Bishop of
Ely pawned with the Jews of Cambridge thirteen volumes, to aid in
obtaining the ransom of Richard Cœur de Lion. To secure the loan of
a single missal, a king of France was compelled to give a bond, with
his nobles as sureties, and to deposit with the cathedral chapter a
quantity of plate of enormous value. One of the kings of
Northumberland gave a productive estate for a copy of the Gospels.
The Elector of Bavaria offered a city in exchange for a manuscript,
and was refused. The illuminated romance of chivalry, worth more
than its weight in gold, was the most highly prized possession of the
opulent baron. So valuable, in fact, were these treasures that those
destined for public inspection were fastened to the walls with
massive chains, and guardians were appointed to turn over the
leaves. Peter de Nemours, Bishop of Paris, on his departure for the
Crusade, presented to the Abbey of St. Victor “his great library,
consisting of eighteen volumes;” a gift at that time worth a prince’s
ransom. It will be seen from these examples that during the Middle
Ages books were not always at the command of the greatest
princes, and a collection of a few hundred volumes was a marvel;
that of Queen Isabella contained two hundred and one, of which
sixty-seven were treatises on theology. Other circumstances
contributed to their scarcity. Written usually in a learned language, it
required a special education to read them, to say nothing of their
composition. The expensiveness of writing materials prevented
many from acquiring familiarity with the use of the pen. The
dimensions of leaves designed for various purposes were
established by law, but the original sizes into which a sheepskin
could be folded have been preserved in the quartos, octavos, and
duodecimos of the modern bookseller. As a menace to the irreverent
and the dishonest, the author frequently appended to his manuscript
a malediction on whomsoever should steal or mutilate the product of
his industry. The donor also added his imprecations upon the head
of the borrower when the book was presented to a church or
monastery. As the modern languages of Europe were not formed,
communication by other than oral means was not possible among
the uneducated; and the art of writing was in some localities entirely
lost. With the great mass of the people the word “library” was
understood to mean the Holy Scriptures; they were ignorant of the
existence of any other books. The immense advantages accruing to
the clergy from the habitual use of an idiom unfamiliar to the vulgar,
as well as from the monopoly of the simplest rudiments of
knowledge, were not lost upon these shrewd observers of human
nature. The church became the point whence royal edicts were
promulgated and where commercial bargains were concluded.
Proclamations were issued at its doors. Contracts were entered into
before its altar. Oaths were taken upon the Scriptures and the
crucifix. The Host was used in the detection of criminals and in the
solemnization of treaties. Land was conveyed by the mere transfer of
a twig or a clod of earth in the presence of clerical witnesses. The
cross still traced upon legal documents by the hands of the illiterate,
in lieu of a signature, is a suggestive reminiscence of an age when
the potency of ecclesiastical influence was recognized in every
important transaction of life.
The persecution of learning was systematized and maintained,
first, by the creation of theological odium, and subsequently by the
institution of such tribunals as the Holy Office; not through a desire to
preserve a becoming reverence for religious worship, but from a
consciousness of the inability of the existing system to withstand the
examination of reason. Heresy was a convenient and ever available
pretext for crushing that independence of thought which threatened
the integrity of doctrine or the permanence of sacerdotal supremacy.
The Inquisition was, when its real object is considered, as has
already been stated, a temporal rather than an ecclesiastical device.
Its unspeakable atrocities and their effects are too well known to
require description. In refutation of its claim as a means of moral
purification may be introduced the indisputable fact that during the
period of its greatest power the worst atheists, blasphemers, and
criminals in Europe were to be found masquerading in the cowl and
the surplice. The outrages it committed on humanity must be
regarded as the legitimate results of the papal system, which,
inheriting to a great extent the organization, the prestige, and the
traditions of imperial authority, encouraged, by immunity purchased
with corruption and by the profligate example of the Holy See, the
neglect of every duty and the commission of every crime.
The exercise of the faculties of the human mind in the Dark Ages,
when they were permitted to develop and be employed for the
benefit of the Church,—their only profitable patron,—are eminently
suggestive of the capacity which it possessed when afforded
encouragement. The cathedrals, the carvings, and the missals,
which, in their respective departments of art, far surpass the efforts
of modern times, are appropriate examples of the scope and fertility
of mediæval genius.
I have now endeavored to depict the general and more striking
features which distinguished society during the Middle Ages
coincident with the period of the Hispano-Arab domination. The
description, from the limited space allotted to the subject, is
necessarily imperfect. Volumes might still be composed on the
events and customs of that dismal period whose most prominent
characteristic is the intellectual degradation of mankind. The reader
cannot have failed to remark, in every instance—whether merely the
trifling incidents of private life were affected or whether the interests
of extensive kingdoms were involved—the incessant interference as
well as the unquestioned predominance of the ecclesiastical power.
He cannot but respect, if he is unable to admire, the commanding
genius of an organization which could appropriate and utilize with
success the profound policy, the consummate skill, the incomparable
talents for administration, the heartless selfishness, of its political
exemplar and religious prototype, the Roman Empire. He may turn
with disgust from its crimes and its horrors; from papal grandeur built
upon forgery and maintained by fraud and torture; from the
shamelessness of monastic life; from the duplicity of a system which
could avail itself of the uncertain caprices and hideous brutality of
barbarian kings; from the repulsive chronicles of famous churchmen,
with their long catalogue of appalling cruelties, their obscene and
portentous legends. But while disapproving of its methods, he must
admit its eminent adaptability to secure the end at which it aimed,
and acknowledge that since the institution of society no government
has ever exercised such a powerful influence over the bodies and
minds of men as the Papacy. From that influence no potentate,
however great, was free. The reputation of many a mediæval
monarch and statesman with posterity is based, in reality, not upon
talents and merit, but upon the standing and relations he maintained
during his lifetime with the sacerdotal order.
In the universal ignorance of mankind, the familiar phenomena of
nature contributed to the ascendency of unprincipled charlatans, who
based their hopes of success and its necessary incidents, wealth,
power, and glory, on the invention and sedulous propagation of
falsehood. The personification of everything material and immaterial,
the globe of the earth, the sparkling orbs of the visible heavens, the
sudden and often unexpected effects of the action of the
imponderable agents, the most ordinary operation of nature’s laws,
were classed as supernatural manifestations, were engrafted upon
religion and received the obsequious homage of fear and
superstition. The wily ecclesiastic never forgot that
“Das Wunder ist des Glaubens liebstes Kind.”
760–1450