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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great Events by Famous Historians,
Volume 07, by Various

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Title: The Great Events by Famous Historians, Volume 07

Author: Various

Editor: Rossiter Johnson
        Charles Horne
        John Rudd

Release Date: December 18, 2008 [EBook #27562]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT EVENTS, VOLUME 07 ***




Produced by Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net







  [Illustration: Jeanne d'Arc stands, banner in hand, during
  the coronation of Charles VII before the high altar at
  Rheims.

  Painting by J. E. Lenepveu.]




                       THE GREAT EVENTS

                              BY

                      FAMOUS HISTORIANS

    +------------------------------------------------------+
    | A COMPREHENSIVE  AND READABLE ACCOUNT OF THE WORLD'S |
    | HISTORY, EMPHASIZING  THE MORE IMPORTANT EVENTS, AND |
    | PRESENTING  THESE  AS  COMPLETE  NARRATIVES  IN  THE |
    |     MASTER-WORDS OF THE MOST EMINENT HISTORIANS      |
    +------------------------------------------------------+
    NON-SECTARIAN         NON-PARTISAN        NON-SECTIONAL
    +------------------------------------------------------+
    | ON  THE  PLAN  EVOLVED FROM  A CONSENSUS OF OPINIONS |
    | GATHERED FROM  THE  MOST DISTINGUISHED  SCHOLARS  OF |
    | AMERICA AND EUROPE, INCLUDING BRIEF INTRODUCTIONS BY |
    | SPECIALISTS TO CONNECT  AND   EXPLAIN THE CELEBRATED |
    | NARRATIVES, ARRANGED CHRONOLOGICALLY,  WITH THOROUGH |
    | INDICES,  BIBLIOGRAPHIES, CHRONOLOGIES, AND  COURSES |
    |                     OF READING                       |
    +------------------------------------------------------+

                        EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

                    ROSSITER JOHNSON, LL.D.

                       ASSOCIATE EDITORS

                    CHARLES F. HORNE, Ph.D.

                       JOHN RUDD, LL.D.

                _With a staff of specialists_

                         _VOLUME VII_


                      The National Alumni

                        COPYRIGHT, 1905,

                    BY THE NATIONAL ALUMNI




                           CONTENTS


                          VOLUME VII

                                                           page

_An Outline Narrative of the Great Events_,                xiii
         CHARLES F. HORNE

_Dante Composes the_ Divina Commedia _(A.D. 1300-1318)_,      1
         RICHARD WILLIAM CHURCH

_Third Estate Joins in the Government of France (A.D.
  1302)_,                                                    17
         HENRI MARTIN

_War of the Flemings with Philip the Fair of France
  (A.D. 1302)_,                                              23
         EYRE EVANS CROWE

_First Swiss Struggle for Liberty (A.D. 1308)_,              28
         F. GRENFELL BAKER

_Battle of Bannockburn (A.D. 1314)_,                         41
         ANDREW LANG

_Extinction of the Order of Knights Templars
Burning of Grand Master Molay (A.D. 1314)_,                  51
         F. C. WOODHOUSE
         HENRY HART MILMAN

_James van Artevelde Leads a Flemish Revolt
Edward III of England Assumes the Title of King of
  France (A.D. 1337-1340)_,                                  68
         FRANCOIS P. G. GUIZOT

_Battles of Sluys and Crecy (A.D. 1340-1346)_,               78
         SIR JOHN FROISSART

_Modern Recognition of Scenic Beauty
Crowning of Petrarch at Rome (A.D. 1341)_,                   93
         JACOB BURCKHARDT

_Rienzi's Revolution in Rome (A.D. 1347)_,                  104
         RICHARD LODGE

_Beginning and Progress of the Renaissance (Fourteenth
  to Sixteenth Century)_,                                   110
         JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS

_The Black Death Ravages Europe (A.D. 1348)_,               130
         J. F. C. HECKER
         GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO

_First Turkish Dominion in Europe
Turks Seize Gallipoli (A.D. 1354)_,                         147
         JOSEPH VON HAMMER-PURGSTALL

_Conspiracy and Death of Marino Falieri at Venice
  (A.D. 1355)_,                                             154
         MRS. MARGARET OLIPHANT

_Charles IV of Germany Publishes His Golden Bull
  (A.D. 1356)_,                                             160
         SIR ROBERT COMYN

_Insurrection of the Jacquerie in France (A.D. 1358)_,      164
         SIR JOHN FROISSART

_Conquests of Timur the Tartar (A.D. 1370-1405)_,           169
         EDWARD GIBBON

_Dancing Mania of the Middle Ages (A.D. 1374)_,             187
         J. F. C. HECKER

_Election of Antipope Clement VII
Beginning of the Great Schism (A.D. 1378)_,                 201
         HENRY HART MILMAN

_Genoese Surrender to Venetians (A.D. 1380)_,               213
         HENRY HALLAM

_Rebellion of Wat Tyler (A.D. 1381)_,                       217
         JOHN LINGARD

_Wycliffe Translates the Bible into English (A.D. 1382)_    227
         J. PATERSON SMYTH

_The Swiss Win Their Independence
Battle of Sempach (A.D. 1386-1389)_                         238
         F. GRENFELL BAKER

_Union of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway (A.D. 1397)_,         243
         PAUL C. SINDING

_Deposition of Richard II
Henry IV Begins the Line of Lancaster (A.D. 1399)_,         251
         JOHN LINGARD

_Discovery of the Canary Islands and the African Coast
Beginning of Negro Slave Trade (A.D. 1402)_,               266
         SIR ARTHUR HELPS

_Council of Constance (A.D. 1414)_,                        284
         RICHARD LODGE

_Trial and Burning of John Huss
The Hussite Wars (A.D. 1415)_,                             294
         RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH

_The House of Hohenzollern Established in Brandenburg
  (A.D. 1415)_,                                            305
         THOMAS CARLYLE

_Battle of Agincourt
English Conquest of France (A.D. 1415)_,                   320
         JAMES GAIRDNER

_Jeanne d'Arc's Victory at Orleans (A.D. 1429)_,           333
         SIR EDWARD S. CREASY

_Trial and Execution of Jeanne d'Arc (A.D. 1431)_,         350
         JULES MICHELET

_Charles VII Issues His Pragmatic Sanction
Emancipation of the Gallican Church (A.D. 1438)_,          370
         W. HENLEY JERVIS
         RENE F. ROHRBACHER

_Universal Chronology (A.D. 1301-1438)_,                   385
         JOHN RUDD


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

VOLUME VII                                                page

_Jeanne d'Arc stands, banner in hand, during the
coronation of Charles VII, before the high altar
at Rheims (page 347)_,                            Frontispiece
  Painting by J. E. Lenepveu.

_Richard II resigns the crown of England to Henry,
Duke of Lancaster, son of John of Gaunt, at
London_,                                                   262
  Painting by Sir John Gilbert.




                     AN OUTLINE NARRATIVE

           TRACING BRIEFLY THE CAUSES, CONNECTIONS,
                     AND CONSEQUENCES OF
                      THE GREAT EVENTS

     (FROM DANTE TO GUTENBERG: THE EARLIER RENAISSANCE)

                      CHARLES F. HORNE


Fifty years ago the term "renaissance" had a very definite meaning to
scholars as representing an exact period toward the close of the
fourteenth century when the world suddenly reawoke to the beauty of the
arts of Greece and Rome, to the charm of their gayer life, the splendor
of their intellect. We know now that there was no such sudden
reawakening, that Teutonic Europe toiled slowly upward through long
centuries, and that men learned only gradually to appreciate the finer
side of existence, to study the universe for themselves, and look with
their own eyes upon the life around them and the life beyond.

Thus the word "renaissance" has grown to cover a vaguer period, and
there has been a constant tendency to push the date of its beginning
ever backward, as we detect more and more the dimly dawning light amid
the darkness of earlier ages. Of late, writers have fallen into the way
of calling Dante the "morning star of the Renaissance"; and the period
of the great poet's work, the first decade of the fourteenth century,
has certainly the advantage of being characterized by three or four
peculiarly striking events which serve to typify the tendencies of the
coming age.

In 1301 Dante was driven out of Florence, his native city-republic, by a
political strife. In this year, as he himself phrases it, he descended
into hell; that is, he began those weary wanderings in exile which ended
only with his life, and which stirred in him the deeps that found
expression in his mighty poem, the _Divina Commedia_.[1] Throughout his
masterpiece he speaks with eager respect of the old Roman writers, and
of such Greeks as he knew--so we have admiration of the ancient
intellect. He also speaks bitterly of certain popes, as well as of other
more earthly tyrants--so we have the dawnings of democracy and of
religious revolt, of government by one's self and thought for one's
self, instead of submission to the guidance of others.

More important even than these in its immediate results, Dante, while he
began his poem in Latin, the learned language of the time, soon
transposed and completed it in Italian, the corrupted Latin of his
commoner contemporaries, the tongue of his daily life. That is, he wrote
not for scholars like himself, but for a wider circle of more worldly
friends. It is the first great work in any modern speech. It is in very
truth the recognition of a new world of men, a new and more practical
set of merchant intellects which, with their growing and vigorous
vitality, were to supersede the old.

In that same decade and in that same city of Florence, Giotto was at
work, was beginning modern art with his paintings, was building the
famous cathedral there, was perhaps planning his still more famous
bell-tower. Here surely was artistic wakening enough.

If we look further afield through Italy we find in 1303 another scene
tragically expressive of the changing times. The French King, Philip the
Fair, so called from his appearance, not his dealings, had bitter cause
of quarrel with the same Pope Boniface VIII who had held the great
jubilee of 1300. Philip's soldiers, forcing their way into the little
town of Anagni, to which the Pope had withdrawn, laid violent hands upon
his holiness. If measured by numbers, the whole affair was trifling. So
few were the French soldiers that in a few days the handful of
towns-folk in Anagni were able to rise against them, expel them from
the place and rescue the aged Pope. He had been struck--beaten, say not
wholly reliable authorities--and so insulted that rage and shame drove
him mad, and he died.

Not a sword in all Europe leaped from its scabbard to avenge the martyr.
Religious men might shudder at the sacrilege, but the next Pope,
venturing to take up Boniface's quarrel, died within a few months under
strong probabilities of poison; and the next Pope, Clement V, became the
obedient servant of the French King. He even removed the seat of papal
authority from Rome to Avignon in France, and there for seventy years
the popes remained. The breakdown of the whole temporal power of the
Church was sudden, terrible, complete.


INCREASING POWER OF FRANCE

Following up his religious successes, Philip the Fair attacked the
mighty knights of the Temple, the most powerful of the religious orders
of knighthood which had fought the Saracens in Jerusalem. The Templars,
having found their warfare hopeless, had abandoned the Holy Land and had
dwelt for a generation inglorious in the West. Philip suddenly seized
the leading members of the order, accused it of hideous crimes, and
confiscated all its vast wealth and hundreds of strong castles
throughout France. He secured from his French Pope approval of the
extermination of the entire order and the torture and execution of its
chiefs. Whether the charges against them were true or not, their
helplessness in the grip of the King shows clearly the low ebb to which
knighthood had fallen, and the rising power of the monarchs. The day of
feudalism was past.[2]

We may read yet other signs of the age in the career of this cruel,
crafty King. To strengthen himself in his struggle against the Pope, he
called, in 1302, an assembly or "states-general" of his people; and,
following the example already established in England, he gave a voice in
this assembly to the "Third Estate," the common folk or "citizens," as
well as to the nobles and the clergy. So even in France we find the
people acquiring power, though as yet this Third Estate speaks with but
a timid and subservient voice, requiring to be much encouraged by its
money-asking sovereigns, who little dreamed it would one day be strong
enough to demand a reckoning of all its tyrant overlords.[3]

Another event to be noted in this same year of 1302 took place farther
northward in King Philip's domains. The Flemish cities Ghent, Liege, and
Bruges had grown to be the great centres of the commercial world, so
wealthy and so populous that they outranked Paris. The sturdy Flemish
burghers had not always been subject to France--else they had been less
well to-do. They regarded Philip's exactions as intolerable, and
rebelled. Against them marched the royal army of iron-clad knights; and
the desperate citizens, meeting these with no better defence than stout
leather jerkins, led them into a trap. At the battle of Courtrai the
knights charged into an unsuspected ditch, and as they fell the burghers
with huge clubs beat out such brains as they could find within the
helmets. It was subtlety against stupidity, the merchant's shrewdness
asserting itself along new lines. King Philip had to create for himself
a fresh nobility to replenish his depleted stock.[4]

The fact that there is so much to pause on in Philip's reign will in
itself suggest the truth, that France had grown the most important state
in Europe. This, however, was due less to French strength than to the
weakness of the empire, where rival rulers were being constantly elected
and wasting their strength against one another. If Courtrai had given
the first hint that these iron-clad knights were not invincible in war,
it was soon followed by another. The Swiss peasants formed among
themselves a league to resist oppression. This took definite shape in
1308 when they rebelled openly against their Hapsburg overlords.[5]
The Hapsburg duke of the moment was one of two rival claimants for the
title of emperor, and was much too busy to attend personally to the
chastisement of these presumptuous boors. The army which he sent to do
the work for him was met by the Swiss at Morgarten, among their mountain
passes, overwhelmed with rocks, and then put to flight by one fierce
charge of the unarmored peasants. It took the Austrians seventy years to
forget that lesson, and when a later generation sent a second army into
the mountains it was overthrown at Sempach. Swiss liberty was
established on an unarguable basis.[6]

A similar tale might be told of Bannockburn, where, under Bruce, the
Scotch common folk regained their freedom from the English.[7] Courtrai,
Morgarten, Bannockburn! Clearly a new force was growing up over all
Europe, and a new spirit among men. Knighthood, which had lost its power
over kings, seemed like to lose its military repute as well.

The development of the age was, of course, most rapid in Italy, where
democracy had first asserted itself. In its train came intellectual
ability, and by the middle of the fourteenth century Italy was in the
full swing of the intellectual renaissance.[8] In 1341 Petrarch,
recognized by all his contemporary countrymen as their leading scholar
and poet, was crowned with a laurel wreath on the steps of the Capitol
in Rome. This was the formal assertion by the age of its admiration for
intellectual worth. To Petrarch is ascribed the earliest recognition of
the beauty of nature. He has been called the first modern man. In
reading his works we feel at last that we speak with one of our own,
with a friend who understands.[9]


THE PERIOD OF DISASTER

Unfortunately, however, the democracy of Italy proved too intense, too
frenzied and unbalanced. Rienzi established a republic in Rome and
talked of the restoration of the city's ancient rule. But he governed
like a madman or an inflated fool, and was slain in a riot of the
streets.[10] Scarce one of the famous cities succeeded in retaining its
republican form. Milan became a duchy. Florence fell under the sway of
the Medici. In Venice a few rich families seized all authority, and
while the fame and territory of the republic were extended, its dogeship
became a mere figurehead. All real power was lodged in the dread and
secret council of three.[11] Genoa was defeated and crushed in a great
naval contest with her rival, Venice.[12] Everywhere tyrannies stood out
triumphant. The first modern age of representative government was a
failure. The cities had proved unable to protect themselves against the
selfish ambitions of their leaders.

In Germany and the Netherlands town life had been, as we have seen,
slower of development.[13] Hence for these Northern cities the period of
decay had not yet come. In fact, the fourteenth century marks the zenith
of their power. Their great trading league, the Hansa, was now fully
established, and through the hands of its members passed all the wealth
of Northern Europe. The league even fought a war against the King of
Denmark and defeated him. The three northern states, Denmark, Norway,
and Sweden, fell almost wholly under the dominance of the Hansa, until,
toward the end of the century, Queen Margaret of Denmark, "the Semiramis
of the North," united the three countries under her sway, and partly at
least upraised them from their sorry plight.[14]

On the whole this was not an era to which Europe can look back with
pride. The empire was a scene of anarchy. One of its wrangling rulers,
Charles IV, recognizing that the lack of an established government lay
at the root of all the disorder, tried to mend matters by publishing his
"Golden Bull," which exactly regulated the rules and formulae to be gone
through in choosing an emperor, and named the seven "electors" who were
to vote. This simplified matters so far as the repeatedly contested
elections went; but it failed to strike to the real difficulty. The
Emperor remained elective and therefore weak.[15]

Moreover, in 1346 the "Black Death," most terrible of all the repeated
plagues under which the centuries previous to our own have suffered,
began to rear its dread form over terror-stricken Europe.[16] It has
been estimated that during the three years of this awful visitation
one-third of the people of Europe perished. Whole cities were wiped out.
In the despair and desolation of the period of scarcity that followed,
humanity became hysterical, and within a generation that oddest of all
the extravagances of the Middle Ages, the "dancing mania," rose to its
height. Men and women wandered from town to town, especially in
Germany, dancing frantically, until in their exhaustion they would beg
the bystanders to beat them or even jump on them to enable them to
stop.[17]

France and England were also in desolation. The long "Hundred Years'
War" between them began in 1340. France was not averse to it. In fact,
her King, Philip of Valois, rather welcomed the opportunity of wresting
away Guienne, the last remaining French fief of the English kings.
France, as we have seen, was regarded as the strongest land of Europe.
England was thought of as little more than a French colony, whose Norman
dukes had in the previous century been thoroughly chastised and deprived
of half their territories by their overlord. To be sure, France was
having much trouble with her Flemish cities, which were in revolt again
under the noted brewer-nobleman, Van Artevelde,[18] yet it seemed
presumption for England to attack her--England, so feeble that she had
been unable to avenge her own defeat by the half-barbaric Scots at
Bannockburn.

But the English had not nearly so small an opinion of themselves as had
the rest of Europe. The heart of the nation had not been in that strife
against the Scots, a brave and impoverished people struggling for
freedom. But hearts and pockets, too, welcomed the quarrel with France,
overbearing France, that plundered their ships when they traded with
their friends the Flemings. The Flemish wool trade was at this time a
main source of English wealth, so Edward III of England, than whom
ordinarily no haughtier aristocrat existed, made friends with the brewer
Van Artevelde, and called him "gossip" and visited him at Ghent, and
presently Flemings and English were allied in a defiance of France. By
asserting a vague ancestral claim to the French throne, Edward eased the
consciences of his allies, who had sworn loyalty to France; and King
Philip had on his hands a far more serious quarrel than he realized.[19]

In England's first great naval victory, Edward destroyed the French
fleet at Sluys and so started his country on its wonderful career of
ocean dominance. Moreover, his success established from the start that
the war should be fought out in France and not in England.[20] Then, in
1346, he won his famous victory of Crecy against overwhelming numbers of
his enemies. It has been said that cannon were effectively used for the
first time at Crecy, and it was certainly about this time that gunpowder
began to assume a definite though as yet subordinate importance in
warfare. But we need not go so far afield to explain the English
victory. It lay in the quality of the fighting men. Through a century
and a half of freedom, England had been building up a class of sturdy
yeomen, peasants who, like the Swiss, lived healthy, hearty, independent
lives. France relied only on her nobles; her common folk were as yet a
helpless herd of much shorn sheep. The French knights charged as they
had charged at Courtrai, with blind, unreasoning valor; and the English
peasants, instead of fleeing before them, stood firm and, with deadly
accuracy of aim, discharged arrow after arrow into the soon disorganized
mass. Then the English knights charged, and completed what the English
yeomen had begun.

Poitiers, ten years later, repeated the same story; and what with the
Black Death sweeping over the land, and these terrible English ravaging
at will, France sank into an abyss of misery worse even than that which
had engulfed the empire. The unhappy peasantry, driven by starvation
into frenzied revolt, avenged their agony upon the nobility by hideous
plunderings and burnings of the rich chateaux.[21] A partial peace with
England was patched up in 1360; but the "free companies" of mercenary
soldiers, who had previously been ravaging Italy, had now come to take
their pleasure in the French carnival of crime, and so the plundering
and burning went on until the fair land was wellnigh a wilderness, and
the English troops caught disease from their victims and perished in the
desolation they had helped to make. By simply refusing to fight battles
with them and letting them starve, the next French king, Charles V, won
back almost all his father had lost; and before his death, in 1380, the
English power in France had fallen again almost to where it stood at the
beginning of the war.

Edward III had died, brooding over the emptiness of his great triumph.
His son the Black Prince had died, cursing the falsity of Frenchmen.
England also had gone through the great tragedy of the Black Death and
her people, like those of France, had been driven to the point of
rebellion--though with them this meant no more than that they felt
themselves over-taxed.[22]

The latter part of the fourteenth century must, therefore, be regarded
as a period of depression in European civilization, of retrograde
movement during which the wheels of progress had turned back. It even
seemed as though Asia would once more and perhaps with final success
reassert her dominion over helpless Europe. The Seljuk Turks who, in
1291, had conquered Acre, the last European stronghold in the Holy Land,
had lost their power; but a new family of the Turkish race, the one that
dwells in Europe to-day, the Osmanlis, had built up an empire by
conquest over their fellows, and had begun to wrest province after
province from the feeble Empire of the East. In 1354 their advance
brought them across the Bosporus and they seized their first European
territory.[23] Soon they had spread over most of modern Turkey. Only the
strong-walled Constantinople held out, while its people cried
frantically to the West for help. The invaders ravaged Hungary. A
crusade was preached against them; but in 1396 the entire crusading
army, united with all the forces of Hungary, was overthrown, almost
exterminated in the battle of Nicopolis.

Perhaps it was only a direct providence that saved Europe. Another
Tartar conqueror, Timur the Lame, or Tamburlaine, had risen in the Far
East.[24] Like Attila and Genghis Khan he swept westward asserting
sovereignty. The Sultan of the Turks recalled all his armies from Europe
to meet this mightier and more insistent foe. A gigantic battle, which
vague rumor has measured in quite unthinkable numbers of combatants and
slain, was fought at Angora in 1402. The Turks were defeated and
subjugated by the Tartars. Timur's empire, being founded on no real
unity, dissolved with his death, and the various subject nations
reasserted their independence. Yet Europe was granted a considerable
breathing space before the Turks once more felt able to push their
aggressions westward.


THE COUNCIL OF CONSTANCE

Toward the close of this unlucky fourteenth century a marked religious
revival extended over Europe. Perhaps men's sufferings had caused it.
Many sects of reformers appeared, protesting sometimes against the
discipline, sometimes the doctrines, of the Church. In Germany Nicholas
of Basel established the "Friends of God." In England Wycliffe wrote the
earliest translation of the Bible into any of our modern tongues.[25]
The Avignon popes shook off their long submission to France and returned
to Italy, to a Rome so desolate that they tell us not ten thousand
people remained to dwell amid its stupendous ruins. Unfortunately this
return only led the papacy into still deeper troubles. Several of the
cardinals refused to recognize the Roman Pope and elected another, who
returned to Avignon. This was the beginning of the "Great Schism" in the
Church.[26] For forty years there were two, sometimes three, claimants
to the papal chair. The effect of their struggles was naturally to
lessen still further that solemn veneration with which men had once
looked up to the accepted vicegerent of God on earth. Hitherto the
revolt against the popes had only assailed their political supremacy;
but now heresies that included complete denial of the religious
authority of the Church began everywhere to arise. In England Wycliffe's
preachings and pamphlets grew more and more opposed to Roman doctrine.
In Bohemia John Huss not only said, as all men did, that the Church
needed reform, but, going further, he refused obedience to papal
commands.[27] In short, the reformers, finding themselves unable to
purify the Roman Church according to their views, began to deny its
sacredness and defy its power.

At length an unusually energetic though not oversuccessful emperor,
Sigismund, the same whom the Turks had defeated at Nicopolis, persuaded
the leaders of the Church to unite with him in calling a grand council
at Constance.[28] This council ended the great schism and restored order
to the Church by securing the rule of a single pope. It also burned John
Huss as a heretic, and thereby left on Sigismund's hands a fierce
rebellion among the reformer's Bohemian followers. The war lasted for a
generation, and during its course all the armies of Germany were
repeatedly defeated by the fanatic Hussites.[29]

Another interesting performance of the Emperor Sigismund was that, being
deep in debt, he sold his "electorate" of Brandenburg to a friend, a
Hohenzollern, and thus established as one of the four chief families of
the empire those Hohenzollerns who rose to be kings of Prussia and have
in our own day supplanted the Hapsburgs as emperors of Germany.[30] Also
worth noting of Sigismund is the fact that during the sitting of his
Council of Constance he made a tour of Europe to persuade all the
princes and various potentates to join it. When he reached England he
was met by a band of Englishmen who waded into the sea to demand whether
by his imperial visit he meant to assert any supremacy over England.
Sigismund assured them he did not, and was allowed to land. We may look
to this English parade of independence as our last reminder of the old
mediaeval conception of the Emperor as being at least in theory the
overlord of the whole of Europe.


LATTER HALF OF THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR

By this time England had in fact recovered from her period of temporary
disorder and depression. King Richard II, the feeble son of the Black
Prince, had been deposed in 1399,[31] and a new and vigorous line of
rulers, the Lancastrians, reached their culmination in Henry V
(1415-1422). Henry revived the French quarrel, and paralleled Crecy and
Poitiers with a similar victory at Agincourt.[32] The French King was a
madman, and, aided by a civil war among the French nobility, Henry soon
had his neighbor's kingdom seemingly helpless at his feet. By the
treaty of Troyes he was declared the heir to the French throne, married
the mad King's daughter, and dwelt in Paris as regent of the
kingdom.[33]

The Norman conquest of England seemed balanced by a similar English
conquest of France. But the chances of fate are many. Both Henry and his
insane father-in-law died in the same year, and while Henry left only a
tiny babe to succeed to his claims, the French King left a full-grown
though rather worthless son. This young man, Charles VII, continued to
deny the English authority, from a safe distance in Southern France. He
made, however, no effort to assert himself or retrieve his fortunes; and
the English captains in the name of their baby King took possession of
one fortress after another, till, in 1429, Orleans was the only French
city of rank still barring their way from Charles and the far south.[34]

Then came the sudden, wonderful arousing of the French under their
peasant heroine, Jeanne d'Arc, and her tragic capture and execution.[35]
At last even the French peasantry were roused; and the French nobles
forgot their private quarrels and turned a united front against the
invaders. The leaderless English lost battle after battle, until of all
France they retained only Edward III's first conquest, the city of
Calais.

France, a regenerated France, turned upon the popes of the Council of
Constance, and, remembering how long she had held the papacy within her
own borders, asserted at least a qualified independence of the Romans by
the "Pragmatic Sanction" which established the Gallican Church.[36]

This semi-defiance of the Pope was encouraged by King Charles, who, in
fact, made several shrewd moves to secure the power which his
good-fortune, and not his abilities, had won. Among other innovations he
established a "standing army," the first permanent body of government
troops in Teutonic Europe. By this step he did much to alter the
mediaeval into the modern world; he did much to establish that supremacy
of kings over both nobles and people which continued in France and more
or less throughout all Europe for over three centuries to follow.

Another sign of the coming of a new and more vigorous era is to be seen
in the beginning of exploration down the Atlantic coast of Africa by the
Portuguese, and their discovery and settlement of the Canary Isles. As a
first product of their voyages the explorers introduced negro slavery
into Europe[37]--a grim hint that the next age with increasing power was
to face increasing responsibilities as well.

An even greater change was coming, was already glimmering into light. In
that same year of King Charles' Pragmatic Sanction (1438), though yet
unknown to warring princes and wrangling churchmen, John Gutenberg, in a
little German workshop, had evolved the idea of movable type, that is,
of modern printing. From his press sprang the two great modern genii,
education and publicity, which have already made tyrannies and slaveries
impossible, pragmatic sanctions unnecessary, and which may one day do as
much for standing armies.




DANTE COMPOSES THE "DIVINA COMMEDIA"

A.D. 1300-1318

RICHARD WILLIAM CHURCH


  Out of what may be called the civil and religious
  storm-and-stress period through which the Middle passed into
  the modern age, there came a great literary foregleam of the
  new life upon which the world was about to enter. From
  Italy, where the European ferment, both in its political and
  its spiritual character, mainly centred, came the prophecy
  of the new day, in a poet's "vision of the invisible
  world"--Dante's _Divina Commedia_--wherein also the deeper
  history of the visible world of man was both embodied from
  the past and in a measure predetermined for the human race.

  Dante's great epic was called by him a comedy because its
  ending was not tragical, but "happy"; and admiration gave it
  the epithet "divine." It is in three parts--_Inferno_
  (hell), _Purgatorio_ (purgatory), and _Paradiso_ (paradise).
  It has been made accessible to English readers in the
  metrical translations of Carey, Longfellow, Norton, and
  others, and in the excellent prose version (_Inferno_) of
  John Aitken Carlyle, brother of Thomas Carlyle.

  Dante (originally Durante) Alighieri was born at Florence in
  May, 1265, and died at Ravenna September 14, 1321. Both the
  _Divina Commedia_ and his other great work, the _Vita Nuova_
  (the new life), narrate the love--either romantic or
  passionate--with which he was inspired by Beatrice
  Portinari, whom he first saw when he was nine years old and
  Beatrice eight. His whole future life and work are believed
  to have been determined by this ideal attachment. But an
  equally noteworthy fact of his literary career is that his
  works were produced in the midst of party strifes wherein
  the poet himself was a prominent actor. In the bitter feuds
  of the Guelfs and Ghibellines he bore the sufferings of
  failure, persecution, and exile. But above all these trials
  rose his heroic spirit and the sublime voice of his poems,
  which became a quickening prophecy, realized in the birth of
  Italian and of European literature, in the whole movement of
  the Renaissance, and in the ever-advancing development of
  the modern world.

  Church's clear-sighted interpretations of the mind and life
  of Dante, and of the history-making _Commedia_, attest the
  importance of including the poet and his work in this record
  of Great Events.

The _Divina Commedia_ is one of the landmarks of history. More than a
magnificent poem, more than the beginning of a language and the opening
of a national literature, more than the inspirer of art and the glory of
a great people, it is one of those rare and solemn monuments of the
mind's power which measure and test what it can reach to, which rise up
ineffaceably and forever as time goes on marking out its advance by
grander divisions than its centuries, and adopted as epochs by the
consent of all who come after. It stands with the _Iliad_ and
Shakespeare's plays, with the writings of Aristotle and Plato, with the
_Novum Organon_ and the _Principia_, with Justinian's Code, with the
Parthenon and St. Peter's. It is the first Christian poem; and it opens
European literature, as the _Iliad_ did that of Greece and Rome. And,
like the _Iliad_, it has never become out of date; it accompanies in
undiminished freshness the literature which it began.

We approach the history of such works, in which genius seems to have
pushed its achievements to a new limit. Their bursting out from nothing,
and gradual evolution into substance and shape, cast on the mind a
solemn influence. They come too near the fount of being to be followed
up without our feeling the shadows which surround it. We cannot but
fear, cannot but feel ourselves cut off from this visible and familiar
world--as we enter into the cloud. And as with the processes of nature,
so it is with those offsprings of man's mind by which he has added
permanently one more great feature to the world, and created a new power
which is to act on mankind to the end. The mystery of the inventive and
creative faculty, the subtle and incalculable combinations by which it
was led to its work, and carried through it, are out of reach of
investigating thought. Often the idea recurs of the precariousness of
the result; by how little the world might have lost one of its
ornaments--by one sharp pang, or one chance meeting, or any other among
the countless accidents among which man runs his course. And then the
solemn recollection supervenes that powers were formed, and life
preserved, and circumstances arranged, and actions controlled, and thus
it should be; and the work which man has brooded over, and at last
created, is the foster-child too of that "Wisdom which reaches from end
to end, strongly and sweetly disposing of all things."

It does not abate these feelings that we can follow in some cases and to
a certain extent the progress of a work. Indeed, the sight of the
particular accidents among which it was developed--which belong perhaps
to a heterogeneous and wildly discordant order of things, which are out
of proportion and out of harmony with it, which do not explain it; which
have, as it seems to us, no natural right to be connected with it, to
bear on its character, or contribute to its accomplishment; to which we
feel, as it were, ashamed to owe what we can least spare, yet on which
its forming mind and purpose were dependent, and with which they had to
conspire--affects the imagination even more than cases where we see
nothing. We are tempted less to musing and wonder by the _Iliad_, a work
without a history, cut off from its past, the sole relic and vestige of
its age, unexplained in its origin and perfection, than by the _Divina
Commedia_, destined for the highest ends and most universal sympathy,
yet the reflection of a personal history, and issuing seemingly from its
chance incidents.

The _Divina Commedia_ is singular among the great works with which it
ranks, for its strong stamp of personal character and history. In
general we associate little more than the name--not the life--of a great
poet with his works; personal interest belongs more usually to greatness
in its active than its creative forms. But the whole idea and purpose of
the _Commedia_, as well as its filling up and coloring, are determined
by Dante's peculiar history. The loftiest, perhaps, in its aim and
flight of all poems, it is also the most individual; the writer's own
life is chronicled in it, as well as the issues and upshot of all
things. It is at once the mirror to all time of the sins and perfections
of men, of the judgments and grace of God, and the record, often the
only one, of the transient names, and local factions, and obscure
ambitions, and forgotten crimes of the poet's own day; and in that awful
company to which he leads us, in the most unearthly of his scenes, we
never lose sight of himself. And when this peculiarity sends us to
history, it seems as if the poem which was to hold such a place in
Christian literature hung upon and grew out of chance events, rather
than the deliberate design of its author. History, indeed, here, as
generally, is but a feeble exponent of the course of growth in a great
mind and great ideas. It shows us early a bent and purpose--the man
conscious of power and intending to use it--and then the accidents among
which he worked; but how the current of purpose threaded its way among
them, how it was thrown back, deflected, deepened by them, we cannot
learn from history.

It presents a broken and mysterious picture. A boy of quick and
enthusiastic temper grows up into youth in a dream of love. The lady of
his mystic passion dies early. He dreams of her still, not as a wonder
of earth, but as a saint in paradise, and relieves his heart in an
autobiography, a strange and perplexing work of fiction--quaint and
subtle enough for a metaphysical conceit; but, on the other hand, with
far too much of genuine and deep feeling. It is a first essay; he closes
it abruptly as if dissatisfied with his work, but with the resolution of
raising at a future day a worthy monument to the memory of her whom he
has lost. It is the promise and purpose of a great work. But a prosaic
change seems to come over his half-ideal character. The lover becomes
the student--the student of the thirteenth century--struggling painfully
against difficulties, eager and hot after knowledge, wasting eyesight
and stinting sleep, subtle, inquisitive, active-minded and sanguine, but
omnivorous, overflowing with dialectical forms, loose in premise and
ostentatiously rigid in syllogism, fettered by the refinements of
half-awakened taste and the mannerisms of the Provencals.

Boethius and Cicero and the mass of mixed learning within his reach are
accepted as the consolation of his human griefs; he is filled with the
passion of universal knowledge, and the desire to communicate it.
Philosophy has become the lady of his soul--to write allegorical poems
in her honor, and to comment on them with all the apparatus of his
learning in prose, his mode of celebrating her. Further, he marries; it
is said, not happily. The antiquaries, too, have disturbed romance by
discovering that Beatrice also was married some years before her death.
He appears, as time goes on, as a burgher of Florence, the father of a
family, a politician, an envoy, a magistrate, a partisan, taking his
full share in the quarrels of the day.

Beatrice reappears--shadowy, melting at times into symbol and
figure--but far too living and real, addressed with too intense and
natural feeling, to be the mere personification of anything. The lady of
the philosophical Canzoni has vanished. The student's dream has been
broken, as the boy's had been; and the earnestness of the man,
enlightened by sorrow, overleaping the student's formalities and
abstractions, reverted in sympathy to the earnestness of the boy, and
brooded once more on that saint in paradise, whose presence and memory
had once been so soothing, and who now seemed a real link between him
and that stable country "where the angels are in peace." Round her
image, the reflection of purity and truth and forbearing love, was
grouped that confused scene of trouble and effort, of failure and
success, which the poet saw round him; round her image it arranged
itself in awful order--and that image, not a metaphysical abstraction,
but the living memory, freshened by sorrow, and seen through the
softening and hallowing vista of years, of Beatrice Portinari--no
figment of imagination, but God's creature and servant. A childish love,
dissipated by heavy sorrow--a boyish resolution, made in a moment of
feeling, interrupted, though it would be hazardous to say, in Dante's
case, laid aside, for apparently more manly studies, gave the idea and
suggested the form of the "sacred poem of earth and heaven."

And the occasion of this startling unfolding of the poetic gift, of this
passage of a soft and dreamy boy into the keenest, boldest, sternest of
poets, the free and mighty leader of European song, was, what is not
ordinarily held to be a source of poetical inspiration--the political
life. The boy had sensibility, high aspirations, and a versatile and
passionate nature; the student added to this energy, various learning,
gifts of language, and noble ideas on the capacities and ends of man.
But it was the factions of Florence which made Dante a great poet.

The connection of these feuds with Dante's poem has given to the
Middle-Age history of Italy an interest of which it is not undeserving
in itself, full as it is of curious exhibitions of character and
contrivance, but to which politically it cannot lay claim, amid the
social phenomena, so far grander in scale and purpose and more
felicitous in issue, of other western nations. It is remarkable for
keeping up an antique phase, which, in spite of modern arrangements, it
has not yet lost. It is a history of cities. In ancient history all that
is most memorable and instructive gathers round cities; civilization and
empire were concentrated within walls; and it baffled the ancient mind
to conceive how power should be possessed and wielded by numbers larger
than might be collected in a single market-place. The Roman Empire,
indeed, aimed at being one in its administration and law; and it was not
a nation nor were its provinces nations, yet everywhere but in Italy it
prepared them for becoming nations. And while everywhere else parts were
uniting and union was becoming organization--and neither geographical
remoteness nor unwieldiness of number nor local interests and
differences were untractable obstacles to that spirit of fusion which
was at once the ambition of the few and the instinct of the many; and
cities, even where most powerful, had become the centres of the
attracting and joining forces, knots in the political network--while
this was going on more or less happily throughout the rest of Europe, in
Italy the ancient classic idea lingered in its simplicity, its
narrowness and jealousy, wherever there was any political activity. The
history of Southern Italy, indeed, is mainly a foreign one--the history
of modern Rome merges in that of the papacy; but Northern Italy has a
history of its own, and that is a history of separate and independent
cities--points of reciprocal and indestructible repulsion, and within,
theatres of action where the blind tendencies and traditions of classes
and parties weighed little on the freedom of individual character, and
citizens could watch and measure and study one another with the
minuteness of private life.

Dante, like any other literary celebrity of the time, was not less from
the custom of the day than from his own purpose a public man. He took
his place among his fellow-citizens; he went out to war with them; he
fought, it is said, among the skirmishers at the great Guelf victory at
Campaldino; to qualify himself for office in the democracy, he enrolled
himself in one of the guilds of the people, and was matriculated in the
"art" of the apothecaries; he served the state as its agent abroad; he
went on important missions to the cities and courts of Italy according
to a Florentine tradition, which enumerates fourteen distinct embassies,
even to Hungary and France. In the memorable year of jubilee, 1300, he
was one of the priors of the Republic. There is no shrinking from
fellowship and cooperation and conflict with the keen or bold men of the
market-place and council hall, in that mind of exquisite and, as drawn
by itself, exaggerated sensibility. The doings and characters of men,
the workings of society, the fortunes of Italy, were watched and thought
of with as deep an interest as the courses of the stars, and read in the
real spectacle of life with as profound emotion as in the miraculous
page of Vergil; and no scholar ever read Vergil with such feeling--no
astronomer ever watched the stars with more eager inquisitiveness. The
whole man opens to the world around him; all affections and powers, soul
and sense, diligently and thoughtfully directed and trained, with free
and concurrent and equal energy, with distinct yet harmonious purposes,
seek out their respective and appropriate objects, moral, intellectual,
natural, spiritual, in that admirable scene and hard field where man is
placed to labor and love, to be exercised, proved, and judged.

The outlines of this part of Dante's history are so well known that it
is not necessary to dwell on them; and more than the outlines we know
not. The family quarrels came to a head, issued in parties, and the
parties took names; they borrowed them from two rival factions in a
neighboring town, Pistoia, whose feud was imported into Florence; and
the Guelfs became divided into the Black Guelfs, who were led by the
Donati, and the White Guelfs, who sided with Cerchi. It is still
professed to be but a family feud, confined to the great houses; but
they were too powerful and Florence too small for it not to affect the
whole Republic. The middle classes and the artisans looked on, and for a
time not without satisfaction, at the strife of the great men; but it
grew evident that one party must crush the other and become dominant in
Florence; and of the two, the Cerchi and their White adherents were less
formidable to the democracy than the unscrupulous and overbearing
Donati, with their military renown and lordly tastes; proud not merely
of being nobles, but Guelf nobles; always loyal champions, once the
martyrs, and now the hereditary assertors, of the great Guelf cause.
The Cerchi, with less character and less zeal, but rich, liberal, and
showy, and with more of rough kindness and vulgar good-nature for the
common people, were more popular in Guelf Florence than the _Parte
Guelfa_; and, of course, the Ghibellines wished them well.

Both the contemporary historians of Florence lead us to think that they
might have been the governors and guides of the Republic--if they had
chosen, and had known how; and both, though condemning the two parties
equally, seem to have thought that this would have been the best result
for the state. But the accounts of both, though they are very different
writers, agree in their scorn of the leaders of the White Guelfs. They
were upstarts, purse-proud, vain, and coarse-minded; and they dared to
aspire to an ambition which they were too dull and too cowardly to
pursue, when the game was in their hands. They wished to rule; but when
they might, they were afraid. The commons were on their side, the
moderate men, the party of law, the lovers of republican government, and
for the most part the magistrates; but they shrank from their fortune,
"more from cowardice than from goodness, because they exceedingly feared
their adversaries." Boniface VIII had no prepossessions in Florence,
except for energy and an open hand; the side which was most popular he
would have accepted and backed. But he said, "_Io non voglio perdere gli
uomini perle femminelle_."[38] If the Black party furnished types for
the grosser or fiercer forms of wickedness in the poet's hell, the White
party surely were the originals of that picture of stupid and cowardly
selfishness, in the miserable crowd who moan and are buffeted in the
vestibule of the Pit, mingled with the angels who dared neither to rebel
nor be faithful, but "were for themselves"; and whoever it may be who is
singled out in the _setta dei cattivi_, for deeper and special
scorn--he,

  "Che fece per vilta il gran rifinto,"[39]

the idea was derived from the Cerchi in Florence.

Of his subsequent life, history tells us little more than the general
character. He acted for a time in concert with the expelled party, when
they attempted to force their way back to Florence; he gave them up at
last in scorn and despair; but he never returned to Florence. And he
found no new home for the rest of his days. Nineteen years, from his
exile to his death, he was a wanderer. The character is stamped on his
writings. History, tradition, documents, all scanty or dim, do but
disclose him to us at different points, appearing here and there, we are
not told how or why. One old record, discovered by antiquarian industry,
shows him in a village church near Florence, planning with the Cerchi
and the White party an attack on the Black Guelfs. In another, he
appears in the Val di Magra, making peace between its small potentates;
in another, as the inhabitant of a certain street in Padua. The
traditions of some remote spots about Italy still connect his name with
a ruined tower, a mountain glen, a cell in a convent. In the
recollections of the following generation, his solemn and melancholy
form mingled reluctantly, and for a while, in the brilliant court of the
Scaligers; and scared the women, as a visitant of the other world, as he
passed by their doors in the streets of Verona. Rumor brings him to the
West--with probability to Paris, more doubtfully to Oxford. But little
that is certain can be made out about the places where he was honored
and admired, and, it may be, not always a welcome guest, till we find
him sheltered, cherished, and then laid at last to rest, by the lords of
Ravenna. There he still rests, in a small, solitary chapel, built, not
by a Florentine, but a Venetian. Florence, "that mother of little love,"
asked for his bones, but rightly asked in vain. His place of repose is
better in those remote and forsaken streets "by the shore of the Adrian
Sea," hard by the last relics of the Roman Empire--the mausoleum of the
children of Theodosius, and the mosaics of Justinian--than among the
assembled dead of St. Croce, or amid the magnificence of Santa Maria del
Fiore.

The _Commedia_, at the first glance, shows the traces of its author's
life. It is the work of a wanderer. The very form in which it is cast is
that of a journey, difficult, toilsome, perilous, and full of change. It
is more than a working out of that touching phraseology of the Middle
Ages in which "the way" was the technical theological expression for
this mortal life; and "viator" meant man in his state of trial, as
"comprehensor" meant man made perfect, having attained to his heavenly
country. It is more than merely this. The writer's mind is full of the
recollections and definite images of his various journeys. The permanent
scenery of the _inferno_ and _purgatorio_, very variously and distinctly
marked, is that of travel. The descent down the sides of the Pit, and
the ascent of the Sacred Mountain, show one familiar with such
scenes--one who had climbed painfully in perilous passes, and grown
dizzy on the brink of narrow ledges over sea or torrent. It is scenery
from the gorges of the Alps and Apennines, or the terraces and
precipices of the Riviera. Local reminiscences abound. The severed rocks
of the Adige Valley--the waterfall of St. Benedetto; the crags of
Pietra-pana and St. Leo, which overlook the plains of Lucca and Ravenna;
the "fair river" that flows among the poplars between Chiaveri and
Sestri; the marble quarries of Carrara; the "rough and desert ways
between Lerici and Turbia," and whose towery cliffs, going sheer into
the deep sea at Noli, which travellers on the Corniche road some thirty
years ago may yet remember with fear. Mountain experience furnished that
picture of the traveller caught in an Alpine mist and gradually climbing
above it; seeing the vapors grow thin, and the sun's orb appear faintly
through them; and issuing at last into sunshine on the mountain top,
while the light of sunset was lost already on the shores below:

  "Ai raggi, morti gia' bassi lidi,"[40]

or that image of the cold dull shadow over the torrent, beneath
the Alpine fir:

        "Un' ombra smorta
  Qual sotto foglie verdi e rami nigri
  Sovra suoi freddi rivi, l'Alpe porta;"[41]

or of the large snowflakes falling without wind among the mountains:

      "d'un cader lento
  Piovean di fuoco dilatate falde
  Come di neve in Alpe senza vento."[42]

Of these years, then, of disappointment and exile the _Divina Commedia_
was the labor and fruit. A story in Boccaccio's life of Dante, told with
some detail, implies, indeed, that it was begun, and some progress made
in it, while Dante was yet in Florence--begun in Latin, and he quotes
three lines of it--continued afterward in Italian. This is not
impossible; indeed, the germ and presage of it may be traced in the
_Vita Nuova_. The idealized saint is there, in all the grace of her pure
and noble humbleness, the guide and safeguard of the poet's soul. She is
already in glory with Mary the Queen of Angels. She already beholds the
face of the Ever-blessed. And the _envoye_ of the _Vita Nuova_ is the
promise of the _Commedia_. "After this sonnet" (in which he describes
how beyond the widest sphere of heaven his love had beheld a lady
receiving honor and dazzling by her glory the unaccustomed
spirit)--"After this sonnet there appeared to me a marvellous vision, in
which I saw things which made me resolve not to speak more of this
blessed one until such time as I should be able to indite more worthily
of her. And to attain to this, I study to the utmost of my power, as she
truly knows. So that it shall be the pleasure of Him, by whom all things
live, that my life continue for some years, I hope to say of her that
which never hath been said of any woman. And afterward, may it please
him, who is the Lord of kindness, that my soul may go to behold the
glory of her lady, that is, of that blessed Beatrice, who gloriously
gazes on the countenance of Him, _qui est per omnia secula benedictus_."
It would be wantonly violating probability and the unity of a great life
to suppose that this purpose, though transformed, was ever forgotten or
laid aside. The poet knew not, indeed, what he was promising, what he
was pledging himself to--through what years of toil and anguish he would
have to seek the light and the power he had asked; in what form his high
venture should be realized.

But the _Commedia_ is the work of no light resolve, and we need not be
surprised at finding the resolve and the purpose at the outset of the
poet's life. We may freely accept the key supplied by the words of the
_Vita Nuova_. The spell of boyhood is never broken, through the ups and
downs of life. His course of thought advances, alters, deepens, but is
continuous. From youth to age, from the first glimpse to the perfect
work, the same idea abides with him, "even from the flower till the
grape was ripe." It may assume various changes--an image of beauty, a
figure of philosophy, a voice from the other world, a type of heavenly
wisdom and joy--but still it holds, in self-imposed and willing
thraldom, that creative and versatile and tenacious spirit. It was the
dream and hope of too deep and strong a mind to fade and come to
naught--to be other than the seed of the achievement and crown of life.
But with all faith in the star and the freedom of genius, we may doubt
whether the prosperous citizen would have done that which was done by
the man without a home. Beatrice's glory might have been sung in grand
though barbarous Latin to the _literati_ of the fourteenth century; or a
poem of new beauty might have fixed the language and opened the
literature of modern Italy; but it could hardly have been the
_Commedia_. That belongs, in its date and its greatness, to the time
when sorrow had become the poet's daily portion and the condition of his
life.

But such greatness had to endure its price and its counterpoise. Dante
was alone--except in his visionary world, solitary and companionless.
The blind Greek had his throng of listeners; the blind Englishman his
home and the voices of his daughters; Shakespeare had his free
associates of the stage; Goethe, his correspondents, a court, and all
Germany to applaud. Not so Dante. The friends of his youth are already
in the region of spirits, and meet him there--Casella, Forese; Guido
Cavalcanti will soon be with them. In this upper world he thinks and
writes as a friendless man--to whom all that he had held dearest was
either lost or imbittered; he thinks and writes for himself.

So comprehensive in interest is the _Commedia_. Any attempt to explain
it, by narrowing that interest to politics, philosophy, the moral life,
or theology itself, must prove inadequate. Theology strikes the
keynote; but history, natural and metaphysical science, poetry, and art,
each in their turn join in the harmony, independent, yet ministering to
the whole. If from the poem itself we could be for a single moment in
doubt of the reality and dominant place of religion in it, the
plain-spoken prose of the _Convito_ would show how he placed "the Divine
Science, full of all peace, and allowing no strife of opinions and
sophisms, for the excellent certainty of its subject, which is God," is
single perfection above all other sciences, "which are, as Solomon
speaks, but queens or concubines or maidens; but she is the 'Dove,' and
the 'perfect one'--'Dove,' because without stain of strife; 'perfect,'
because perfectly she makes us behold the truth, in which our soul
stills itself and is at rest." But the same passage shows likewise how
he viewed all human knowledge and human interests, as holding their due
place in the hierarchy of wisdom, and among the steps of man's
perfection. No account of the _Commedia_ will prove sufficient which
does not keep in view, first of all, the high moral purpose and deep
spirit of faith with which it was written, and then the wide liberty of
materials and means which the poet allowed himself in working out his
design.

Doubtless his writings have a political aspect. The "great Ghibelline
poet" is one of Dante's received synonymes; of his strong political
opinions, and the importance he attached to them, there can be no doubt.
And he meant his poem to be the vehicle of them, and the record to all
ages of the folly and selfishness with which he saw men governed. That
he should take the deepest interest in the goings-on of his time is part
of his greatness; to suppose that he stopped at them, or that he
subordinated to political objects or feelings all the other elements of
his poem, is to shrink up that greatness into very narrow limits. Yet
this has been done by men of mark and ability, by Italians, by men who
read the _Commedia_ in their own mother tongue. It has been maintained
as a satisfactory account of it--maintained with great labor and
pertinacious ingenuity--that Dante meant nothing more by his poem than
the conflicts and ideal triumphs of a political party. The hundred
cantos of that vision of the universe are but a manifesto of the
Ghibelline propaganda, designed, under the veil of historic images and
scenes, to insinuate what it was dangerous to announce; and Beatrice, in
all her glory and sweetness, is but a specimen of the jargon and slang
of Ghibelline freemasonry. When Italians write thus, they degrade the
greatest name of their country to a depth of laborious imbecility, to
which the trifling of schoolmen and academicians is as nothing. It is to
solve the enigma of Dante's works by imagining for him a character in
which it is hard to say which predominates, the pedant, mountebank, or
infidel. After that we may read Voltaire's sneers with patience, and
even enter with gravity on the examination of Father Hardouin's historic
doubts. The fanaticism of an outraged liberalism, produced by centuries
of injustice and despotism, is but a poor excuse for such perverse
blindness.

Dante was not a Ghibelline, though he longed for the interposition of an
imperial power. Historically he did not belong to the Ghibelline party.
It is true that he forsook the Guelfs, with whom he had been brought up,
and that the White Guelfs, with whom he was expelled from Florence, were
at length merged and lost in the Ghibelline party; and he acted with
them for a time. But no words can be stronger than those in which he
disjoins himself from that "evil and foolish company," and claims his
independence--

      "A te fia bello
  Averti fatto parte per te stesso."[43]

Dante, by the _Divina Commedia_, was the restorer of seriousness in
literature. He was so by the magnitude and pretensions of his work, and
by the earnestness of its spirit. He first broke through the
prescription which had confined great works to the Latin, and the
faithless prejudices which, in the language of society, could see powers
fitted for no higher task than that of expressing, in curiously
diversified forms, its most ordinary feelings. But he did much more.
Literature was going astray in its tone, while growing in importance;
the _Commedia_ checked it. The Provencal and Italian poetry was, with
the exception of some pieces of political satire, almost exclusively
amatory, in the most fantastic and affected fashion. In expression, it
had not even the merit of being natural; in purpose, it was trifling;
in the spirit which it encouraged, it was something worse. Doubtless it
brought a degree of refinement with it, but it was refinement purchased
at a high price, by intellectual distortion and moral insensibility. But
this was not all. The brilliant age of Frederick II, for such it was,
was deeply mined by religious unbelief. However strange this charge
first sounds against the thirteenth century, no one can look at all
closely into its history, at least in Italy, without seeing that the
idea of infidelity--not heresy, but infidelity--was quite a familiar
one; and that, side by side with the theology of Aquinas and
Bonaventura, there was working among those who influenced fashion and
opinion, among the great men, and the men to whom learning was a
profession, a spirit of scepticism and irreligion almost monstrous for
its time, which found its countenance in Frederick's refined and
enlightened court. The genius of the great doctors might have kept in
safety the Latin schools, but not the free and home thoughts which found
utterance in the language of the people, if the solemn beauty of the
Italian _Commedia_ had not seized on all minds. It would have been an
evil thing for Italian, perhaps for European, literature if the siren
tales of the _Decameron_ had not been the first to occupy the ears with
the charms of a new language.

Dante's all-surveying, all-embracing mind was worthy to open the grand
procession of modern poets. He had chosen his subject in a region remote
from popular thought--too awful for it, too abstruse. He had accepted
frankly the dogmatic limits of the Church, and thrown himself with even
enthusiastic faith into her reasonings, at once so bold and so
undoubting--her spirit of certainty, and her deep contemplations on the
unseen and infinite. And in literature, he had taken as guides and
models, above all criticism and all appeal, the classical writers. But
with his mind full of the deep and intricate questions of metaphysics
and theology, and his poetical taste always owing allegiance to Vergil,
Ovid, and Statius--keen and subtle as a schoolman--as much an idolater
of old heathen art and grandeur as the men of the Renaissance--his eye
is yet as open to the delicacies of character, to the variety of
external nature, to the wonders of the physical world--his interest in
them as diversified and fresh, his impressions as sharp and distinct,
his rendering of them as free and true and forcible, as little weakened
or confused by imitation or by conventional words, his language as
elastic and as completely under his command, his choice of poetic
materials as unrestricted and original, as if he had been born in days
which claim as their own such freedom and such keen discriminative sense
of what is real in feeling and image--as if he had never felt the
attractions of a crabbed problem of scholastic logic, or bowed before
the mellow grace of the Latins. It may be said, indeed, that the time
was not yet come when the classics could be really understood and
appreciated; and this is true, perhaps fortunate. But admiring them with
a kind of devotion, and showing not seldom that he had caught their
spirit, he never attempts to copy them. His poetry in form and material
is all his own. He asserted the poet's claim to borrow from all science,
and from every phase of nature, the associations and images which he
wants; and he showed that those images and associations did not lose
their poetry by being expressed with the most literal reality.




THIRD ESTATE JOINS IN THE GOVERNMENT
OF FRANCE

A.D. 1302

HENRI MARTIN[44]


  At the commencement of the fourteenth century, when the
  power of Philip IV of France (surnamed the "Fair") was at
  its height, contentions arose between him and Pope Boniface
  VIII over the taxation of the clergy, and the right of
  nomination to vacant bishoprics and benefices within the
  dominions of the French King.

  Affairs reached a crisis when Philip laid claim to the
  county of Melgueil, which the Bishop of Maguelonne held in
  fief from the holy see. Boniface provoked Philip by a
  chiding bull, and added to the provocation by sending to the
  King, as negotiator in their differences, Bernard de
  Saisset, whom the Pope, in spite of the King, had created
  Bishop of Pamiers.

  This tactless prelate made matters worse by an arrogant
  attitude, and afterward spoke of the King, who received him
  in sombre silence, as "that debaser of coinage, that proud
  and dumb image that knows nothing but to stare at people
  without saying anything."

  Ignoring his ambassadorial privileges, Philip had him
  arrested and imprisoned as a French subject, on a charge of
  treason, heresy, and blasphemy, and sent his chancellor,
  Peter Flotte, and William de Nogaret, to the Pope, to demand
  the prelate's degradation and deprivation of his see.

  The Pope, who meanwhile had launched his famous "Ausculta,
  fili," bull, received Philip's ambassadors, but their
  interview was marked by a violent scene: "My power!"
  exclaimed the Pope, "the spiritual power embraces and
  includes the temporal power!"

  "So be it!" replied Flotte, "but your power is verbal; that
  of the King, real."

  To deliberate on the remedies for the abuses of which he
  deemed the King guilty, the Pope summoned all the superior
  clergy of France to an assembly at Rome.

Philip and his council resolved to fight the enemy with its own weapons,
to enlist public opinion on their side, and to shelter themselves behind
a great national manifestation; the three estates of France were
convoked at Notre Dame in Paris, the 10th of April, 1302, to take
cognizance of the differences between the King and the Pope. For the
first time since the establishment of the kingdom of France, the town
deputies were called to sit in a body in a national assembly, alongside
of prelates and barons; this great event was the official acknowledgment
of the middle class as the "Third Estate," and attested that henceforth
the villages, the towns, the communities formed a collective entity, a
political order.

It is a singular thing that the first states-general was freely convoked
by the most despotic of the kings of the Middle Ages, and that he had
the idea to seek in them moral power and support.

The attempt would seem foolhardy in a prince so little popular as Philip
the Fair; but Philip in reality risked nothing, and knew it; the
feudality did not possess sufficient union, the people did not have
enough force to profit on this occasion against the Crown. Besides, the
Pope was more unpopular than the King, and had been so for a much longer
time; the nobility, which, since the reign of St. Louis, had coalesced
to resist clerical jurisdiction, had not changed in sentiment; as to the
people, filled with the remembrance of St. Louis, they loved the King
still, better than the Pope, notwithstanding the oppressions of Philip,
and besides it was easy to foresee that the mayors, consuls, aldermen,
jurats or magistrates, who were to represent their cities in the great
assembly at Paris, dazzled with the unaccustomed _role_ to which they
were called, and desirous to please the King in their personal interest
or in that of their towns, would be under the control of the adroit
lawyers who were prepared to work on their minds and to direct the
debates. The bull, nevertheless, if its exact tenor had been known,
might well have produced in many respects a contrary effect to the
wishes of the King. The reproaches of Boniface touching the debasement
of the coinage and the royal exactions, reproaches which so irritated
Philip, might have met with other sentiments from the townsmen. The
chancellor, Peter Flotte, foresaw this; he distributed among the public,
instead of the original bull, a species of _resume_ in which he had
assembled, in a few lines, in the crudest terms, the most exorbitant
pretensions of Boniface, at the same time suppressing everything which
touched on the troubles of the nation against the King.

"Boniface, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to Philip, King of
the French; fear God and observe his commandments. We want you to know
that you are subject to us temporarily as well as spiritually; that the
collation of the benefices and the prebends--revenues attached to the
canonical positions--do not belong to you in any way; that if you have
care of the vacant benefices, it is to reserve their revenue for their
successors; that if you have misapplied any of these benefices, we
declare that collation invalid and revoke it, declaring as heretics all
those who think otherwise.

"Given in the Lateran in the month of December, etc."

At the same time they caused to be circulated a pretended answer to the
pretended bull:

"Philip, by the Grace of God, King of the French, to Boniface, who gives
out that he is sovereign pontiff, little or no salutations! May your
very great Fatuity know that we are subject to no one as regards
temporal power: that the collation of vacant churches and prebends
belongs to us by Royal Right; that the incomes belong to us; that the
collations made and to be made by us are valid in the past and in the
future, and that we will manfully protect their possessors toward and
against all. Those who think otherwise we take to be fools and insane."

This brutal letter was not destined to be sent to its address, but to
abase the pontifical dignity, or at least the person of the Pope, in the
eyes of the French public. The spirit of the people must have been
greatly changed if this end could be thus attained by a means which
formerly would have drawn universal indignation on the head of the
sacrilegious monarch.

The attack of Philip, on the contrary, was completely effectual. The
prelates arrived at the states-general timid, irresolute, neutralized by
the difficulties of their position between the King and the Pope; the
lords and the townsmen hastened thither irritated against the bull,
heated by the violence of the royal answer. The members of the assembly
were influenced each by the other according to their arrival; the
pungent and wily eloquence of Peter Flotte did the rest. The chancellor,
as the first of the great crown officers and the king's chief justice,
opened the states by a long harangue in which, speaking in the name of
Philip, he exposed with much force and ingenuity the enterprises of the
court of Rome and its wrongs toward the kingdom and the Church.

"The Pope confers the bishoprics and the rectories on strangers and
unknown individuals who never become residents. The prelates no longer
have benefices to give to nobles whose ancestors founded the churches,
and to other lettered persons; from which results also that gifts are no
longer given to the churches. The Pope imposes on the churches and
benefices pensions, subsidies, exactions of all kinds. The bishops are
kept from their ministry, being obliged to go to the holy see to carry
presents--always presents. All these abuses have done nothing but
increase under the actual pontificate, and increase every
day--conditions that can no longer be tolerated. That is why I command
you as your master and pray you as your friend to give me counsel and
help."

The Chancellor added that the King had resolved, on his own initiative,
to remedy the encroachments that his officers had made on the rights of
the Church, and would have done so sooner had he not feared the
appearance of submitting to the menaces and orders of the Pope, who
pretended to reduce to a condition of vassalage the most noble kingdom
of France, which had never been raised but from God. Peter Flotte dwelt
especially on this latter argument, and appealed in turn to the
interests of the nobility and of the clergy, and to national pride. The
fiery Count of Artois arose, and exclaimed that even if the King
submitted to the encroachments of the Pope, the nobility would not
suffer them, and that the gentry would never acknowledge any temporal
superior other than the King. The nobility and the Third Estate
confirmed these words by their acclamations, and swore to sacrifice
their properties and lives to defend the temporal independence of the
kingdom. A Norman advocate, named Dubosc, procurator of the commune of
Coutances, accused the Pope, in writing, of heresy for having wanted to
despoil the King of the independence of the crown which he held from
God. The embarrassment of the clergy was extreme; the members of the
Church, fearing to be crushed in the crash between King and Pope, asked
time for deliberation; their declaration in the assembly then being
held, was insisted upon; already cries arose around them that whoever
did not subscribe to the oath would be held as an enemy of the State;
they acquiesced, satisfied apparently by an appearance of violence which
would serve them for an excuse at Rome. They acknowledged themselves
obliged, in common with the other orders, to defend the rights of the
King and of the kingdom, whether they held estates from the King or not;
then they prayed the King to be allowed to go to the council convoked by
the Pope; the King and the barons declared themselves formally opposed.

The three orders then separated, so as to write to the court at Rome
each its own side of the affair; the letters of the nobility and of the
Third Estate--which as may be imagined were all prepared in advance by
the agents of the King, and were only subscribed to and sealed by the
assistants--were addressed, not to the Pope, but to the college of
cardinals. The despatch of the barons expresses rudely the tortuous and
unreasonable enterprises of him who, at present, is at the seat and
government of the Church, and declares that neither the nobility nor the
universities nor the people require correction or imposition of any
trouble, whether by the authority of the Pope or anyone else--unless it
be from their sire, the King. This letter is signed, not only by the
principal lords of the kingdom, but also by several great barons of the
empire.

The epistle of the mayors, aldermen, jurats, consuls, universities,
communes, and communities of the towns of the kingdom of France has not
been preserved. It is known only, by the answer that the cardinals made,
that it was conceived in the same spirit as the letter of the barons.
The letter of the clergy is quite in another style: the clerks address
their very holy father and very holy sire, the Pope; expose to him the
complaints of the King and of the nobility; the necessity in which they
find themselves engaged to defend the King's rights, and the anger of
the laity; the imminent rupture of France with the Roman Church--and
even of the people with the clergy in general--and conjure the highest
prudence of the Pope to conserve the ancient union by revoking the
convocation of the ecclesiastical council.

The states-general were dissolved immediately after the unique _seance_
which had so well responded to the desires of the King. The means
employed to attain this result were not entirely loyal, nor was public
opinion altogether free; it was but slightly enlightened on the grave
debates that the authorities affected to submit to it. Nevertheless it
was an important matter, this call to the French nation, and it must be
acknowledged that the genius of France responded in proclaiming national
independence, and in repelling the intervention of the court of Rome in
the internal politics of the country.




WAR OF THE FLEMINGS WITH PHILIP THE
FAIR OF FRANCE

A.D. 1302

EYRE EVANS CROWE


  Toward the beginning of the thirteenth century the people of
  Flanders, whose country had been for centuries a feudal
  dependency of France, were considerably advanced in wealth
  and importance. They had become restive under the French
  rule, and their discontent ripened into settled hostility.
  Common commercial interests drew them into friendship with
  England, and in the quarrel between Philip the Fair and
  Edward I, 1295, concerning Edward's rule in Guienne
  (Aquitaine) the Flemings allied themselves with the English
  King.

  In 1297 Philip invaded Flanders and gained several successes
  against the Flemings, who were feebly aided by King Edward.
  In 1299 the two kings settled their quarrel, and the
  Flemings were left to the vengeance of Philip, for in the
  pacification the court of Flanders was not included. A
  French army entered the Flemish territory, inflicted two
  defeats upon the Count's troops, and received the submission
  of the Count. Philip annexed Flanders to his crown and
  appointed a governor over the Flemings. In less than two
  years they rose in furious revolt. The insurrection began at
  Bruges, May 18, 1302, when over three thousand Frenchmen in
  that city were massacred by the insurgents. This massacre
  was called the "Bruges Matins." Such an outrage upon the
  French crown could not but bring upon the Flemings all the
  forces that Philip was able to muster. The two leading
  actions of the ensuing war--that at Courtrai, known as the
  "Battle of the Spurs," on account of the number of gilt
  spurs captured by the Flemings, and the engagement at
  Mons-la-Puelle--are described in the course of the narrative
  which follows. As a result of the battle of Courtrai the
  French nobility were nearly destroyed, and Philip found it
  necessary to recreate his titled bodies.

The Flemings prepared to resist the storm. They chose Guy of Juliers,
grandson of the Count of Flanders, to be their commander. Though a
cleric, he did not hesitate to obey the call, in order to avenge his
family, so cruelly betrayed by the French King. His brother, made
prisoner at Furnes by the Count d'Artois, had perished in that rude
Prince's keeping. His first attempt was to induce the people of Ghent to
join the insurrection, but its rich burgesses preferred French rule to
that of the Count of Flanders. Bruges, however, was supported by all
the lesser and maritime towns of Flanders. Guy of Namur, a son of the
Count, who had escaped to Germany, also returned with a body of soldiers
from that country, and reassured the Flemings. These surprised one of
the ducal manors, in which were five hundred French, and then took
Courtrai, occupying the town, but not the castle. It was immediately
besieged, as well as that of Cassel, the people of Ypres rallying to the
French cause. The French garrison of the town of Courtrai sent pressing
messengers for aid, and Robert of Artois marched with seven thousand
knights and forty thousand foot, of which one-fourth were archers. The
Flemish were but twenty thousand, of which none but the chiefs had
horses. Neither was their armor nor their weapons of a perfect kind, the
latter being a lance like a boar-spear, or a knotted stick pointed with
iron, and called in Flemish a "good day." The princes of Juliers and
Namur posted their combatants on the road which leads from Courtrai to
Ghent, behind a canal that communicated with the river Lys. A priest
came with the host, but, there being no time to receive the communion,
each man took some earth in his mouth. The counts then knighted Pierre
Konig and the chiefs of bands, and took their station on foot with the
rest.

The French had nine battalions or divisions, their archers or light
troops being Lombards or Navarrese and Provencals. These the constable
placed foremost, to commence the fight and harass the Flemings by their
missiles. But the Count d'Artois overruled this manoeuvre, and called
it a Lombard trick, reproaching the Constable de Nesle with appreciating
the Flemings too highly because of his connection with them. (He had
married a daughter of the Count of Flanders.) "If you advance as far as
I shall," replied the Count, "you will go far enough, I warrant." So
saying he put spurs to his horse and led on his knights; on which the
Count d'Artois and the French squadrons charged also. This formidable
cavalry could not reach the Flemings, but fell one over the other into
the canal, which they had not perceived, and which was five fathoms wide
and three deep. The Flemish counts, seeing the disorder, instantly
passed the canal on either side to take advantage of it, and fell on the
discomfited French. The battle was but a massacre. Numbers of the French
nobles perished--the Count d'Artois, Godfrey of Brabant and his son,
the counts of Eu and of Albemarle, the Constable and his brother, De
Tanquerville, Pierre Flotte, the Chancellor, and Jacques de St. Pol--in
all some six thousand knights. Louis of Clermont and one or two others
escaped, to the damage of their reputation. This battle of Courtrai was
fought on July 11, 1302.

Had the war not been one exclusively of defence on the part of the
Flemings, or had they had ambitious and adventurous chiefs, such a
disaster might have endangered the throne of France. It was the Flemish
democracy which had conquered, and its chiefs contented themselves with
reducing the remaining cities, and expelling the gentry and rich
citizens as of French inclinations. This reaction extended from Flanders
into Brabant and Hainault. Philip in the mean time exerted all his
activities and resources. Had he been an English king he would have
called his parliament together, and have found national support and
national supplies. The French King preferred having recourse to a
recoinage. In 1294 he had forbidden any persons to keep plate unless
they possessed an annual revenue of six thousand livres. He now ordered
his bailies to deliver up their plate, and all non-functionaries to send
half of theirs. Those who did so received payment in the new coin, and
lost one-half thereby. A tax of one-fifth, or 20 per cent., of the
annual revenue was levied on the land, and a twentieth was levied on the
movable property. In the following year the King found it more
advantageous to order that all prelates and barons should, for every
five hundred livres of yearly revenue in land, furnish an armed and
mounted gentleman for five months' service, while the non-noble was to
furnish and keep up six infantry soldiers (_sergens de pied_) for every
hundred hearths. This decree was a return to feudal military service,
occasioned, no doubt, by the general disaffection caused by the raising
of the war supplies in money. As if to recompense all classes for the
severity of the exaction, Philip published an _ordonnance_ of reform for
the protection of both laymen and ecclesiastics from the arbitrary
encroachments or interference of his officers.

Having thus set his realm in order, and collected an army of seventy
thousand men at Arras, the King marched to meet the Flemings, who in
equal force had mustered in the vicinity of Dovai. They kept, as at
Courtrai, on the defensive; and the King of France, too cautious to
attack them, allowed the whole autumn to pass, and returned to France
after a campaign as inefficient as inglorious.

Philip had been long involved in a controversy with Pope Boniface VIII,
and the quarrel still continued. It was not till some time after the
battle of Courtrai that the King at last, delivered from the menacing
hostility of Rome, had leisure to turn his mind and efforts again toward
Flanders. During the year 1303 he had sought to keep the Flemings at bay
by bodies of Lombard and Tuscan infantry, whom his Florentine banker
persuaded him to hire, and by Amadeus V, Duke of Savoy, who brought
soldiers of that country to his aid. Although the long lances and more
perfect armor of these troops gave them some advantage over the
Flemings, the latter took and burned Therouanne, overran Artois, and
laid siege to Tournai. Amadeus of Savoy, unable to overcome the Flemings
by arms, recommended Philip to do so by treaty, and the King accordingly
concluded a pacification, one condition of which was that the Count of
Flanders should be released from prison to negotiate terms of fresh
accommodation. The Flemings received the aged Count with respect; but he
brought no terms which they were willing to accept; and he returned, as
he had pledged his word, to captivity at Compiegne, where he soon after
died.

For the campaign of the following year Philip, in lieu of Italian
infantry, took sixteen Genoese galleys into his pay, commanded by
Rainier de Grimaldi. This admiral passed through the Straits of
Gibraltar and assailed the maritime towns and shipping of Flanders. Guy
of Namur mustered to oppose them a fleet of greater numbers; but the
Genoese, accustomed to naval warfare, defeated the Flemings and took Guy
of Namur prisoner. Philip, at the same time, assembled a large army at
Tournai, and marched to Mons-la-Puelle, near Lille, where the Flemings,
to the number of seventy thousand, were encamped within a
circumvallation of cars and chariots. There was no Robert of Artois on
this occasion to precipitate a rash onslaught, and by Philip's order the
southern light troops harassed the Flemings all day with arrows and
missiles, allowing them no repose. Toward the evening many of the
French withdrew to refresh themselves and take off their armor; the King
himself was of this number; the Flemings, perceiving this slackness, and
divining the cause, poured forth from their encampment in three
divisions, which at first drove all before them, and reached as far as
the King's tent, then in full preparation for supper. The monarch
himself, without armor or helmet, was fortunately not recognized; his
secretary, De Boville, and two Parisians of the name of Gentien, whom
Philip had always about his person, were slain before his eyes. The King
withdrew, but it was to arm, mount on horseback, and cry out to his
followers to stand their ground. He himself, says Villani, "one of the
strongest and best made men of his time," fought valiantly until his
brother Charles and most of the barons, recovering from the first panic,
came to his rescue, and the Flemings were finally repulsed and put to
the rout. William of Juliers fell on the side of the Flemings; the son
of the Duke of Burgundy and many others on that of the French. Philip
immediately laid siege to Lille, deeming the Flemings totally
discomfited. They had, however, rallied, obtained reenforcements at
Bruges and at Ghent, and in three weeks appeared to the number of fifty
thousand before the King's camp at Lille, crying for battle. Philip
called a council, and observed that "even a victory would be dearly
purchased over a party so desperate."

The Duke of Brabant and the Count of Savoy therefore undertook to
negotiate with the Flemings, and Philip consented to grant them fair
terms. He recognized their independent rights, agreed to liberate
Robert, eldest son of Guido, Count of Flanders, as well as all those in
captivity. He granted Robert and his son the fiefs which belonged to him
in France, especially that of Nevers, and promised to give him
investiture of the County of Flanders. The Flemings, on their side,
consented to pay two hundred thousand livres, and to leave the King of
France in possession of the three towns of Lille, Douai, and Bethune,
that part of Flanders in which French was spoken. It was thus, at least,
that the French interpreted the treaty, while the Flemings afterward
alleged that French Flanders was merely a pledge for the payment of the
money, not an alienation to the crown of France.




FIRST SWISS STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY

A.D. 1308

F. GRENFELL BAKER


  Owing to the fact that the house of Hapsburg had its origin
  in Switzerland, the accession of Rudolph I, founder of the
  Hapsburg dynasty, to the throne of Germany (1273), with the
  virtual headship of the Holy Roman Empire, was an event of
  great importance in the history of the Swiss cantons. To
  this day the paternal domains whence the Hapsburg family
  takes its name are a part of Swiss territory. The local
  administration, as well as such imperial offices as still
  remained in the free communities of Switzerland, were
  largely in the hands of this family long before it gave
  sovereigns to the empire itself. Its chiefs were the chosen
  champions or advocates of the district.

  Of the Swiss communities Uri seems to have first established
  its freedom within the empire, and in that canton liberty
  was most completely preserved from the perils that always
  threatened Switzerland in this period. Under Rudolph it was
  at first the policy of the empire to secure the attachment
  of the Swiss by making the two other cantons, Schwyz and
  Unterwalden, similarly independent. But toward the end of
  his reign the policy of Rudolph was so influenced by
  ambition for territorial expansion that the Swiss began to
  feel an encroachment upon their independence. In 1291, the
  year of Rudolph's death, the three cantons, fearing danger
  to their interests in the new settlement of the crown,
  formed a league for mutual protection and cooperation. The
  very parchment on which the terms of this union were written
  "has been preserved as a testimony to the early independence
  of the Forest Cantons, the Magna Charta of Switzerland." The
  formation of this confederacy may be regarded as the first
  combined preparation of the Swiss for that great struggle in
  defence of their liberties, in the history of which fact and
  legend, as shown in Baker's discriminating narrative, are
  romantically blended.

  The empire passed out of the Hapsburg control when Rudolph
  died, but the family again got possession of it in 1298,
  when Rudolph's son Albert was elected German king. In the
  following account the relations of Switzerland and Austria,
  under the renewed Hapsburg sovereignty, are circumstantially
  set forth.

There can be little doubt that most of the many stories related by the
Swiss of the cruelty and extortion of the Austrian bailies are wholly or
in great part devoid of a historical basis of truth, as are the dates
given for their occurrence. They doubtless sprang from the very natural
feelings of hatred the mountaineers of the Forest State felt against a
foreign master, who was probably only too ready to punish them for the
part they took against him in the struggle for the imperial throne.
Indeed, it was not till about two centuries after this period that any
reference to the alleged cruelties of the Austrians can be found in the
local records, though legends about them have been plentiful.

Many and various are the stories that have come down to our times of the
oppression and licentiousness of the bailies, most of which have
probably gained much color by constant repetition, even if they were not
wholly created by imagination and hatred of the Austrian rule. According
to these accounts, the local despots imposed exorbitant fines for
trivial offences, and frequently sent prisoners to Zug and Lucerne to be
tried by Austrian judges. They levied enormously increased taxes and
imports on every commodity, and exacted payment in the most merciless
manner; they openly violated the liberties of the people, and chose
every occasion to insult and degrade them. An oft-quoted instance of
their cruelty is recorded of a bailie named Landenburg, who publicly
reproved a peasant for living in a house above his station. On another
occasion, having fined an old and much respected laborer, named Henry of
Melchi, a yoke of oxen for an imaginary offence, the Governor's
messenger jeeringly told the old man, who was lamenting that if he lost
his cattle he could no longer earn his bread, that if he wanted to use a
plough he had better draw it himself, being only a vile peasant. To this
insult Henry's son Arnold responded by attacking the messenger and
breaking his fingers, and then, fearing lest his act should bring down
some serious punishment, fled to the mountains, and left his aged father
to Landenburg's vengeance. The bailie confiscated his little property,
imposed a heavy fine, and finally burned out both his eyes.

The hot irons used in this barbarous punishment, the Swiss are fond of
saying, went deeper than the tyrant intended, and penetrated to the
hearts and aroused the sympathies of their ancestors to perform such
acts of heroism that tyranny fled in fear from the land. The conduct of
Arnold, however, can hardly at this period of his life warrant the
eulogies bestowed upon his memory, though he subsequently figures as one
of the "Men of Ruetli."

Landenburg lived in a castle near Sarnen, in Unterwalden, where his
imperious temper, his exactions, his cruelties, and his debaucheries
aroused a universal feeling of hatred among the peasants, that
culminated in his expulsion and the destruction of his stronghold. The
latter is popularly believed to have occurred on January 1, 1308. As the
bailie left his castle to attend mass, some forty determined peasants,
who had already bound themselves by oath to free their country at a
solemn meeting on the steep promontory over the Lake of Lucerne known as
the Ruetli, appeared before him carrying sheep, fowls, and other
customary presents, and thus gained admission to the castle. No sooner
were they past the gates than, drawing the weapons they had till then
concealed beneath their clothes, they disarmed the guard and took
possession of the fortress. Other conspirators were admitted, and the
people at once rose in revolt. Landenburg, hearing while still at church
of what had occurred, managed to effect his escape, and fled to Lucerne.
Of the other bailies, Gessler and Wolfenschiess are believed to have
excited even more hatred than their colleague Landenburg, and to have
exceeded him in acts of savage cruelty and vicious living.

One example out of many similar ones will show the spirit in which the
Swiss traditions have treated the memory of Wolfenschiess. On a certain
day, finding that a peasant named Conrad, of Baumgarten, whose wife he
had frequently tried in vain to seduce, was absent from home,
Wolfenschiess entered Conrad's house and ordered his wife to prepare him
a bath, at the same time renewing with ardor his former proposals. With
the cunning of her sex, the wife feigned to be willing to accede to his
wishes, and on the pretence of retiring to another room to undress sped
to her husband, who quickly returned and slew Wolfenschiess while he was
still in the bath. After this exploit an entrance was effected into the
bailies' castle of Rotzberg by one of the conspirators, who was in the
habit of paying nightly visits to a servant living in the castle, by
means of a rope attached to her window, and who then admitted his
companions, who were lying concealed in the moat.

But, probably in consequence of his supposed connection with the legend
of William Tell, the bailie to whom the name of Gessler has been given
stands out more prominently in Swiss history than any other. Gessler's
residence, according to tradition, was a strongly fortified castle built
in the valley of Uri, near Altorf, and this he named Zwing Uri ("Uri's
Restraint"). He used every means that cruelty or avarice could suggest
in his conduct as governor, and incurred additional hatred from the
methods he adopted to discover the members of a secret conspiracy he
believed existed against him in the district. With this object in view,
Gessler caused a pole, surmounted with the ducal cap of Austria, to be
set up in the market-place at Altorf, before which emblem of authority
he ordered every man to uncover and do reverence as he passed. The
refusal of a peasant to obey this command, his arrest, trial, and
condemnation to pierce with an arrow an apple placed on his own child's
head, his dexterity in performing this feat, his escape from his
enemies, his murder of the tyrant Gessler, the solemn compact sworn at
Ruetli, and the revolutionary events that followed form the motive of
the much-celebrated legend of William Tell.

The mythical hero of this shadowy romance has long embodied in his
person the virtues of the typical avenger of the wrongs of the poor and
the oppressed against the tyranny of the rich and the powerful; his name
has been honored and his manly deeds have been lauded in prose and verse
by thousands in many lands for many centuries, exciting doubtless many a
noble deed of self-denial, and spurring to the forefront many a popular
act of patriotic daring. In Switzerland certainly this picturesque
representative of liberty has done much to mould the political life, if
not also to write many pages of the history of the people, and that in
spite of the questionable morality of the received narrative of his
career, and its unquestionable untruth. The emergence of the Swiss from
slavery to freedom, as in the case of all other nations, was undoubtedly
a gradual process, and there is now every reason for believing that the
narrative relating to William Tell and the other heroes who are said to
have been the prime instruments in the expulsion of the Austrian bailies
from the districts of the Waldstaette are purely apocryphal, with a
possible substratum of actual fact.

It is sad for an individual, and still more so for a nation, to lose the
illusions of youth, if not of innocence, and to awake to the knowledge
of an unbeautiful reality, bereft of all fictitious adornment. When,
however, the naked truth can be discovered--and that is seldom the
case--it must be faced; if the national or individual mind cannot
receive it, the fault lies with the immaturity or morbid condition of
the former, not with the material of the latter.

As the legend of William Tell is more devoid of actual historical
foundation, and is more widely known and believed than are the many
others related as the records of events happening at the period from
which the Swiss date their independence, it may be as well to devote
some little space to its consideration. All the local records that might
possibly throw some light on the existence and career of Tell have now
been thoroughly searched by many impartial and competent scholars, as
well as by enthusiastic partisans, with the invariable result that, till
a considerable lapse of years after the presumed date of their deaths,
not one particle of evidence has been discovered tending to prove the
identity of either William Tell or of the tyrant Gessler. On the other
hand, many local authorities, as early as the beginning of the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries, when the story was fully established, have gone
out of their way to deny its truth and prove its entire falsity from
their own researches. Materials, indeed, are many relating to the events
that befell the Waldstaette during their conflicts with the bailies,
whom they succeeded in expelling from their country; and it seems in the
highest degree improbable that, had Tell and his friends lived and taken
so prominent a part in effecting their country's freedom as is popularly
assigned to them, they should have been entirely ignored by all
contemporary writers, as well as by subsequent ones, for a hundred and
fifty or two hundred years--yet such is the case.

William Tell is supposed to have performed his heroic deeds in or about
the year 1291, and not till between 1467 and 1474 are his acts recorded,
when in a collection of the traditions of the Canton of Unterwalden,
transcribed by a notary at Sarnen, an account is given of the apple
episode and the subsequent escape of the famous archer, and his murder
of Gessler, though nothing is said of his having taken part in a league
to free his country or of his being the founder of the confederation. A
little prior to the compilation of the _White Book of Sarnen_, as this
collection is called, an anonymous poet composed a _Song of the Origin
of the Confederation_, in which, although no reference is made to
Gessler, the other details are related concerning William Tell shooting
at the apple, the revolt of the peasants, the expulsion of the bailies,
and the formation of a patriotic league. It is, of course, quite
possible that a Gessler was killed by the peasants, as the name was
common enough at the time, but no member of that family--the records of
which have now been most carefully traced--held any office under the
Austrians at that period in any of the Waldstaette, nor is it at all
probable that Austrian bailies governed the districts later than 1231.
Neither is it possible for a bailie named Gessler to have occupied the
castle at the date assigned, the ruins of which have so long been
pointed out as being those of his former abode. So, also, the celebrated
Tell's Chapel on the Vier Waldstaette See, at Kuesnach, was certainly
not built to commemorate the exploits of Schiller's and Rossini's Swiss
hero.

"The fact is that in Gessler we are confronted by a curious case of
confusion in identity. At least three totally different men seem to have
been blended into one in the course of an attempt to reconcile the
different versions of the three cantons. Felix Hammerlin, of Zurich, in
1450, tells of a Hapsburg governor being on the little island of
Schwanan, in the lake of Lowerz, who seduced a maid of Schwyz, and was
killed by her brothers. Then there was another person, strictly
historical, Knight Eppo, of Kuesnach, who, while acting as bailiff for
the Duke of Austria, put down two revolts of the inhabitants in his
district, one in 1284 and another in 1302. Finally, there was the tyrant
bailiff mentioned in the ballad of Tell, who, by the way, a chronicler,
writing in 1510, calls, not Gessler, but the Count of Seedorf. These
three persons were combined, and the result was named Gessler."

Moreover, it is extremely doubtful whether the green plateau of the
Ruetli below Seelisberg, and some six hundred and fifty feet above the
lake, with its miraculous springs, ever witnessed the patriotic
gathering of the thirty-three peasants who, tradition asserts, there
formed the league against Austrian rule, or heard the solemn oath they
and their leaders, Stauffacher, Fuerst, and Arnold, mutually swore.

In all probability the legend of Tell and the apple originated in
Scandinavia, and was brought by the Alemanni into Switzerland; as into
other lands. Saxo Grammaticus, in the _Withina Saga_, places the scene
of a very similar story in that country, some three hundred years before
the appearance of the Swiss version, and tells of a certain Danish king
named Harold, the counterpart of Gessler, and one Toki, who played the
same _role_ enacted by Tell. Like legends are also related of Olaf,
Eindridi, and an almost identical one to that of William Tell of Egil,
who, being ordered by King Nidung to shoot an apple off the head of the
son of the former, took two arrows from his quiver and prepared to obey.
On the King asking why he had selected two arrows, Egil replied, "To
shoot thee, tyrant, with the second, should the first fail."

Neither are similar narratives absent from the legends of other
countries. Thus Reginald Scott says: "Puncher shot a penny on his son's
head, and made ready another arrow to have slain the Duke of Rengrave,
who commanded it." So also similar incidents occur in the tales of Adam
Bell, _Clym of the Clough_, and William of Claudeslie in the _Percy
Ballads_, and in the legends of many places in Northern Europe. On this
subject Sir Francis Adams mentions, in a note to his valuable book on
the Swiss Confederation, that a well-known citizen of Berne, in answer
to his inquiry as to whether Tell ever existed, replied: "Not in
Switzerland. If you travel in the Hasli districts you will find a
distinct race of men, who are of Scandinavian origin, and I believe that
their ancestors brought the legend with them." To this it may be added
that philologists have long since traced the rude dialect of Oberhasli
to its Scandinavian sources, and the physical characteristics of the
people mark them as of different racial origin from those around them.

At the period these events were in progress, or, rather, about the time
that the Austrian bailies were expelled, toward the close of the
thirteenth century, the Emperor's[45] attention was too fully occupied
conducting a war against the Bishop of Basel to allow him to enforce
his authority among the revolted Waldstaette. He did not, however, allow
the peasants for long to enjoy the fruits of their energetic and
successful action, as some six months later he headed a large army with
which he intended to enforce obedience. The expedition thus begun led to
Albert's tragic death, and reared another step leading to the final
independence of the Swiss. On reaching Baden, in the Aargau, a halt was
made in order to deliberate on the best mode of punishing the rebels.
Here a general council of nobles decided, after careful deliberation, on
the route to be taken, and the nature of the measures best calculated to
enforce Albert's authority. On May 1, 1308, the Emperor, with a few
followers, returned to Rheinfelden, in order to visit the Empress
Elizabeth, preparatory to marching against the Waldstaette. Shortly
before this time Albert had had a violent quarrel with his nephew John,
son of Duke Rudolph of Swabia, touching the youth's paternal
inheritance, which he persistently declined to allow John to take
possession of, and whom he had, moreover, publicly insulted by offering
him a coronet of twigs as the only recompense for his just claims.

In spite of this quarrel Albert allowed John and four of his fastest
friends to occupy a place in his suite when he left Baden to visit his
consort. Albert's disregard of his nephew's resentment was further shown
when the party arrived on the bank of the Reuss, as he allowed him, with
his friends, to accompany him in the boat in which he crossed the river.
The passage was made in safety, but just as the Emperor was stepping on
shore near the town of Windisch, John and three of his companions struck
him down with their swords, and after inflicting a number of severe
wounds left him for dead. The unhappy monarch expired a few minutes
after in the arms of a passing peasant woman. All this bloody scene took
place in full view of the Emperor's train on the opposite side of the
river, though no one apparently was able to render him assistance,
probably from the absence of boats and the suddenness of the tragedy.
The murderers succeeded in making good their escape, though two of them
were afterward captured and executed, as were also a number of innocent
people believed to be participators in the conspiracy. John himself was
more fortunate, for, disguised as a monk, he managed for many years to
hide his identity, and, after wandering in Tuscany unsuspected,
eventually died in a monastery at Pisa.

Albert's daughter Agnes, Queen of Hungary, "a woman unacquainted with
the milder feelings of piety, but addicted to a certain sort of
devotional habits and practices by no means inconsistent with implacable
vindictiveness," fearfully avenged his murder. This woman appears to
have been seized with a perfectly demoniacal mania for blood and
revenge. Aided by those in authority, who feared lest a widespread
conspiracy had been formed, she seized, on the slightest suspicion,
hundreds of innocent victims and put them to death with all the ferocity
of a famished beast. Members of nearly a hundred noble families, and at
least a thousand persons of lower rank, of every age and of both sexes,
fell beneath her savage vengeance. She is said to have further whetted
her appetite for horrors by wading, at Fahrwangen, in the blood of
sixty-three innocent knights, exclaiming the while, "This day we bathe
in May-dew." But at last, after several months, even the implacable
bloodthirstiness of the Hungarian Queen was satisfied, and the massacre
ceased. Over the spot where Albert met his death Agnes built a
monastery; she named it Koenigsfelden and enriched it with the spoils of
her victims. Here she took up her abode for the remainder of her life,
and for nearly fifty years practised the most rigid asceticism, and
here, by the side of her parents, she was eventually buried.
Koenigsfelden stood on the road from Basel to Baden and Zurich, and
within sight of the castle of Hapsburg, the cradle of the house of
Austria.

Strenuous efforts were made by Albert's widow to obtain the succession
to the imperial throne for her son, Frederick, Duke of Austria, but the
choice of the prince-electors, headed by the Archbishop of Mainz, fell
on Count Henry of Luxemburg, a liberal-minded and generous noble, who
was accordingly crowned, under the title of Henry VII. During the short
reign of this monarch he proved himself a wise and generous friend to
the Swiss, whose privileges he confirmed. He made no effort to reimpose
local governors on the people of the Waldstaette, but, on the contrary,
confirmed the charters of Schwyz and Uri, granted one to Unterwalden,
and acknowledged jurisdiction. After Henry's death, in 1313, civil war
once more divided the empire through the rival contentions of Ludwig
(Louis) of Bavaria and Albert's son, Frederick of Austria. In this
contest the powerful monastery of Einsiedeln sided with the Austrian
candidate, and through its influence induced the Bishop of Constance to
place the large portion of Switzerland supporting the Bavarian cause
under a sentence of excommunication.

Between Einsiedeln and the Waldstaette there had long existed a feeling
of bitter hostility, the canons resenting the independent spirit
displayed by the peasants, and the latter remembering the many acts of
arbitrary oppression they and their ancestors had suffered at the
instance of the abbey. Indeed, actual hostilities were only prevented by
the friendly, though interested, mediation of the citizens of Zurich,
who were most anxious to preserve tranquillity in the territories of
both, in order to allow their trade with Italy over the St. Gothard
being carried on. They also favored peace, because since the Hapsburgs
had refused permission to the peasants to enter Lucerne, these had been
in the habit of bringing their cattle and dairy produce through
Einsiedeln to the monks of Zurich. The action of the monks, however, in
bringing about the serious sentence of excommunication so roused the
spirit of the mountaineers that, headed by their Landammann, Werner
Stauffacher, they attacked and captured the abbey, ransacked the whole
building from cellar to altar, and carried off the monks captive to the
town of Schwyz. This daring and sacrilegious act led Frederick--the
hereditary avoyer of the abbey--to place the Waldstaette under the
further punishment of the "ban of the empire." Both these sentences were
alike fruitless in bringing the peasants to submission to the house of
Austria. Shortly after, on Ludwig ascending the throne, the "ban" was
removed by the new monarch, and, with the aid of the Archbishop of
Mainz, the Metropolitan of Constance in 1315, the excommunication was
also revoked.

The triumph of Ludwig's claims over those of Frederick began that long
series of deadly conflicts between the Swiss and the house of Austria
that led the two nations for so many years to regard each other as
natural and implacable enemies. At this time Austria was governed by
Duke Leopold, a man of arrogant, passionate temper, of unscrupulous
ambition, and brutal cruelty, according to the Swiss chronicles, but
who, from other accounts, does not appear specially to have deserved
this character. His hatred of the Swiss was greatly increased by their
action in opposing his brother, Frederick, in the late contest. No
sooner, indeed, were the troubles of that contest over than he prepared
to wreak his vengeance, and once for all crush the power and
independence of the Forest States, and, as he declared, "trample the
audacious rustics under his feet."

Rapidly collecting his forces, Leopold soon found himself at the head of
fifteen thousand or twenty thousand well-armed men, including a large
body of heavily equipped cavalry. These latter were then looked upon as
the main strength of an army. Most of the ancient nobility of Hapsburg,
Kyburg, and Lenzburg rallied to his banners, besides many of the lesser
nobles and a contingent from Zurich, the citizens of which, deserting
their natural allies, had formed a treaty with Austria. Against this
formidable array the men of Schwyz, Uri, and Unterwalden were only able
to muster some fourteen hundred men, who, however, made up for their
want of weapons and discipline by the geographical advantages of the
country, by their patriotism, unity, and determined bravery.

Nothing now seemed to intervene between the Swiss and imminent
destruction, when, viewing with a compassion, most rare in those days,
the impending fate of the heroic mountaineers, the powerful Count of
Toggenborg tried to negotiate a peace with the Duke. Leopold's terms,
however, were so humiliating and evidently so insincere that nothing
came of these proposals.

On November 3, 1315, Leopold's army reached Baden, where a council was
held to determine upon the details of the campaign, a campaign having
for its object, as the Duke openly declared, "the extirpation of the
whole race of the people of Waldstaette." The difficulties of the
enterprise now began to show themselves, as several of Leopold's
followers, being well acquainted with the nature of the country and the
characters of the inhabitants, pointed out that both would offer a
determined resistance. Finally, relying upon their numbers and superior
arms, it was settled to march on Schwyz, through the Sattel Pass by
Morgarten, making Zug the base of operations; and while a false attack
should be threatened on the side of Arth, Unterwalden should be attacked
from Lucerne, as well as by a large force under the Count of Strasburg
by way of the Bruenig. Leopold himself was to lead the main army and
enter Schwyz through the pass. Had these operations remained secret, or
been carried out successfully, the course of Swiss history would
probably have been very different from what it was; but fortunately for
the cause of freedom, the Austrian plans became known in time, and
failed signally when put to the test. According to ancient chronicles,
as the Confederates were hurrying to repel the feint from Arth, a
friendly Austrian baron, named Henry of Huenenberg, shot an arrow amid
them bearing the message, "Guard Morgarten on the eve of St. Othmar." Be
this as it may, the Swiss collected their little band on the Sattel,
between which mountain and the eastern shore of the Lake of Egeri is
situated the ever-memorable Pass of Morgarten. Here, on the night of
November 14th, they collected a number of loose bowlders and
tree-trunks, and then, having offered up prayers for the preservation of
their country, they awaited with resolution the coming struggle.

With the first dawn of morning the Austrian army--the first that ever
entered the country--made its appearance in the pass, headed by Duke
Leopold and his formidable cavalry. Suddenly, when the whole narrow
defile was blocked with horse and foot, thousands of heavy stones and
trees were hurled among them from the neighboring heights, where the
peasant band, forming the Swiss force, lay concealed. The suddenness and
vigor of this unexpected attack quickly threw the first ranks of the
invaders into confusion, and caused a panic to seize the horses, many of
which in their fright turned and trampled down the men behind. Rapidly
the panic increased as the showers of missiles came tearing down, and
soon the whole army was in a state of wild terror and confusion--a
condition greatly assisted by the slippery nature of the ground. Then,
with wild shouts, and brandishing their iron-studded clubs and their
formidable halberts and scythes, down the mountain-side rushed, with the
fury of their native avalanche, the heroic Confederates; and falling on
their foes literally slew them by thousands. Many hundreds of the
Austrians perished in the lake, the men of Zurich alone making a stand,
and falling each where he fought. Few succeeded in effecting their
escape from what was little less than a general butchery.

On that memorable day all the flower of Austria's nobility lay dead
within the country they had hoped so easily to conquer. The Duke, with a
handful of followers, alone survived, and even these were forced to
undergo many perils before they eventually arrived in safety at
Winterthur. Neither were the other attacks, under the Count of Strasburg
and the forces from Lucerne, more successful for the invaders. Both
armies were repulsed with enormous loss by the men of Unterwalden, who
gave no quarter, many of their opponents being their own countrymen from
the estates of the abbey of Interlaken. After these signal victories the
Swiss, according to ancient custom, offered up a solemn thanksgiving to
almighty God for their success and the overthrow of their enemies; and
then, having laden themselves with the spoils of the dead, they returned
to their humble occupations, whence the defence of their country and
their lives had called them away. Among the Swiss, Morgarten has always
taken the first place in the long record of heroic victories that since
1315 has made the fame of Swiss arms second to none in Europe. This
victory at once brought the Waldstaette out of their long obscurity, and
placed them in the front rank as powerful and respected states in
Switzerland.

Leopold, on his return to Austria, was so satisfied with the ability of
the "audacious rustics" to defend themselves that he made no further
attempt to enter their country.




BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN

A.D. 1314

ANDREW LANG


  After the submission of Scotland in 1303, at the end of
  Wallace's heroic struggle, Edward I undertook to complete
  the union of that kingdom with England. "But the great
  difficulty," says a historian, "in dealing with the Scots
  was that they never knew when they were conquered; and just
  when Edward hoped that his scheme for union was carried out,
  they rose in arms once more."

  The Scottish leader now was Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale
  and Earl of Carrick. He had acted with Wallace, but
  afterward swore fealty to Edward. Still later he united with
  William Lamberton, Bishop of St. Andrews, against the
  English King. Edward heard of their compact while Bruce was
  in London, and the Scot fled to Dumfries. There, 1306, in
  the Church of the Gray Friars, he had an interview with John
  Comyn, called the Red Comyn--Bruce's rival for the Scottish
  throne--which ended in a violent altercation and the killing
  of Comyn by Bruce with a dagger. Next to the Baliols, Bruce
  was now nearest heir to the throne, and March 27, 1306, he
  was crowned.

  Edward now determined to take more vigorous measures than
  ever against the Scots. He denounced as traitors all who had
  participated in the murder of Comyn, and declared that all
  persons taken in arms would be put to death. He made great
  preparations for subduing Scotland, but while leading his
  army into that country, 1307, he died at Burgh-on-the-Sands,
  near Carlisle.

  Meanwhile Bruce, who ranks with Wallace as a Scottish hero,
  had suffered some reverses at the hands of the English.
  Under the Earl of Pembroke, in 1306, they took Perth and
  drove Bruce into the wilds of Athol. In the same year, at
  Dairy, Bruce was defeated by Comyn's uncle, Macdougal, Lord
  of Lorn, and escaped to Ireland. But in 1307 Bruce returned
  to Scotland and carried on the war against Edward II. The
  English were driven out of the strong places one by one; war
  alternated with diplomacy through several years; and at last
  came a crisis which roused the English government to a
  supreme effort.

  Stirling castle still held out, besieged by Edward Bruce,
  Robert's brother, 1313, but its surrender was promised by
  Mowbray, the governor, in the event of his not being
  relieved before June 24, 1314. The relieving of Stirling
  meant for the English a new invasion of Scotland. On both
  sides the strongest efforts were made--on the one side to
  relieve the castle, on the other to strengthen its
  besiegers. The opposing forces met in battle at
  Bannockburn, June 24, 1314, an action which has never been
  better described than in this characteristic recital by
  Professor Lang.

Bannockburn, like the relief of Orleans, or Marathon, was one of the
decisive battles of the world. History hinged upon it. If England had
won, Scotland might have dwindled into the condition of Ireland--for
Edward II was not likely to aim at a statesmanlike policy of union, in
his father's manner. Could Scotland have accepted union at the first
Edward's hands; could he have refrained from his mistreatment as we must
think it of Baliol, the fortunes of the isle of Britain might have been
happier. But had Scotland been trodden down at Bannockburn, the fortunes
of the isle might well have been worse.

The singular and certain fact is that Bannockburn was fought on a point
of chivalry, on a rule in a game. England must "touch bar," relieve
Stirling, as in some child's pastime. To the securing of the castle, the
central gate of Scotland, north and south, England put forth her full
strength. Bruce had no choice but to concentrate all the power of a now,
at last, united realm, and stand just where he did stand. His enemies
knew his purpose: by May 27th writs informed England that the Scots were
gathering on heights and morasses inaccessible to cavalry. If ever
Edward showed energy, it was in preparing for the appointed Midsummer
Day of 1314. The _Rotuli Scotiae_ contain several pages of his demands
for men, horses, wines, hay, grain, provisions, and ships. Endless
letters were sent to master mariners and magistrates of towns. The King
appealed to his beloved Irish chiefs, O'Donnells, O'Flyns, O'Hanlens,
MacMahons, M'Carthys, Kellys, O'Reillys, and O'Briens, and to _Hiberniae
Magnates, Anglico genere ortos_, Butlers, Blounts, De Lacys, Powers, and
Russels. John of Argyll was made admiral of the western fleet, and was
asked to conciliate the Islesmen, who, under Angus Og, were rallying to
Bruce. The numbers of men engaged on either side in this war cannot be
ascertained. Each kingdom had a year within which to muster and arm.

  "Then all that worthy were to fight
  Of Scotland, set all hale their might;"

while Barbour makes Edward assemble not only

        "His own chivalry
  That was so great it was ferly,"

but also knights of France and Hainault, Bretagne and Gascony, Wales,
Ireland, and Aquitaine. The whole English force is said to have exceeded
one hundred thousand, forty thousand of whom were cavalry, including
three thousand horses "barded from counter to tail," armed against
stroke of sword or point of spear. The baggage train was endless,
bearing tents, harness, "and apparel of chamber and hall," wine, wax,
and all the luxuries of Edward's manner of campaigning, including
_animalia_, perhaps lions. Thus the English advanced from Berwick,

  "Banners rightly fairly flaming,
   And pencels to the wind waving."

On June 23d Bruce heard that the English host had streamed out of
Edinburgh, where the dismantled castle was no safe hold, and were
advancing on Falkirk. Bruce had summoned Scotland to tryst in Torwood,
whence he could retreat at pleasure, if, after all, retreat he must. The
Fiery Cross, red with blood of a sacrificed goat, must have flown
through the whole of the Celticland. Lanarkshire, Douglasdale, and
Ettrick Forest were mustered under the banner of Douglas, the mullets
not yet enriched with the royal heart. The men of Moray followed their
new earl, Randolph, the adventurous knight who scaled the rock of the
castle of the Maidens. Renfrewshire, Bute, and Ayr were under the _fesse
chequy_ of young Walter Stewart. Bruce had gathered his own Carrick men,
and Angus Og led the wild levies of the Isles. Of stout spearmen and
fleet-footed clansmen Bruce had abundance; but what were his archers to
the archers of England, or his five hundred horse under Keith the
mareschal, to the rival knights of England, Hainault, Guienne, and
Almayne?

Battles, however, are won by heads, as well as by hearts and hands. The
victor of Glen Trool and Cruachen and London Hill knew every move in the
game, while Randolph and Douglas were experts in making one man do the
work of five. Bruce, too, had choice of ground, and the ground suited
him well.

To reach Stirling the English must advance by their left, along the
so-called German way, through the village of St. Nian's, or by their
right, through the Carse, partly enclosed, and much broken, in drainless
days, by reedy lochans. Bruce did not make his final dispositions till
he learned that the English meant to march by the former route. He then
chose ground where his front was defended, first by the little burn of
Bannock, which at one point winds through a cleugh with steep banks, and
next by two morasses, Halbert's bog and Milton bog. What is now arable
ground may have been a loch in old days, and these two marshes were then
impassable by a column of attack.

Between Charter's Hall--where Edward had his head-quarters--and Park's
Mill was a marge of firm soil, along which a column could pass, in
scrubby country, and between the bogs was a sort of bridge of dry land.
By these two avenues the English might assail the Scottish lines. These
approaches Bruce is said to have rendered difficult by pitfalls, and
even by caltrops to maim the horses. He determined to fight on foot, the
wooded country being difficult for horsemen, and the foe being
infinitely superior in cavalry. His army was arranged in four "battles,"
with Randolph to lead the vaward and watch against any attempt to throw
cavalry into Stirling. Edward Bruce commanded the division on the right,
next the Torwood. Walter Stewart, a lad, with Douglas led the third
division. Bruce himself and Angus Og, with the men of Carrick and the
Celts, were in the rear. Bruce had no mind to take the offensive, and as
at the Battle of the Standard, to open the fight with a charge of
impetuous mountaineers. On Sunday morning mass was said, and men shrived
them.

  "They thought to die in the melee,
   Or else to set their country free."

They ate but bread and water, for it was the vigil of St. John. News
came that the English had moved out of Falkirk, and Douglas and the
Steward brought tidings of the great and splendid host that was rolling
north. Bruce bade them make little of it in the hearing of the army.

Meanwhile Philip de Mowbray, who commanded in Stirling, had ridden
forth to meet and counsel Edward. His advice was to come no nearer;
perhaps a technical relief was held to have already been secured by the
presence of the army.

Mowbray was not heard--"the young men" would not listen. Gloucester,
with the van, entered the park, where he was met, as we shall see, and
Clifford, Beaumont, and Sir Thomas Grey, with three hundred horsemen,
skirted the wood where Randolph was posted, a clear way lying before
them to the castle of Stirling. Bruce had seen this movement, and told
Randolph that "a rose of his chaplet was fallen," the phrase attesting
the King's love of chivalrous romance. To pursue horsemen with infantry
seemed vain enough; but Randolph moved out of cover, thinking perhaps
that knights adventurous would refuse no chance to fight. If this was
his thought, he reckoned well. Beaumont cried to his knights, "Give
ground, leave them fair field." Grey hinted that the Scots were in too
great force, and Beaumont answered, "If you fear, fly!" "Sir," said Sir
Thomas, "for fear I fly not this day!" and so spurred in between
Beaumont and D'Eyncourt and galloped on the spears. D'Eyncourt was
slain, Grey was unhorsed and taken. The three hundred lances of Beaumont
then circled Randolph's spearmen round about on every side, but the
spears kept back the horses. Swords, maces, and knives were thrown; all
was done as by the French cavalry against the British squares at
Waterloo, and all as vainly. The hedge of steel was unbroken, and, in
the hot sun of June, a mist of dust and heat brooded over the battle.

          "Sic mirkness
  In the air above them was"

as when the sons of Thetis and the Dawn fought under the walls of windy
Troy. Douglas beheld the distant cloud, and rode to Bruce, imploring
leave to hurry to Randolph's aid. "I will not break my ranks for him,"
said Bruce; yet Douglas had his will. But the English wavered, seeing
his line advance, and thereon Douglas halted his men, lest Randolph
should lose renown. Beholding this the spearmen of Randolph, in their
turn, charged and drove the weary English horse and their disheartened
riders.

Meanwhile Edward had halted his main force to consider whether they
should fight or rest. But Gloucester's party, knowing nothing of his
halt, had advanced into the wooded park; and Bruce rode down to the
right in his armor, and with a gold coronal on his basnet, but mounted
on a mere palfrey. To the front of the English van, under Gloucester and
Hereford, rode Sir Henry Bohun, a bow-shot beyond his company.
Recognizing the King, who was arraying his ranks, Bohun sped down upon
him, apparently hoping to take him.

  "He thought that he should dwell lightly,
   Win him, and have him at his will."

But Bruce, in this fatal movement, when history hung on his hand and
eye, uprose in his stirrups and clove Bohun's helmet, the axe breaking
in that stroke. It was a desperate but a winning blow: Bruce's spears
advanced, and the English van withdrew in half superstitious fear of the
omen. His lords blamed Bruce, but

  "The King has answer made them none,
   But turned upon the axe-shaft, wha
   Was with the stroke broken in twa."

"_Initium malorum hoc_" ("This was the beginning of evil"), says the
English chronicler.

After this double success in the Quatre Bras of the Scottish Waterloo,
Bruce, according to Barbour, offered to his men their choice of
withdrawal or of standing it out. The great general might well be of
doubtful mind--was to-morrow to bring a second and a more fatal Falkirk?
The army of Scotland was protected, as Wallace's army at Falkirk had
been, by difficult ground. But the English archers might again rain
their blinding showers of shafts into the broad mark offered by the
clumps of spears, and again the English knights might break through the
shaken ranks. Bruce had but a few squadrons of horse--could they be
trusted to scatter the bowmen of the English forests, and to escape a
flank charge from the far heavier cavalry of Edward? On the whole, was
not the old strategy best, the strategy of retreat? So Bruce may have
pondered. He had brought his men to the ring, and they voted for
dancing. Meanwhile the English rested on a marshy plain
"_outre_-Bannockburn" in sore discomfiture, says Gray. He must mean south
of Bannockburn, taking the point of view of his father, at that hour
captive in Bruce's camp. He tells us that the Scots meant to retire
"into the Lennox, a right strong country"--this confirms, in a way,
Barbour's tale of Bruce suggesting retreat--when Sir Alexander Seton,
deserting Edward's camp, advised Bruce of the English lack of spirit,
and bade him face the foe next day. To retire, indeed, was Bruce's, as
it had been Wallace's, natural policy. The English would soon be
distressed for want of supplies; on the other hand, they had clearly
made no arrangements for an orderly retreat if they lost the day; with
Bruce this was a motive for fighting them. The advice of Seton
prevailed; the Scots would stand their ground.

The sun of Midsummer Day rose on the rite of the mass done in front of
the Scottish lines. Men breakfasted, and Bruce knighted Douglas, the
Steward, and other of his nobles. The host then moved out of the wood,
and the standards rose above the spears of the soldiers. Edward Bruce
held the right wing; Randolph the centre; the left, under Douglas and
the Steward, rested of St. Ninian's. Bruce, as he had arranged, was in
reserve with Carrick and the Isles. "Will these men fight?" asked
Edward, and Sir Ingram assured him that such was their intent. He
advised that the English should make a feigned retreat, when the Scots
would certainly break their ranks--

  "Then prick we on them hardily."

Edward rejected his old ruse, which probably would not have beguiled the
Scottish leader. The Scots then knelt for a moment of prayer, as the
Abbot of Inchafray bore the crucifix along the line; but they did not
kneel to Edward. His van, under Gloucester, fell on Edward Bruce's
division, where there was hand-to-hand fighting, broken lances, dying
chargers, the rear ranks of Gloucester pressing vainly on the front
ranks, unable to deploy for the straitness of the ground.

Meanwhile, Randolph's men moved forward slowly with extended spears, "as
they were plunged in the sea" of charging knights. Douglas and the
Steward were also engaged, and the "hideous shower" of arrows was ever
raining from the bows of England. This must have been the crisis of the
fight, according to Barbour, and Bruce bade Keith with his five hundred
horse charge the English archers on the flank. The bowmen do not seem to
have been defended by pikes; they fell beneath the lances of the
mareschal, as the archers of Ettrick had fallen at Falkirk. The Scottish
archers now took heart, and loosed into the crowded and reeling ranks of
England, while the flying bowmen of the south clashed against and
confused the English charge. Then Scottish archers took to their steel
sparths--who ever loved to come to hand strokes--and hewed into the mass
of the English, so that the field, whither Bruce brought up his reserves
to support Edward Bruce on the right, was a mass of wild, confused
fighting. In this mellay the great body of the English army could deal
no stroke, swaying helplessly as southern knights or northern spears won
some feet of ground. So, in the space between Halbert's bog and the
burn, the mellay rang and wavered, the long spears of the Scottish ranks
unbroken and pushing forward, the ground before them so covered with
fallen men and horses that the English advance was clogged and crushed
between the resistance in front and the pressure behind.

"God will have a stroke in every fight," says the romance of Malory.
While the discipline was lost, and England was trusting to sheer weight
and "who will pound longest," a fresh force, banners displayed, was seen
rushing down the Gillies' Hill, beyond the Scottish right. The English
could deem no less than that this multitude were tardy levies from
beyond the Spey, above all when the slogans rang out from the fresh
advancing host. It was a body of yeomen, shepherds, and camp-followers,
who could no longer remain and gaze when fighting and plunder were in
sight. With blankets fastened to cut saplings for banner-poles, they ran
down to the conflict. The King saw them, and well knew that the moment
had come: he pealed his ensenye--called his battle-cry--faint hearts of
England failed; men turned, trampling through the hardy warriors who
still stood and died; the knights who rode at Edward's rein strove to
draw him toward the castle of Stirling. But now the foremost knights of
Edward Bruce's division, charging on foot, had fought their way to the
English King and laid hands on the rich trappings of his horse. Edward
cleared his way with strokes of his mace; his horse was stabbed, but a
fresh mount was found for him. Even Sir Giles de Argentine, the best
knight on ground, bade Edward fly to Stirling castle. "For me, I am not
of custom to fly," he said, "nor shall I do so now. God keep you!"
Thereon he spurred into the press, crying "Argentine!" and died among
the spears.

None held his ground for England. The burn was choked with fallen men
and horses, so that folk might pass dry-shod over it. The country people
fell on and slew. If Bruce had possessed more cavalry, not an Englishman
would have reached the Tweed. Edward, as Argentine bade him, rode to
Stirling, but Mowbray told him that there he would be but a captive
king. He spurred south, with five hundred horse, Douglas following with
sixty, so close that no Englishman might alight, but was slain or taken.
Laurence de Abernethy, with eighty horse, was riding to join the
English, but turned, and with Douglas, pursued them. Edward reached
Dunbar, whence he took boat for Berwick. In his terror he vowed to build
a college of Carmelites, students in theology. It is Oriel College
to-day, with a Scot for provost. Among those who fell on the English
side were the son of Comyn, Gloucester, Clifford, Harcourt, Courtenay,
and seven hundred other gentlemen of coat-armor were slain. Hereford
(later), with Angus, Umfraville, and Sir Thomas Grey, was among the
prisoners. Stirling, of course, surrendered.

The sun of Midsummer Day set on men wounded and weary, but victorious
and free. The task of Wallace was accomplished. To many of the
combatants not the least agreeable result of Bannockburn was the
unprecedented abundance of the booty. When campaigning Edward denied
himself nothing. His wardrobe and arms; his enormous and apparently
well-supplied array of food wagons; his ecclesiastical vestments for the
celebration of victory; his plate; his siege artillery; his military
chests, with all the jewelry of his young minion knights, fell into the
hands of the Scots. Down to Queen Mary's reign we read, in inventories,
about costly vestments "from the fight at Bannockburn." In Scotland it
rained ransoms. The _Rotuli Scotiae_, in 1314 full of Edward's
preparation for war, in 1315 are rich in safe-conducts for men going
into Scotland to redeem prisoners. One of these, the brave Sir Marmaduke
Twenge, renowned at Stirling bridge, hid in the woods on Midsummer's
Night, and surrendered to Bruce next day. The King gave him gifts and
set him free unransomed. Indeed, the clemency of Bruce after his success
is courteously acknowledged by the English chroniclers.

This victory was due to Edward's incompetence, as well as to the
excellent dispositions and indomitable courage of Bruce, and to "the
intolerable axes" of his men. No measures had been taken by Edward to
secure a retreat. Only one rally, at "the Bloody Fauld," is reported.
The English fought widely, their measures being laid on the strength of
a confidence which, after the skirmishes of Sunday, June 23d, they no
longer entertained. They suffered what, at Agincourt, Crecy, Poitiers,
and Verneuil, their descendants were to inflict. Horses and banners, gay
armor and chivalric trappings, were set at naught by the sperthes and
spears of infantry acting on favorable ground. From the dust and reek of
that burning day of June, Scotland emerged a people, firm in a glorious
memory. Out of weakness she was made strong, being strangely led through
paths of little promise since the day when Bruce's dagger-stroke at
Dumfries closed from him the path of returning.




EXTINCTION OF THE ORDER OF KNIGHTS TEMPLARS

BURNING OF GRAND MASTER MOLAY

A.D. 1314

F. C. WOODHOUSE   H. H. MILMAN


  The quarrel between Philip the Fair of France and Pope
  Boniface VIII, concerning the taxation of the clergy, and
  the right of nomination to vacant bishoprics within the
  dominions of Philip, had far-reaching effects. It led, in
  1302, to the convocation of the first properly so-called
  Parliament in France, to offset the actions of the Pope, who
  excommunicated the King; and also to an expedition into
  Italy of a small body of French troops which made the Pope
  prisoner at Agnani, but were subsequently expelled with
  great loss of life. The Pope was reinstated, but died
  shortly afterward from brain fever; he was succeeded by
  Benedict XI, whom the King of France sought to placate, but
  unsuccessfully. Within nine months Benedict died, presumably
  from poison, and Philip, by his intrigues, was enabled to
  secure the election to the pontificate of Bertrand de Goth,
  who became pope as Clement V, and was pledged to the service
  of the French King.

  Philip, who had obstructed the operations of commerce by
  debasing the coin of the realm to meet the exigencies of the
  state, was always in want of money. His cupidity was excited
  by the wealth of the order of Knights Templars, and,
  emboldened by his successes over the spiritual power, he now
  entered upon the career of intrigue which resulted in the
  destruction and plunder of the order.

  The famous Order of the Temple of Jerusalem, founded in 1118
  by a small band of nine French knights, sworn to protect
  Christian pilgrims to the Holy Sepulchre, had become, in
  almost every kingdom of the West, a powerful, wealthy,
  semimilitary, semimonastic republic, governed by its own
  laws, animated by the closest corporate spirit, under the
  severest internal discipline, an all-pervading organization,
  independent alike of the civil power and of the spiritual
  hierarchy.

  During two centuries as crusaders, the knights fought
  valiantly and shed their blood in defence of the Sepulchre
  of our Lord, earning the devout admiration of Western
  Christendom, and receiving splendid endowments of lands,
  castles, and riches of all kinds as contributions to the
  cause of the holy wars.

  But despite their valor, Mahometan persistency prevailed,
  and the total expulsion of the Templars, with the rest of
  the Christian establishments from Palestine, followed the
  downfall of Acre in 1291.


F. C. WOODHOUSE

The loss of Palestine led indirectly to the ruin of the order of the
Templars. The record is one of the dark episodes of history, encompassed
with contradictions, full of surprises, painful to contemplate, whatever
view may be taken, whichever side espoused.

It is difficult to understand how an order of men who for nearly two
hundred years earned the thanks and praise of Christendom for their
bravery and devotion; who had shed blood like water to defend the places
dearest to all Christian hearts; who had been recruited from the noblest
families in every country in Europe, and had had princes of royal blood
in their ranks; who claimed to act upon the purest and most exalted
Christian principles; and who proved the sincerity of their professions
by their lives of self-sacrifice, and their deaths, for the cause they
had taken up; who had been honored and favored and dowered with gifts
and privileges, in gratitude for their exploits--should suddenly have
fallen into the blackest crimes. So it is no less difficult to
understand how public opinion should turn against them as it did, and
how all Europe should set itself to disgrace and despoil, to malign and
execrate, those who had so long been its favorites and its champions. It
is not easy to understand this, and it is painful to read the story in
its sad and miserable details.

But there are other pages of history that more or less correspond with
this; and there are well-known characteristics of human nature that
explain how such revulsions of feeling come about. It has never been
found difficult to get up a case against those whom the great and
powerful have made up their minds to destroy. The best men are fallible
and have their weak side. Large bodies of men must contain some unworthy
members. A long history can hardly be without blots, mistakes, and
crimes. No man's life, if narrowly scrutinized by an unfavorable and
prejudiced criticism, but will afford ground for accusation. Then, too,
facts may be perverted, circumstances may be made to bear a meaning
that does not really belong to them, and fear and torture may force the
weak to say anything that they are required. And, finally, the evidence
and the judgment of those who have everything to gain by the
condemnation of those whom they accuse, must always be viewed with
suspicion by sober and truth-loving minds. Moreover, in judging the
Templars, we must not forget the lapse of time and the change of
circumstances that separate our age from theirs.

After the loss of Acre a chapter of the surviving Templars was gathered,
and James de Molay, preceptor of England, was elected grand master. One
more attempt was made to recover a footing in the Holy Land, but it was
defeated with great loss to the order, and all hope of restoring the
Latin kingdom in Palestine seems to have been abandoned. The occupation
of the Templars was gone. They had been banded together to fight upon
the sacred soil of Palestine, and to defend pilgrims, but now they had
been driven out of the country, and they could no longer execute their
mission or fulfil their vows. We soon hear of them being engaged in
civil or international wars, which seems to be a violation of their oath
not to draw sword upon any Christian. Thus we read of Templars fighting
on the side of the King of England, in the battle of Falkirk, 1298, and
similar occurrences are recorded in the French wars of the time. Those
against whom the Templars fought would not be slow to complain of them.

But the real cause of the downfall of the Templars was probably the
enormous wealth of the order. There had not been wanting indications for
some years of covetous eyes and itching hands turned toward the
possession of the Knights. Sometimes complaints were made because the
rents of their estates were all sent out of the country; sometimes the
grievance alleged was that they were exempted from paying taxes and
other levies, civil and ecclesiastical. Sometimes open acts of
spoliation were committed upon their property, and that even by royal
hands.

But it was in France that the final attack was made. Philip the Fair was
king at this time, a man of bad character and unscrupulous as to the
means by which he attained his ends. The country was exhausted and the
treasury empty, and the idea seems to have occurred to him, as it did
later to Henry VIII of England under similar circumstances, that an easy
way to fill his own purse was to put his hand into the purses of others.
But even kings cannot appropriate the property of a religious order
without offering some apology or justification to the world. And so it
began to be whispered that the Holy Land would never have been lost to
Christendom if its sworn defenders had not failed in their Christian
character. The whole blame of the defeat of the crusades was laid upon
the Templars. It was said they had treacherously betrayed the Christian
cause, that they had treated with the enemy, and by their personal sins,
especially by secret, unhallowed rites, had provoked the just wrath of
God, and so brought about the ruin of the dominion of the Cross in the
East.

When Ahab has determined to put Naboth to death, that he may seize his
coveted vineyard, it is not difficult to find witness that he is a
blasphemer of God and a traitor to the King; and so Philip found his
first tool in a man guilty of a multitude of crimes, who secured his own
pardon by a denunciation of the Templars.

But even a king could not ruin a great religious order without the aid
of the ecclesiastical authorities. The Templars had always been favored
and protected by the popes, and nothing was in itself so likely to evoke
that protection again as an attack upon the order by the secular powers.
But Philip was prepared for this. The Pope of the day, Clement V, had
been a subject of his own. As bishop of Bordeaux, he owed his election
to the pontificate to Philip's own intrigues, and had been easily
induced to quit Rome and live in France, so as to be more completely
under the dictation of the King. Moreover, the majority of the cardinals
were also French and entirely devoted to the King's interests.

Clement V was one of the worst of those miserable men who have from time
to time disgraced the papal chair, and was guilty of almost every crime.
There are, indeed, authorities worthy of credit who assert that before
his election he had been made to promise to perform six favors to the
King, and that the last was not to be divulged till the time for its
execution came. This last was then found to be the suppression of the
order of the Templars. There was no difficulty, under these
circumstances, in getting the so-called sanction of the Church for an
inquiry into the crimes of which the Templars were accused.

Accordingly, in 1307, Philip issued letters to his officers throughout
the kingdom, commanding them to seize all the Templars on a certain day,
that they might be tried for crimes of which he and the Pope had
satisfied themselves they were guilty. They had apostatized from the
Christian religion, worshipped idols in their secret meetings, and had
been guilty of horrible and shameful offences against God, the Church,
the State, and humanity itself. Philip professed the most pious horror
at what he had discovered; he lamented the grievous necessity laid upon
him, and urged upon the guilty men the expediency of a full and
immediate confession of their wicked doings as the only way to secure
pardon and escape the just and extreme penalty of such outrageous
wickedness.

It was during the night of October 13, 1307, that the King's orders were
executed. Every house of the Templars in the dominions of the King of
France was suddenly surrounded by a strong force, and all the Knights
and members of the order were simultaneously taken prisoners.

At the same time a strenuous endeavor was made to arouse popular
indignation against the order. The regular and secular clergy were
commanded to preach against the Templars, and to describe the horrible
enormities that were practised among them. It is incredible to us in
these days that such charges should be made, and still more that they
should actually be believed. It was said that the Templars worshipped
some hideous idol in their secret assemblies, that they offered
sacrifices to it of infants and young girls, and that although every one
saw them devout, charitable, and regular in their religious duties,
people were not to be misled by these things, for this was only a cloak
intended to deceive the world and conceal their secret rites and obscene
orgies.

It was hoped that some confession of guilt might be readily obtained
from some of the weaker brethren in order to receive the pardon which
was promised by the King. But no such confession was made. All the
prisoners denied the charges brought against them. Then the usual
mediaeval expedient was resorted to, and torture was used to extort
acknowledgments of guilt. The unhappy Templars in Paris were handed over
to the tender mercies of the tormentors with the usual results. One
hundred and forty were subjected to trial by fire.

The details preserved are almost too horrible to be related. The feet of
some were fastened close to a hot fire till the very flesh and even the
bones were consumed. Others were suspended by their limbs, and heavy
weights attached to them to make the agony more intense. Others were
deprived of their teeth; and every cruelty that a horrible ingenuity
could invent was used.

While this was going on, questions were asked, and offers of pardon were
made if they would acknowledge themselves or others guilty of the
monstrous wickednesses which were detailed to them. At the same time
forged letters were read, purporting to come from the grand master
himself, exhorting them to make a full confession, and declarations were
made of the confessions which were said to have been already freely
given by other members of the order.

What wonder, then, that the usual consequences followed. Those who had
strong will and indomitable courage stood firm and endured the slow
martyrdom till death released them, maintaining to the last their own
innocence, and the innocence of their order, of the crimes with which
they were charged. But some weaker men broke down. In hope of release
from the agony which they could not endure, they confessed anything and
everything that was required of them, and these things were at once
written down as grave facts and made matter of accusation of others.
Often these unhappy men almost immediately recanted, and as soon as the
torture ceased withdrew their confessions, and repeated their original
denial of the accusations one and all.

We have long ago ceased to set any value upon confessions extorted by
torture, and the system has happily been abolished by all civilized
nations, but in those days this was not understood; torture was relied
upon as a means of extracting truth from unwilling witnesses when all
other means failed; indeed, it was simpler and more expeditious than the
calling of many witnesses, the testing of evidence by cross-examination,
and other surer but slower methods; and especially when conviction, not
truth, was the end in view, torture was a welcome and efficacious ally.

All this was but too sadly exemplified in the proceedings against the
Templars in France. No sooner were those who had made confessions of
guilt while under torture released from their tormentors than they
disavowed their forced admissions and proclaimed their innocence and the
purity of their order, appealing to history and the testimony of their
own day for evidence of their courage and devotion to the Catholic
faith.

Upon hearing of this Philip immediately ordered the rearrest of the
Templars, and, proceeding against them as relapsed heretics, they were
condemned to be burned alive. In Paris alone one hundred and thirteen
suffered this terrible punishment, and many more were burned in other
towns. In Spain, Portugal, and Germany, proceedings were taken against
the order; their property was confiscated, and in some cases torture was
used; but it is remarkable that it was only in France, and in those
places where Philip's influence was powerful, that any Templar was
actually put to death.

Everywhere else the monstrous charges were declared to be unproved, and
the order was declared innocent of heresy and sacrilegious rites.

In October, 1311, a council was held at Vienna to dissolve the Order of
the Temple, but the majority of the bishops were decidedly opposed to
such a proceeding against so ancient and illustrious an order, till its
members had been heard in their own defence in a fair and open trial.
The Pope was furious at this and dismissed the council, and in the
following year, 1312, by a papal brief, abolished the order and forbade
its reconstitution. The property of the order in France was nominally
made over to the Hospitallers, but Philip laid claim to an immense sum
for the expenses of the prosecution, and by this and other means he
obtained what he had all along desired--the greatest part of the
possessions of the order. Similar proceedings took place in other
countries. In some, new orders were founded in the place of the
Templars, with the sovereign at their head, by which means the estates
came into the possession of the Crown as completely as if they had
been actually confiscated.

In France the Templars who survived their torture and the horrors of
their prisons were either executed or left to linger out a miserable
existence in their dungeons till death released them. The grand master
and a few other brethren of the highest rank were thus kept in prison
for five years. They were then taken to Notre Dame in Paris, and
required to give verbal assent to the confessions which had been
extorted from them under torture. But the grand master, James de Molay,
the grand preceptor, and some others seized the opportunity of declaring
their innocence, and disowning the alleged confessions as forgeries. The
old veterans stood up in the church before the assembled multitude, and,
raising their chained hands to heaven, declared that whatever had been
confessed to the detriment of the illustrious order was only forced from
them by extreme agony and fear of death, and that they solemnly and
finally repudiated and revoked all such admissions.

On hearing of this, Philip ordered their immediate execution, and the
same evening the last grand master of the Temple and his faithful
comrades were burned to death at a slow fire.

Impartial men had formed their own judgment, and a very strong feeling
prevailed that justice had not been done. It was remarked that those who
had been foremost in the proceedings against the Templars came to a
speedy and miserable end. The Pope, the kings of France and of England,
and others, all soon followed their victims and died violent or shameful
deaths.

We have somewhat anticipated the order of events, and must return to the
earlier stage of the proceedings against the Templars. As soon as Philip
had determined upon his own course of action, he desired to find
countenance for it by stirring up other sovereigns to imitate it. He
therefore wrote letters to the kings of other European states, informing
them of his discovery of the guilt of the Templars, and urging them to
adopt a similar course in their own dominions. The Pope, too, summoned
the grand master to France, but with every mark of respect, and so got
him into his power before the terrible proceedings against the members
of his order were made public.

The King of England, Edward II, acted with prudence. He expressed his
unbounded astonishment at the contents of the French King's letter, and
at the particulars detailed to him by an agent specially sent to him by
Philip, but he would do no more at the time than promise that the matter
should receive his serious attention in due course.

He wrote at the same time to the kings of Portugal, Aragon, Castile, and
Sicily, telling them of the extraordinary information he had received
respecting the Templars, and declaring his unwillingness to believe the
dreadful charges brought against them. He referred to the services
rendered to Christendom by the order, and to its unblemished reputation
ever since it was founded. He urged upon his fellow-sovereigns that
nothing should be done in haste, but that inquiry should be made in due
and solemn legal form, expressing his belief that the order was
guiltless of the crimes alleged against it, and that the charges were
merely the result of slander and envy and of a desire to appropriate the
property of the order.

At the same time Edward wrote to the Pope in similar terms. He declared
that the Templars were universally respected by all classes throughout
his dominions as pious and upright men, and begged the Pope to promote a
just inquiry which should free the order from the unjust slander and
injuries to which it was being subjected. But hardly was this letter
despatched than Edward received another from the Pope, which had crossed
his own on its way, calling upon him to imitate Philip, King of France,
in proceeding against the Templars. The Pope professed great distress
and astonishment that an order that had so long enjoyed the respect and
gratitude of the Church for its worthy deeds in defence of the faith
should have fallen into grievous and perfidious apostasy. He then
narrated the commendable zeal of the King of France in rooting out the
secrets of these men's hidden wickedness, and gave particulars of some
of their confessions of the crimes with which they had been charged. He
concluded by commanding the King of England to pursue a similar course,
to seize and imprison all members of the order on one day, and to hold,
in the Pope's name, all the property of the order till it should be
determined how it was to be disposed of.

King Edward, notwithstanding his recent declaration of confidence in the
integrity of the Templars, yielded obedience to this missive of the
Pope. Whether he was overawed by the authority of the Pontiff, and
deferred his own opinion to that of so great a personage, or whether, as
some suppose, he desired to give the Templars a fair and honorable
trial, and the opportunity of clearing themselves; or whether he gave
way to the evil counsels of those who whispered that the great wealth of
the Templars would be useful to the Crown, and that he might avail
himself of the opportunity of taking all--as his predecessors had taken
some--of their treasure; whatever may have been his real motive, and the
cause of his change of conduct, it is certain that he issued an order
for the arrest of the Templars, and the seizure of all their estates,
houses, and property.

The greatest caution and secrecy were adopted. Instructions were sent to
all the sheriffs throughout England to hold themselves in readiness to
execute certain orders which would be given to them by trusty persons on
that day. Similar arrangements were made in Scotland, Ireland, and
Wales; and on January 8, 1308, every Templar was simultaneously
arrested.

It was not till October in the following year that any trial took place.
All this time the Templars had been suffering the miseries of
imprisonment. More than two hundred men of high rank, many of them
veterans who had fought and bled in Palestine, and who were now grown
old and feeble after a life of hardship and privation, maimed with
wounds, bronzed with exposure to the Eastern sun, languished under the
tender mercies of jailers, with no opportunity of defending themselves
or of raising up friends to say a word for them. Some were foreigners
who happened to be in England on the business of the order. A few
managed to evade the vigilance of the King's emissaries, notwithstanding
the secrecy and suddenness of the arrest, and escaped in various
disguises to the wild and remote mountain districts of Scotland, Wales,
and Ireland.

The court appointed by the Pope commenced its proceedings in London, in
October, 1309, under the presidency of the Bishop of London. Several
French ecclesiastics had come over to take their seat upon the bench as
judges--an ill omen for the English Templars. After the usual
preliminaries, which were long and tedious, the articles of accusation
were read. They stated that those who were received into the order of
the Knights of the Temple did, at their reception, formally deny Jesus
Christ and renounce all hope of salvation through him; that they
trampled and spat upon the cross; that they worshipped a cat(!); that
they denied the sacraments, and looked only to the grand master for
absolution; that they possessed and worshipped various idols; that they
practised a variety of cruel, degrading, and filthy customs and rites;
that the grand master and many of the brethren had confessed to these
things even before they had been arrested. Such is a brief summary of
the accusation, the original documents of which have happily come down
to us.

It is not easy for us to understand how such a farrago of absurdity,
profanity, and indecency could ever have been gravely produced in a
so-called court of justice in England as a state paper--a bill of
indictment against a body of noblemen and gentlemen; against an order
that for two hundred years had been the right arm of the Church and the
defender of Christianity against its most dangerous and ruthless
enemies. No writer of fiction would have ventured on inventing such a
trial, and no one unacquainted with mediaeval history would credit the
record that grave prelates and learned judges drew up such a document,
and then set themselves to prove the truth of its monstrous allegations
by the use of torture.

Students of the Middle Ages know well that such things were done in
those days. They remember Savonarola and Beatrice Cenci in Italy, Jeanne
d'Arc in France, Abbot Whiting and others in England. They call to mind
the cruelties and exactions practised so often upon the Jews in every
country in Europe; and with the contemporary records in their hands,
they do not hesitate to accept as undoubted historical fact what would
otherwise be rejected as a slander upon humanity and an outrage upon
common-sense.

If the Templars had been accused of the crimes vulgarly supposed to
attach themselves to religious orders; if they had been charged with
falling into the sins to which poor human nature by its frailty is
liable; if erring members had been denounced, men who had entered the
order through disappointment, or from some other unworthy motive, men
such as Sir Walter Scott depicts in his imaginary Templar, Brian de
Bois Guilbert, in his novel, _Ivanhoe_, we might well believe that some
at least of the accusations against them were true.

It is singular that no such charges are alleged against the Templars,
though they were freely brought, two hundred years later, against the
regular monks by the commissioners of Henry VIII. This fact has been
noticed by most thoughtful historians, and has been considered to tell
strongly in the tribunal of equity in favor of the Templars. Instead of
these probable or possible crimes, we find nothing but monstrous charges
of sorcery, idolatry, apostasy, and such like, instances of which we
know are to be found in those strange times; but which it seems
altogether unlikely would infect a large body whose fundamental
principle was close adherence to Christianity; a body which was spread
all over the world, and which included in its ranks such a multitude and
variety of men and of nationalities, among whom there must have been, to
say the least, some sincere, upright, and godly men who would have set
themselves to root out such miserable errors, or, if they were found to
be ineradicable, would have left the order as no place for them.

Even Voltaire acknowledges that such an indictment destroys itself. It
recoils upon its framers, and proves nothing but their intense hatred of
their victims and their total unfitness to sit as judges.

When this extraordinary paper had been read, the prisoners were asked
what they had to say to it, and, as might be expected, they at once and
unanimously declared that they and their order were absolutely guiltless
of the crimes of which they were accused. After this the prisoners were
examined one by one.

It would be tedious to follow the long and wearisome questionings and to
record the replies given by the several brethren of the Temple during
their trial in London. One and all agreed in denying the existence of
the horrible and ridiculous rites which were said to be used at the
reception of new members; and whether they had been received in England
or abroad, detailed the ceremonies that were used, and showed that they
were substantially the same everywhere. The candidate was asked what he
desired, and on replying that he desired admission to the order of the
Knights of the Temple, he was warned of the strict and severe life that
was demanded of members of the order; of the three vows of poverty,
chastity, and obedience; and, moreover, that he must be ready to go and
fight the enemies of Christ even to the death.

Others related details of the interior discipline and regulations of the
order, which were stern and rigorous, as became a body that added to the
strictness of the convent the order and system of a military
organization. Many of the brethren had been nearly all their lives in
the order, some more than forty years, a great part of which had been
spent in active service in the East.

The witnesses who were summoned were not members of the order, and had
only hearsay evidence to give. They had _heard_ this and that report,
they _suspected_ something else, they had been _told_ that certain
things had been said or done. Nothing definite could be obtained, and
there was no proof whatever of any of the extravagant and incredible
charges. Similar proceedings took place in Lincoln and York, and also in
Scotland and Ireland; and in all places the results were the same, and
the matter dragged on till October, 1311.

Hitherto torture had not been resorted to; but now, in accordance with
the repeated solicitations of the Pope, King Edward gave orders that the
imprisoned Templars should be subjected to the rack in order that they
might be forced to give evidence of their guilt. Even then there seems
to have been reluctance to resort to this cruel and shameful treatment,
and a series of delays occurred, so that nothing was done till the
beginning of the following year.

The Templars, having been now three years in prison, chained,
half-starved, threatened with greater miseries here, and with eternal
damnation hereafter; separated from one another, without friend,
adviser, or legal defence, were now removed to the various jails in
London and elsewhere, and submitted to torture. We have no particular
record of the horrible details, but some evidence was afterward adduced
which was said to have been obtained from the unhappy victims during
their agony. It was such as was desired; an admission of the truth of
the monstrous accusations that were detailed to them, which had been
obtained, for the most part, from their tortured brethren in France.

In April, 1311, these depositions were read in the court, in the
presence of the Templars, who were required to say what they could
allege in their defence. They replied that they were ignorant of the
processes of law, and that they were not permitted to have the aid of
those whom they trusted and who could advise them, but that they would
gladly make a statement of their faith and of the principles of their
order. This they were permitted to do, and a very simple and touching
paper was produced and signed by all the brethren. They declared
themselves, one and all, good Christians and faithful members of the
Church, and they claimed to be treated as such, and openly and fairly
tried if there were any just cause of complaint against them. But their
persecutors were by no means satisfied. Fresh tortures and cruelties
were resorted to to force confessions of guilt from these worn-out and
dying men. A few gave way, and said what they were told to say; and
these unhappy men were produced in St. Paul's Cathedral shortly
afterward, and made to recant their errors, and were then "reconciled to
the Church." A similar scene was enacted at York.

The property of the Templars in England was placed under the charge of a
commission at the time that proceedings were commenced against them, and
the King very soon treated it as if it were his own, giving away manors
and convents at his pleasure. A great part of the possessions of the
order was subsequently made over to the Hospitallers. The convent and
church of the Temple in London were granted, in 1313, to Aymer de
Valence, Earl of Pembroke, whose monument is in Westminster Abbey. Other
property was pawned by the King to his creditors as security for payment
of his debts; but constant litigation and disputes seem to have pursued
the holders of the ill-gotten goods.

Some of the surviving Templars retired to monasteries, others returned
to the world and assumed secular habits, for which they incurred the
censures of the Pope.


HENRY HART MILMAN

The tragedy of the Templars had not yet drawn to its close. The four
great dignitaries of the order, the grand master Du Molay, Guy, the
commander of Normandy, son of the Dauphin of Auvergne, the commander of
Aquitaine, Godfrey de Gonaville, the great visitor of France, Hugues de
Peraud, were still pining in the royal dungeons. It was necessary to
determine on their fate. The King and the Pope were now equally
interested in burying the affair forever in silence and oblivion. So
long as these men lived, uncondemned, undoomed, the order was not
extinct. A commission was named: the Cardinal-Archbishop of Albi, with
two other cardinals, two monks, the Cistercian Arnold Novelli, and
Arnold de Fargis, nephew of Pope Clement, the Dominican Nicolas de
Freveauville, akin to the house of Marigny, formerly the King's
confessor. With these the Archbishop of Sens sat in judgment on the
Knights' own former confessions. The grand master and the rest were
found guilty, and were to be sentenced to perpetual imprisonment.

A scaffold was erected before the porch of Notre Dame. On one side
appeared the two cardinals; on the other the four noble prisoners, in
chains, under the custody of the Provost of Paris. Six years of dreary
imprisonment had passed over their heads; of their valiant brethren the
most valiant had been burned alive; the recreants had purchased their
lives by confession; the Pope, in a full council, had condemned and
dissolved the order. If a human mind--a mind like that of Du
Molay--could be broken by suffering and humiliation, it must have
yielded to this long and crushing imprisonment. The Cardinal-Archbishop
of Albi ascended a raised platform: he read the confessions of the
Knights, the proceedings of the court; he enlarged on the criminality of
the order, on the holy justice of the Pope, and the devout,
self-sacrificing zeal of the King; he was proceeding to the final, the
fatal sentence. At that instant the grand master advanced; his gesture
implored silence; judges and people gazed in awestruck apprehension. In
a calm, clear voice Du Molay spoke: "Before heaven and earth, on the
verge of death, where the least falsehood bears like an intolerable
weight upon the soul, I protest that we have richly deserved death, not
on account of any heresy or sin of which ourselves or our order have
been guilty, but because we have yielded, to save our lives, to the
seductive words of the Pope and of the King; and so by our confessions
brought shame and ruin on our blameless, holy, and orthodox
brotherhood."

The cardinals stood confounded; the people could not suppress their
profound sympathy. The assembly was hastily broken up; the Provost was
commanded to conduct the prisoners back to their dungeons. "To-morrow we
will hold further counsel." But on the moment that the King heard these
things, without a day's delay, without the least consultation with the
ecclesiastical authorities, he ordered them to death as relapsed
heretics. On the island in the Seine, where now stands the statue of
Henry IV, between the King's garden on one side and the convent of the
Augustinian monks on the other, the two pyres were raised--two out of
the four had shrunk back into their ignoble confessions. It was the hour
of vespers when these two aged and noble men were led out to be burned;
they were tied each to the stake. The flames kindled dully and heavily;
the wood, hastily piled up, was green or wet; or in cruel mercy the
tardiness was designed that the victims might have time, while the fire
was still curling round their extremities, to recant their bold
recantation. But there was no sign, no word of weakness. Du Molay
implored that the image of the Mother of God might be held up before
him, and his hands unchained, that he might clasp them in prayer. Both,
as the smoke rose to their lips, as the fire crept up to their vital
parts, continued solemnly to aver the innocence and the Catholic faith
of the order. The King himself sat and beheld, it might seem without
remorse, this hideous spectacle; the words of Du Molay might have
reached his ears. But the people looked on with far other feelings.
Stupor kindled into admiration; the execution was a martyrdom; friars
gathered up their ashes and bones and carried them away, hardly by
stealth, to consecrated ground; they became holy relics. The two who
wanted courage to die pined away their miserable life in prison.

The wonder and the pity of the times which immediately followed, arrayed
Du Molay not only in the robes of the martyr, but gave him the terrible
language of a prophet. "Clement, iniquitous and cruel judge, I summon
thee within forty days to meet me before the throne of the Most High!"
According to some accounts this fearful sentence included the King, by
whom, if uttered, it might have been heard. The earliest allusion to
this awful speech does not contain that striking particularity, which,
if part of it, would be fatal to its credibility, _i.e._, the precise
date of Clement's death. It was not till the year after that Clement and
King Philip passed to their account. The fate of these two men during
the next year might naturally so appal the popular imagination, as to
approximate more closely the prophecy and its accomplishment. At all
events it betrayed the deep and general feeling of the cruel wrong
inflicted on the order; while the unlamented death of the Pope, the
disastrous close of Philip's reign, and the disgraceful crimes which
attainted the honor of his family seemed as declarations of heaven as to
the innocence of their noble victims.




JAMES VAN ARTEVELDE LEADS A
FLEMISH REVOLT

EDWARD III OF ENGLAND ASSUMES THE
TITLE OF KING OF FRANCE

A.D. 1337-1340

FRANCOIS P. G. GUIZOT


  Having defeated the Flemings at Mons-la-Puelle in 1304,
  Philip the Fair of France found that they were unsubdued and
  ready to renew their war against him. Therefore he very soon
  acknowledged their independence under their count, Robert de
  Bethune. But Philip continually violated the treaty he had
  made, and just before his death (1314) he again began
  hostilities against Flanders.

  Little of historical importance occurred in that country
  between the death of Philip the Fair and the accession of
  Philip of Valois (1328). His first act was to take up the
  cause of Louis de Nevers, then Count of Flanders, whom the
  independent burghers of most of the chief cities had united
  to deprive of his territories, leaving him only Ghent for a
  refuge. In the first year of his reign Philip gained a
  victory over the Flemish "weavers" at Cassel, and laid all
  Flanders at the feet of its rejected count.

  In 1338 began the Hundred Years' War, arising from the claim
  of Edward III of England to the French throne. Edward's most
  important measure in preparation for the war was the
  securing of an alliance with the Flemish burghers, whose
  French count, Louis de Nevers, had gained nothing in their
  affections through the humiliation of Cassel, which
  confirmed his rule. The hated count showed his hostility to
  Edward, as well as his spite against his own subjects, by
  various petty acts which interfered with the commerce and
  industry of both Flanders and England.

  At last, by prohibiting the exportation of wool to Flanders,
  Edward reduced the Flemings to despair and forced them to
  fling themselves into his arms. Many of them emigrated to
  England, where they helped to lay the foundation of
  manufactures. But the Flemish towns burst into insurrection
  and proceeded to organized action in the manner here related
  by Guizot, who draws largely upon the narrative of
  Froissart.

The Flemings bore the first brunt of that war which was to be so cruel
and so long. It was a lamentable position for them; their industrial and
commercial prosperity was being ruined; their security at home was going
from them; their communal liberties were compromised; divisions set in
among them; by interest and habitual intercourse they were drawn toward
England, but the Count, their lord, did all he could to turn them away
from her, and many among them were loath to separate themselves entirely
from France. "Burghers of Ghent, as they chatted in the thoroughfares
and at the cross-roads, said one to another that they had heard much
wisdom, to their mind, from a burgher who was called James van
Artevelde, and who was a brewer of beer. They had heard him say that, if
he could obtain a hearing and credit, he would in a little while restore
Flanders to good estate, and they would recover all their gains without
standing ill with the King of France or the King of England.

"These sayings began to get spread abroad insomuch that a quarter or
half the city was informed thereof, especially the small folk of the
commonalty, whom the evil touched most nearly. They began to assemble in
the streets, and it came to pass that one day, after dinner, several
went from house to house calling for their comrades, and saying, 'Come
and hear the wise man's counsel.' On December 26, 1337, they came to the
house of the said James van Artevelde, and found him leaning against his
door. Far off as they were when they first perceived him, they made him
a deep obeisance, and 'Dear sir,' they said, 'we are come to you for
counsel; for we are told that by your great and good sense you will
restore the country of Flanders to good case. So tell us how.'

"Then James van Artevelde came forward, and said: 'Sirs comrades, I am a
native and burgher of this city, and here I have my means. Know that I
would gladly aid you with all my power, you and all the country; if
there were here a man who would be willing to take the lead, I would be
willing to risk body and means at his side; and if the rest of ye be
willing to be brethren, friends, and comrades to me, to abide in all
matters at my side, notwithstanding that I am not worthy of it, I will
undertake it willingly.' Then said all with one voice: 'We promise you
faithfully to abide at your side in all matters and to therewith
adventure body and means, for we know well that in the whole countship
of Flanders there is not a man but you worthy so to do.'" Then Van
Artevelde bound them to assemble on the next day but one in the
grounds of the monastery of Biloke, which had received numerous benefits
from the ancestors of Sohier of Courtrai, whose son-in-law Van Artevelde
was.

This bold burgher of Ghent, who was born about 1285, was sprung from a
family the name of which had been for a long while inscribed in their
city upon the register of industrial corporations. His father, John van
Artevelde, a cloth-worker, had been several times over-sheriff of Ghent,
and his mother, Mary van Groete, was great-aunt to the grandfather of
the illustrious publicist called in history Grotius. James van Artevelde
in his youth accompanied Count Charles of Valois, brother of Philip the
Handsome, upon his adventurous expeditions in Italy, Sicily, and Greece,
and to the island of Rhodes; and it had been close by the spots where
the soldiers of Marathon and Salamis had beaten the armies of Darius and
Xerxes that he had heard of the victory of the Flemish burghers and
workmen attacked in 1302, at Courtrai, by the splendid army of Philip
the Handsome.

James van Artevelde, on returning to his country, had been busy with his
manufactures,[46] his fields, the education of his children, and Flemish
affairs up to the day when, at his invitation, the burghers of Ghent
thronged to the meeting on December 28, 1337, in the grounds of the
monastery of Biloke. There he delivered an eloquent speech, pointing out
unhesitatingly but temperately the policy which he considered good for
the country. "Forget not," he said, "the might and the glory of
Flanders. Who, pray, shall forbid that we defend our interests by using
our rights? Can the King of France prevent us from treating with the
King of England? And may we not be certain that if we were to treat with
the King of England, the King of France would not be the less urgent in
seeking our alliance? Besides, have we not with us all the communes of
Brabant, of Hainault, of Holland, and of Zealand?" The audience cheered
these words; the commune of Ghent forthwith assembled, and on January 3,
1337, reestablished the offices of captains of parishes according to
olden usage, when the city was exposed to any pressing danger.

It was carried that one of these captains should have the chief
government of the city; and James van Artevelde was at once invested
with it. From that moment the conduct of Van Artevelde was ruled by one
predominant idea: to secure free and fair commercial intercourse for
Flanders with England, while observing a general neutrality in the war
between the kings of England and France, and to combine so far all the
communes of Flanders in one and the same policy. And he succeeded in
this twofold purpose. On April 29, 1338, the representatives of all the
communes of Flanders--the city of Bruges numbering among them a hundred
and eight deputies--repaired to the castle of Male, a residence of Count
Louis, and then James van Artevelde set before the Count what had been
resolved upon among them. The Count submitted, and swore that he would
thenceforth maintain the liberties of Flanders in the state in which
they had hitherto existed. In the month of May following a deputation,
consisting of James van Artevelde and other burghers appointed by the
cities of Ghent, Bruges, and Ypres scoured the whole of Flanders, from
Bailleul to Termonde, and from Ninove to Dunkirk, "to reconcile the good
folk of the communes to the Count of Flanders, as well for the Count's
honor as for the peace of the country." Lastly, on June 10, 1338, a
treaty was signed at Anvers between the deputies of the Flemish communes
and the English ambassadors, the latter declaring: "We do all to wit
that we have negotiated the way and substance of friendship with the
good folk of the communes of Flanders, in form and manner hereinafter
following:

"First, they shall be able to go and buy the wools and other merchandise
which have been exported from England to Holland, Zealand, or any other
place whatsoever; and all traders of Flanders who shall repair to the
ports of England shall there be safe and free in their persons and their
goods, just as in any other place where their ventures might bring them
together.

"_Item_, we have agreed with the good folk and with all the common
country of Flanders that they must not mix nor intermeddle in any way,
by assistance in men or arms, in the wars of our lord the King and the
noble Sir Philip of Valois (who holdeth himself for King of France)."

Three articles following regulated in detail the principles laid down in
the first two, and, by another charter, Edward III ordained that "all
stuffs marked with the seal of the city of Ghent might travel freely in
England without being subject according to ellage and quality to the
control to which all foreign merchandise was subject."

Van Artevelde was right in telling the Flemings that, if they treated
with the King of England, the King of France would be only the more
anxious for their alliance. Philip of Valois and even Count Louis of
Flanders, when they got to know of the negotiations entered into between
the Flemish communes and King Edward, redoubled their offers and
promises to them. But when the passions of men have taken full
possession of their souls, words of concession and attempts at
accommodation are nothing more than postponements or lies. Philip, when
he heard about the conclusion of a treaty between the Flemish communes
and the King of England, sent word to Count Louis "that this James van
Artevelde must not, on any account, be allowed to rule or even live, for
if it were so for long, the Count would lose his land." The Count, very
much disposed to accept such advice, repaired to Ghent and sent for Van
Artevelde to come and see him at his hotel. He went, but with so large a
following that the Count was not at the time at all in a position to
resist him. He tried to persuade the Flemish burgher that "if he would
keep a hand on the people so as to keep them to their love for the King
of France, he having more authority than anyone else for such a purpose,
much good would result to him; mingling, besides, with this address,
some words of threatening import."

Van Artevelde, who was not the least afraid of the threat, and who at
heart was fond of the English, told the Count that he would do as he had
promised the communes. "Hereupon he left the Count, who consulted his
confidants as to what he was to do in this business, and they counselled
him to let them go and assemble their people, saying that they would
kill Van Artevelde secretly or otherwise. And, indeed, they did lay many
traps and made many attempts against the captain; but it was of no
avail, since all the commonalty was for him." When the rumor of these
projects and these attempts was spread abroad in the city, the
excitement was extreme, and all the burghers assumed white hoods, which
was the mark peculiar to the members of the commune when they assembled
under their flags; so that the Count found himself reduced to assuming
one, for he was afraid of being kept captive at Ghent, and, on the
pretext of a hunting-party, he lost no time in gaining his castle of
Male.

The burghers of Ghent had their minds still filled with their late alarm
when they heard that by order, it was said, of the King of France--Count
Louis had sent and beheaded at the castle of Rupelmonde, in the very bed
in which he was confined by his infirmities, their fellow-citizen Sohier
of Courtrai, Van Artevelde's father-in-law, who had been kept for many
months in prison for his intimacy with the English. On the same day the
Bishop of Senlis and the Abbot of St. Denis had arrived at Tournai, and
had superintended the reading out in the market-place of a sentence of
excommunication against the Ghentese.

It was probably at this date that Van Artevelde in his vexation and
disquietude assumed in Ghent an attitude threatening and despotic even
to tyranny. "He had continually after him," says Froissart, "sixty or
eighty armed varlets, among whom were two or three who knew some of his
secrets. When he met a man whom he hated or had in suspicion, this man
was at once killed, for Van Artevelde had given this order to his
varlets: 'The moment I meet a man, and make such and such a sign to you,
slay him without delay, however great he may be, without waiting for
more speech.' In this way he had many great masters slain. And as soon
as these sixty varlets had taken him home to his hotel, each went to
dinner at his own house; and the moment dinner was over they returned
and stood before his hotel and waited in the street until that he was
minded to go and play and take his pastime in the city, and so they
attended him to supper-time.

"And know that each of these hirelings had _per diem_ four groschen of
Flanders for their expenses and wages, and he had them regularly paid
from week to week. And even in the case of all that were most powerful
in Flanders, knights, esquires, and burghers of the good cities, whom he
believed to be favorable to the Count of Flanders, them he banished from
Flanders and levied half their revenues. He had levies made of rents,
of dues on merchandise and all the revenues belonging to the Count,
wherever it might be in Flanders, and he disbursed them at his will, and
gave them away without rendering any account. And when he would borrow
of any burghers on his word for payment, there was none that durst say
him nay. In short there was never in Flanders, or in any other country,
duke, count, prince, or other who can have had a country at his will as
James van Artevelde had for a long time." It is possible that, as some
historians have thought, Froissart, being less favorable to burghers
than to princes, did not deny himself a little exaggeration in this
portrait of a great burgher-patriot transformed by the force of events
and passions into a demagogic tyrant.

While the Count of Flanders, after having vainly attempted to excite an
uprising against Van Artevelde, was being forced, in order to escape
from the people of Bruges, to mount his horse in hot haste, at night and
barely armed, and to flee away to St. Omer, Philip of Valois and Edward
III were preparing on either side, for the war which they could see
drawing near. Philip was vigorously at work on the Pope, the Emperor of
Germany, and the princes neighbors of Flanders, in order to raise
obstacles against his rival or rob him of his allies. He ordered that
short-lived meeting of the states-general about which we have no
information left us, save that it voted the principle that "no talliage
could be imposed on the people if urgent necessity or evident utility
should not require it, and unless by concession of the estates."

Philip, as chief of feudal society rather than of the nation which was
forming itself little by little around the lords, convoked at Amiens all
his vassals great and small, laic or cleric, placing all his strength in
their cooperation, and not caring at all to associate the country itself
in the affairs of his government. Edward, on the contrary, while
equipping his fleet and amassing treasure at the expense of the Jews and
Lombard usurers, was assembling his parliament, talking to it "of this
important and costly war," for which he obtained large subsidies, and
accepting, without making any difficulty, the vote of the commons'
house, which expressed a desire "to consult their constituents upon this
subject, and begged him to summon an early parliament, to which there
should be elected, in each county, two knights taken from among the best
landowners of their counties."

The King set out for the Continent; the parliament met and considered
the exigences of the war by land and sea, in Scotland and in France;
traders, shipowners, and mariners were called and examined; and the
forces determined to be necessary were voted. Edward took the field,
pillaging, burning, and ravaging, "destroying all the country for twelve
or fourteen leagues in extent," as he himself said in a letter to the
Archbishop of Canterbury. When he set foot on French territory, Count
William of Hainault, his brother-in-law and up to that time his ally,
came to him and said that "he would ride with him no farther, for that
his presence was prayed and required by his uncle the King of France, to
whom he bore no hate, and whom he would go and serve in his own kingdom,
as he had served King Edward on the territory of the Emperor, whose
vicar he was," and Edward wished him "Godspeed!" Such was the binding
nature of feudal ties that the same lord held himself bound to pass from
one camp to another according as he found himself upon the domains of
one or the other of his suzerains in a war one against the other.

Edward continued his march toward St. Quentin, where Philip had at last
arrived with his allies the kings of Bohemia, Navarre, and Scotland,
"after delays which had given rise to great scandal and murmurs
throughout the whole kingdom." The two armies, with a strength,
according to Froissart, of a hundred thousand men on the French side,
and forty-four thousand on the English, were soon facing one another,
near Buironfosse, a large burgh of Picardy. A herald came from the
English camp to tell the King of France that the King of England
"demanded of him battle. To which demand," says Froissart, "the King of
France gave willing assent and accepted the day which was fixed at first
for Thursday the 21st, and afterward for Saturday the 25th of October,
1339."

To judge from the somewhat tangled accounts of the chroniclers and of
Froissart himself, neither of the two kings was very anxious to come to
blows. The forces of Edward were much inferior to those of Philip; and
the former had accordingly taken up, as it appears, a position which
rendered attack difficult for Philip. There was much division of
opinion in the French camp. Independently of military grounds, a great
deal was said about certain letters from Robert, King of Naples, "a
mighty necromancer and full of mighty wisdom, it was reported, who,
after having several times cast their horoscopes, had discovered, by
astrology and from experience, that, if his cousin, the King of France,
were to fight the King of England, the former would be worsted."

"In thus disputing and debating," says Froissart, "the time passed till
full mid-day. A little afterward a hare came leaping across the fields,
and rushed among the French. Those who saw it began shouting and making
a great halloo. Those who were behind thought that those who were in
front were engaging in battle; and several put on their helmets and
gripped their swords. Thereupon several knights were made; and the Count
of Hainault himself made fourteen, who were thenceforth nicknamed
Knights of the Hare."

Whatever his motive may have been, Philip did not attack; and Edward
promptly began a retreat. They both dismissed their allies; and during
the early days of November Philip fell back upon St. Quentin, and Edward
went and took up his winter-quarters at Brussels.

For Edward it was a serious check not to have dared to attack the King
whose kingdom he made a pretence of conquering; and he took it
grievously to heart. At Brussels he had an interview with his allies and
asked their counsel. Most of the princes of the Low Countries remained
faithful to him and the Count of Hainault seemed inclined to go back to
him; but all hesitated as to what he was to do to recover from the
check. Van Artevelde showed more invention and more boldness. The
Flemish communes had concentrated their forces not far from the spot
where the two kings had kept their armies looking at one another; but
they had maintained a strict neutrality, and at the invitation of the
Count of Flanders, who promised them that the King of France would
entertain all their claims, Artevelde and Breydel, the deputies from
Ghent and Bruges, even repaired to Courtrai to make terms with him. But
as they got there nothing but ambiguous engagements and evasive
promises, they let the negotiation drop, and, while Count Louis was on
his way to rejoin Philip at St. Quentin, Artevelde with the deputies
from the Flemish communes started for Brussels.

Edward, who was already living on very confidential terms with him, told
him that "if the Flemings were minded to help him to keep up the war and
go with him whithersoever he would take them, they should aid him to
recover Lille, Douai, and Bethune, then occupied by the King of France.
Artevelde, after consulting his colleagues, returned to Edward, and,
'Dear sir,' said he, 'you have already made such requests to us, and
verily, if we could do so while keeping our honor and faith, we would do
as you demand: but we be bound, by faith and oath, and on a bond of two
millions of florins entered into with the Pope, not to go to war with
the King of France without incurring a debt to the amount of that sum
and a sentence of excommunication; but if you do that which we are about
to say to you, if you will be pleased to adopt the arms of France, and
quarter them with those of England, and openly call yourself King of
France, we will uphold you for the true King of France; you, as King of
France, shall give us quittance of our faith; and then we will obey you
as King of France, and will go whithersoever you shall ordain.'"

This prospect pleased Edward mightily: but "it irked him to take the
name and arms of that of which he had as yet won no title." He consulted
his allies. Some of them hesitated; but "his most privy and especial
friend," Robert d'Artois, strongly urged him to consent to the proposal.
So a French prince and a Flemish burgher prevailed upon the King of
England to pursue, as in assertion of his avowed rights, the conquest of
the kingdom of France. King, prince, and burgher fixed Ghent as their
place of meeting for the official conclusion of the alliance; and there,
in January, 1340, the mutual engagement was signed and sealed. The King
of England "assumed the arms of France quartered with those of England,"
and thenceforth took the title of King of France.




BATTLES OF SLUYS AND CRECY

A.D. 1340-1346

SIR JOHN FROISSART[47]


  The sea fight of Sluys began the Hundred Years' War between
  England and France. It is also memorable as England's first
  great naval victory. The origin of the war lay in the Salic
  Law, which excludes women from the throne of France. This
  overruled the claims of Queen Isabella of England, and her
  son Edward III in 1328, when the twelve peers and barons of
  France unanimously gave the crown to Isabella's cousin,
  Philip of Valois, who ascended the throne as Philip VI of
  France.

  Edward III ingeniously maintained that though the Salic Law
  prevented his mother from filling the throne, it did not
  destroy the rights of her male descendants, and he early
  entertained the project of enforcing this contention; but it
  was not until 1337 that he felt able to assert formally his
  claim to the French crown and to assume the title of king of
  France.

  The following year, with a considerable body of troops to
  support his presumed rights, he crossed to the Continent,
  and passed the winter at Antwerp among the Flemings who had
  taken up his cause, and with whom, as well as with the
  Emperor-King of Germany, he effected aggressive alliances.
  He made a formal declaration of war in 1339, beginning
  hostilities which were prolonged into the Hundred Years'
  War, and which as a contest of the English kings for the
  sovereignty of France produced a series of important
  revolutions in the fortunes of that country.

  The first serious action of the war was a naval battle at
  Sluys, near the Belgian frontier just northeast of Bruges,
  June 23, 1340. King Edward and his entire navy sailed from
  the Thames June 22, and made straight for Sluys. Sir Hugh
  Quiriel and other French officers, with over one hundred and
  twenty large vessels, were lying near Sluys for the purpose
  of disputing the English King's passage. Froissart, with his
  usual terseness, has graphically recorded the combat which
  ensued.

  A more important victory was that won in the land battle at
  Crecy in 1346, which, however, simply paved the way to the
  capture of Calais, for it was not until the battle of
  Poitiers, ten years later, that Edward made any progress
  toward the conquest of France. In 1346, after landing with a
  force of troops at Cape La Hogue, Edward reduced Cherbourg,
  Carentan, and Caen, and, with the intention of crossing the
  Seine at Rouen, commenced his march on Calais, where he was
  to be joined by his Flemish allies. Philip, making a rapid
  march from Paris to Amiens, had posted detachments of
  soldiers along the right bank of the river Somme, guarding
  every ford, breaking down every bridge, and gradually
  shutting up the invaders in the narrow space between the
  Somme and the sea.

  Edward sent out his marshals with their battalions to find a
  passage, but they were unsuccessful, until a peasant led
  them to the tidal ford of Blanchetaque. Although desperately
  opposed by fully twelve thousand French, under the Norman
  baron Sir Godemar du Fay, they effected a crossing, and,
  marching on, encamped in the fields near Crecy. The King of
  France with the main body of his troops had taken up his
  quarters in Abbeville.


BATTLE OF SLUYS

When the King's fleet was almost got to Sluys, they saw so many masts
standing before it that they looked like a wood. The King asked the
commander of his ship what they could be, who answered that he imagined
they must be that armament of Normans which the King of France kept at
sea and which had so frequently done him much damage, had burned his
good town of Southampton, and taken his large ship the Christopher. The
King replied: "I have for a long time wished to meet with them, and now,
please God and St. George, we will fight them; for, in truth, they have
done me so much mischief that I will be revenged on them if it be
possible."

The King drew up all his vessels, placing the strongest in the front,
and on the wings his archers. Between every two vessels with archers
there was one of men-at-arms. He stationed some detached vessels as a
reserve, full of archers, to assist and help such as might be damaged.
There were in this fleet a great many ladies from England, countesses,
baronesses, and knights' and gentlemen's wives, who were going to attend
on the Queen at Ghent. These the King had guarded most carefully by
three hundred men-at-arms and five hundred archers.

When the King of England and his marshals had properly divided the
fleet, they hoisted their sails to have the wind on their quarter, as
the sun shone full in their faces, which they considered might be of
disadvantage to them, and stretched out a little, so that at last they
got the wind as they wished. The Normans, who saw them tack, could not
help wondering why they did so, and said they took good care to turn
about, for they were afraid of meddling with them. They perceived,
however, by his banner, that the King was on board, which gave them
great joy, as they were eager to fight with him; so they put their
vessels in proper order, for they were expert and gallant men on the
seas. They filled the Christopher, the large ship which they had taken
the year before from the English, with trumpets and other warlike
instruments, and ordered her to fall upon the English.

The battle then began very fiercely; archers and cross-bowmen shot with
all their might at each other, and the men-at-arms engaged hand to hand.
In order to be more successful, they had large grapnels, and iron hooks
with chains, which they flung from ship to ship, to moor them to each
other. There were many valiant deeds performed, many prisoners made, and
many rescues. The Christopher, which led the van, was recaptured by the
English, and all in her taken or killed. There were then great shouts
and cries, and the English manned her again with archers and sent her to
fight against the Genoese.

This battle was very murderous and horrible. Combats at sea are more
destructive and obstinate than upon the land, for it is not possible to
retreat or flee--everyone must abide his fortune and exert his prowess
and valor. Sir Hugh Quiriel and his companions were bold and determined
men, had done much mischief to the English at sea and destroyed many of
their ships; this combat, therefore, lasted from early in the morning
until noon, and the English were hard pressed, for their enemies were
four to one, and the greater part men who had been used to the sea.

The King, who was in the flower of his youth, showed himself on that day
a gallant knight, as did the earls of Derby, Pembroke, Hereford,
Huntingdon, Northampton, and Gloucester; the Lord Reginald Cobham, Lord
Felton, Lord Bradestan, Sir Richard Stafford, the Lord Percy, Sir Walter
Manny, Sir Henry de Flanders, Sir John Beauchamp, Sir John Chandos, the
Lord Delaware, Lucie Lord Malton, and the Lord Robert d'Artois, now
called Earl of Richmond.

I cannot remember all the names of those who behaved so valiantly in the
combat; but they did so well that, with some assistance from Bruges and
those parts of the country, the French were completely defeated, and all
the Normans and the others killed or drowned, so that not one of them
escaped. This was soon known all over Flanders; and when it came to the
two armies before Thin-l'Eveque, the Hainaulters were as much rejoiced
as their enemies were dismayed.

After the King had gained this victory, which was on the eve of St.
John's Day, he remained all that night on board of his ship before
Sluys, and there were great noises with trumpets and all kinds of other
instruments. The Flemings came to wait on him, having heard of his
arrival and what deeds he had performed. The King inquired of the
citizens of Bruges after Jacob van Artevelde, and they told him he was
gone to the aid of the Earl of Hainault with upward of sixty thousand
men, against the Duke of Normandy. On the morrow, which was Midsummer
Day, the King and his fleet entered the port. As soon as they were
landed, the King, attended by crowds of knights, set out on foot on a
pilgrimage to our Lady of Ardemburg, where he heard mass and dined. He
then mounted his horse and went that day to Ghent, where the Queen was,
who received him with great joy and kindness. The army and baggage, with
the attendants of the King, followed him by degrees to the same place.


BATTLE OF CRECY

The two battalions of the marshals came, on Friday in the afternoon, to
where the King was, and they fixed their quarters, all three together,
near Crecy in Ponthieu. The King of England, who had been informed that
the King of France was following him, in order to give him battle, said
to his people: "Let us post ourselves here, for we will not go farther
before we have seen our enemies. I have good reason to wait for them on
this spot; as I am now upon the lawful inheritance of my lady mother,
which was given her as her marriage portion, and I am resolved to defend
it against my adversary, Philip de Valois." On account of his not having
more than an eighth part of the forces which the King of France had, his
marshals fixed upon the most advantageous situation, and the army went
and took possession of it. He then sent his scouts toward Abbeville, to
learn if the King of France meant to take the field this Friday,
but they returned and said they saw no appearance of it; upon which he
dismissed his men to their quarters with orders to be in readiness by
times in the morning and to assemble in the same place. The King of
France remained all Friday in Abbeville, waiting for more troops. He
sent his marshals, the Lord of St. Venant and Lord Charles of
Montmorency, out of Abbeville, to examine the country and get some
certain intelligence of the English. They returned about vespers with
information that the English were encamped on the plain. That night the
King of France entertained at supper in Abbeville all the princes and
chief lords. There was much conversation relative to war; and the King
entreated them after supper that they would always remain in friendship
with each other; that they would be friends without jealousy, and
courteous without pride. The King was still expecting the Earl of Savoy,
who ought to have been there with a thousand lances, as he had been well
paid for them at Troyes in Champaign, three months in advance.

The King of England encamped this Friday in the plain, for he found the
country abounding in provisions, but, if they should have failed, he had
plenty in the carriages which attended on him. The army set about
furbishing and repairing their armor, and the King gave a supper that
evening to the earls and barons of his army, where they made good cheer.
On their taking leave the King remained alone with the lords of his
bedchamber; he retired into his oratory, and, falling on his knees
before the altar, prayed to God that if he should combat his enemies on
the morrow, he might come off with honor. About midnight he went to bed
and, rising early the next day, he and the Prince of Wales heard mass
and communicated. The greater part of his army did the same, confessed,
and made proper preparations. After mass, the King ordered his men to
arm themselves, and assemble on the ground he had before fixed on. He
had enclosed a large park near a wood, on the rear of his army, in which
he placed all his baggage wagons and horses. This park had but one
entrance; his men-at-arms and archers remained on foot.

The King afterward ordered, through his constable and his two marshals,
that the army should be divided into three battalions. In the first he
placed the young Prince of Wales, and with him the earls of Warwick and
Oxford, Sir Godfrey de Harcourt, the Lord Reginald Cobham, Lord Thomas
Holland, Lord Stafford, Lord Mauley, the Lord Delaware, Sir John
Chandos, Lord Bartholomew Burgherst, Lord Robert Neville, Lord Thomas
Clifford, Lord Bourchier, Lord Latimer, and many other knights and
squires. There might be, in this first division, about eight hundred
men-at-arms, two thousand archers, and a thousand Welshmen. They
advanced in regular order to their ground, each lord under his banner
and pennon and in the centre of his men. In the second battalion were
the Earl of Northampton, the Earl of Arundel, the lords Roos,
Willoughby, Basset, St. Albans, Sir Lewis Tufton, Lord Multon, Lord
Lascels, and many others; amounting, in the whole, to about eight
hundred men-at-arms and twelve hundred archers. The third battalion was
commanded by the King, and was composed of about seven hundred
men-at-arms and two thousand archers.

The King then mounted a small palfrey, having a white wand in his hand,
and, attended by his two marshals on each side of him, he rode at a
footpace through all the ranks, encouraging and entreating the army that
they would guard his honor and defend his right. He spoke this so
sweetly and with such a cheerful countenance that all who had been
dispirited were directly comforted by seeing and hearing him. When he
had thus visited all the battalions it was near ten o'clock; he retired
to his own division, and ordered them all to eat heartily and drink a
glass after. They ate and drank at their ease, and, having packed up
pots, barrels, etc., in the carts they returned to their battalions
according to the marshals' orders, and seated themselves on the ground,
placing their helmets and bows before them, that they might be the
fresher when their enemies should arrive.

On Saturday the King of France rose betimes, and heard mass in the
monastery of St. Peter's in Abbeville, where he was lodged; having
ordered his army to do the same, he left that town after sunrise. When
he had marched about two leagues from Abbeville, and was approaching the
enemy, he was advised to form his army in order of battle and to let
those on foot march forward that they might not be trampled on by the
horses. The King, upon this, sent off four knights, Lord Moyne of
Bastleberg, Lord of Noyers, Lord of Beaujeu, and the Lord of Aubigny,
who rode so near to the English that they could clearly distinguish
their position. The English plainly perceived they were come to
reconnoitre them; however, they took no notice of it, but suffered them
to return unmolested. When the King of France saw them coming back, he
halted his army; and the knights, pushing through the crowd, came near
the King, who said to them, "My lords, what news?" They looked at each
other, without opening their mouths, for neither chose to speak first.
At last the King addressed himself to the Lord Moyne, who was attached
to the King of Bohemia, and had performed very many gallant deeds, so
that he was esteemed one of the most valiant knights in Christendom.
Lord Moyne said: "Sir, I will speak, since it pleases you to order me,
but under the correction of my companions. We have advanced far enough
to reconnoitre your enemies. Know, then, that they are drawn up in three
battalions, and are waiting for you. I would advise, for my
part--submitting, however, to better counsel--that you halt your army
here and quarter them for the night; for before the rear shall come up
and the army be properly drawn out, it will be very late; your men will
be tired and in disorder, while they will find your enemies fresh and
properly arrayed. On the morrow you may draw up your army more at your
ease and may reconnoitre at leisure on what part it will be most
advantageous to begin the attack; for, be assured, they will wait for
you." The King commanded that it should be so done, and the two marshals
rode, one toward the front, and the other to the rear, crying out, "Halt
banners, in the name of God and St. Denis." Those that were in the front
halted, but those behind said they would not halt until they were as
forward as the front. When the front perceived the rear pressing on they
pushed forward, and neither the King nor the marshals could stop them,
but they marched without any order until they came in sight of their
enemies. As soon as the foremost rank saw them they fell back at once in
great disorder, which alarmed those in the rear, who thought they had
been fighting. There was then space and room enough for them to have
passed forward, had they been willing so to do; some did so, but others
remained shy. All the roads between Abbeville and Crecy were covered
with common people, who, when they were come within three leagues of
their enemies, drew their swords, bawling out, "Kill, kill," and with
them were many great lords that were eager to make show of their
courage. There is no man--unless he had been present--that can imagine
or describe truly the confusion of that day; especially the bad
management and disorder of the French, whose troops were out of number.

The English were drawn up in three divisions and seated on the ground.
On seeing their enemies advance they rose up and fell into their ranks.
That of the Prince was the first to do so, whose archers were formed in
the manner of a portcullis, or harrow, and the men-at-arms in the rear.
The earls of Northampton and Arundel, who commanded the second division,
had posted themselves in good order on his wing, to assist and succor
the Prince if necessary. You must know that these kings, earls, barons,
and lords of France did not advance in any regular order, but one after
the other, or any way most pleasing to themselves. As soon as the King
of France came in sight of the English his blood began to boil, and he
cried out to his marshals, "Order the Genoese forward and begin the
battle, in the name of God and St. Denis." There were about fifteen
thousand Genoese cross-bowmen, but they were quite fatigued, having
marched on foot that day six leagues, completely armed and with their
cross-bows. They told the constable they were not in a fit condition to
do any great things that day in battle. The Earl of Alencon, hearing
this, said, "This is what one gets by employing such scoundrels, who
fall off when there is any need for them." During this time a heavy rain
fell, accompanied by thunder and a very terrible eclipse of the sun, and
before this rain a great flight of crows hovered in the air over all
those battalions, making a loud noise. Shortly afterward it cleared up
and the sun shone very bright, but the Frenchmen had it on their faces
and the English on their backs. When the Genoese were somewhat in order
and approached the English they set up a loud shout[48] in order to
frighten them, but they remained quite still and did not seem to attend
to it. They then set up a second shout and advanced a little forward,
but the English never moved.

They hooted a third time, advancing with their cross-bows presented and
began to shoot. The English archers then advanced one step forward and
shot their arrows with such force and quickness that it seemed as if it
snowed. When the Genoese felt these arrows, which pierced their arms,
heads, and through their armor, some of them cut the strings of their
cross-bows; others flung them on the ground and all turned about and
retreated quite discomfited. The French had a large body of men-at-arms
on horseback, richly dressed, to support the Genoese. The King of France
seeing them thus fall back cried out, "Kill me those scoundrels, for
they stop up our road without any reason." You would then have seen the
above-mentioned men-at-arms lay about them, killing all they could of
these runaways.

The English continued shooting as vigorously and quickly as before; some
of their arrows fell among the horsemen, who were sumptuously equipped,
and, killing and wounding many, made them caper and fall among the
Genoese, so that they were in such confusion they could never rally
again. In the English army there were some Cornish and Welshmen on foot
who had armed themselves with large knives. These, advancing through the
ranks of the men-at-arms and archers, who made way for them, came upon
the French when they were in this danger, and, falling upon earls,
barons, knights, and squires, slew many; at which the King of England
was afterward much exasperated. The valiant King of Bohemia was slain
there. He was called Charles of Luxembourg, for he was the son of the
gallant king and emperor Henry of Luxembourg. Having heard the order of
the battle, he inquired where his son, Lord Charles, was. His attendants
answered that they did not know, but believed he was fighting. The King
said to them: "Gentlemen, you are all my people, my friends and
brethren-at-arms this day; therefore, as I am blind,[49] I request of
you to lead me so far into the engagement that I may strike one stroke
with my sword." The knights replied that they would directly lead him
forward, and, in order that they might not lose him in the crowd, they
fastened all the reins of their horses together and put the King at
their head, that he might gratify his wish and advance toward the enemy.
Lord Charles of Bohemia--who already signed his name as King of Germany
and bore the arms--had come in good order to the engagement, but when he
perceived that it was likely to turn out against the French he departed.
The King, his father, had rode in among the enemy, and made good use of
his sword, for he and his companions had fought most gallantly. They had
advanced so far that they were all slain, and on the morrow they were
found on the ground, with their horses all tied together.

The Earl of Alencon advanced in regular order upon the English, to fight
with them; as did the Earl of Flanders in another part. These two lords,
with their detachments--coasting, as it were, the archers--came to the
Prince's battalion, where they fought valiantly for a length of time.
The King of France was eager to march to the place were he saw their
banners displayed, but there was a hedge of archers before him. He had
that day made a present of a handsome black horse to Sir John of
Hainault, who had mounted on it a knight called Sir John de Fusselles,
that bore his banner. The horse ran off with him and forced its way
through the English army, and, when about to return, stumbled and fell
into a ditch and severely wounded him. He would have been dead if his
page had not followed him round the battalions and found him unable to
rise. He had not, however, any other hinderance than from his horse; for
the English did not quit the ranks that day to make prisoners. The page
alighted and raised him up, but he did not return the way he came, as he
would have found it difficult from the crowd. This battle, which was
fought on the Saturday, between La Broyes and Crecy, was very murderous
and cruel, and many gallant deeds of arms were performed that were never
known. Toward evening many knights and squires of the French had lost
their masters. They wandered up and down the plain, attacking the
English in small parties. They were soon destroyed, for the English had
determined that day to give no quarter nor hear of ransom from anyone.

Early in the day some French, Germans, and Savoyards had broken through
the archers of the Prince's battalion and had engaged with the
men-at-arms; upon which the second battalion came to his aid, otherwise
he would have been hard pressed. The first division, seeing the danger
they were in, sent a knight in great haste to the King of England, who
was posted upon an eminence near a windmill. On the knight's arrival he
said: "Sir, the Earl of Warwick, Lord Reginald Cobham, and the others
who are about your son are vigorously attacked by the French. They
entreat that you would come to their assistance with your battalion,
for, if their numbers should increase, they fear he will have too much
to do."

The King replied, "Is my son dead, unhorsed, or so badly wounded that he
cannot support himself?"

"Nothing of the sort, thank God," rejoined the knight, "but he is in so
hot an engagement that he has great need of your help." The King
answered: "Now, Sir Thomas, return back to those that sent you, and tell
them from me not to send again for me this day, or expect that I shall
come, let what will happen, as long as my son has life; and say that I
command them to let the boy win his spurs; for I am determined, if it
please God, that all the glory and honor of this day shall be given to
him and to those into whose care I have intrusted him." The knight
returned to his lords, and related the King's answer, which mightily
encouraged them and made them repent they had ever sent such a
message.[50]

It is a certain fact that Sir Godfrey de Harcourt, who was in the
Prince's battalion, having been told by some of the English that they
had seen the banner of his brother engaged in the battle against him,
was exceedingly anxious to save him; but he was too late, for he was
left dead on the field, and so was the Earl of Aumarle, his nephew. On
the other hand, the earls of Alencon and of Flanders were fighting
lustily under their banners and with their own people, but they could
not resist the force of the English, and were slain, as well as many
other knights and squires that were attending on or accompanying them.
The Earl of Blois, nephew to the King of France, and the Duke of
Lorraine, his brother-in-law, with their troops, made a gallant defence;
but they were surrounded by a troop of English and Welsh and slain in
spite of their prowess. The Earl of St. Pol and the Earl of Auxerre were
also killed, as well as many others.

Late after vespers, the King of France had not more about him than sixty
men--every one included. Sir John of Hainault, who was of the number,
had once remounted the King; for his horse had been killed under him by
an arrow. He said to the King: "Sir, retreat while you have an
opportunity and do not expose yourself so simply. If you have lost this
battle, another time you will be the conqueror." After he had said this,
he took the bridle of the King's horse and led him off by force, for he
had before entreated him to retire. The King rode on until he came to
the castle of La Broyes, where he found the gates shut, for it was very
dark. The King ordered the governor of it to be summoned. He came upon
the battlements and asked who it was that called at such an hour. The
King answered: "Open, open, governor! It is the fortune of France!" The
governor, hearing the King's voice, immediately descended, opened the
gate and let down the bridge. The King and his company entered the
castle, but he had only with him five barons, Sir John of Hainault, Lord
Charles of Montmorency, Lord Beaujeu, Lord Aubigny, and Lord Montfort.
The King would not bury himself in such a place as that, but, having
taken some refreshments, set out again with his attendants about
midnight, and rode on, under the direction of guides--who were well
acquainted with the country--until about daybreak, when he came to
Amiens, where he halted. The English never quitted their ranks in
pursuit of anyone, but remained on the field, guarding their position
and defending themselves against all who attacked them. The battle was
ended at the hour of vespers.

When, on Saturday night, the English heard no more hooting or shouting,
nor any more crying out to particular lords or their banners, they
looked upon the field as their own and their enemies as beaten. They
made great fires, and lighted torches because of the obscurity of the
night. King Edward then came down from his post, who all that day had
not put on his helmet, and with his whole battalion advanced to the
Prince of Wales, whom he embraced in his arms and kissed, and said:
"Sweet son, God give you good perseverance; you are my son, for most
loyally have you acquitted yourself this day. You are worthy to be a
sovereign." The Prince bowed down very low and humbled himself, giving
all the honor to the King, his father. The English, during the night,
made frequent thanksgivings to the Lord for the happy issue of the day,
and without rioting, for the King had forbidden all riot or noise. On
Sunday morning there was so great a fog that one could scarcely see the
distance of half an acre. The King ordered a detachment from the army,
under the command of the two marshals--consisting of about five hundred
lances and two thousand archers--to make an excursion and see if there
were any bodies of French troops collected together. The quota of troops
from Rouen and Beauvais had that morning left Abbeville and St. Ricquier
in Ponthieu to join the French army, and were ignorant of the defeat of
the preceding evening. They met this detachment, and, thinking they must
be French, hastened to join them.

As soon as the English found who they were, they fell upon them and
there was a sharp engagement. The French soon turned their backs and
fled in great disorder. There were slain in this flight in the open
fields, under hedges and bushes, upward of seven thousand; and had it
been clear weather, not one soul would have escaped.

A little time afterward this same party fell in with the Archbishop of
Rouen and the great Prior of France, who were also ignorant of the
discomfiture of the French, for they had been informed that the King was
not to fight before Sunday. Here began a fresh battle; for those two
lords were well attended by good men-at-arms. However, they could not
withstand the English, but were almost all slain, with the two chiefs
who commanded them; very few escaping. In the morning the English found
many Frenchmen who had lost their road on Saturday and had lain in the
open fields, not knowing what was become of the King or their own
leaders. The English put to the sword all they met; and it has been
assured to me for fact that of foot soldiers, sent from the cities,
towns, and municipalities, there were slain, this Sunday morning, four
times as many as in the battle of Saturday.

This detachment, which had been sent to look after the French, returned
as the King was coming from mass, and related to him all that they had
seen and met with. After he had been assured by them that there was not
any likelihood of the French collecting another army, he sent to have
the number and condition of the dead examined. He ordered on this
business Lord Reginald Cobham, Lord Stafford, and three heralds to
examine their arms, and two secretaries to write down all the names.
They took much pains to examine all the dead, and were the whole day in
the field of battle, not returning but just as the King was sitting down
to supper. They made him a very circumstantial report of all they had
observed, and said they had found eighty banners, the bodies of eleven
princes, twelve hundred knights, and about thirty thousand common men.




MODERN RECOGNITION OF SCENIC BEAUTY

CROWNING OF PETRARCH AT ROME

A.D. 1341

JACOB BURCKHARDT


  The beauty of nature, of natural scenery amid mountains,
  fields, and lakes, seems to have passed unheeded during
  early mediaeval times. Even in the ancient days of classic
  culture it apparently attracted very little notice, except
  from an occasional poet. The present attitude of enthusiasm,
  which leads thousands of tourists to flock to Switzerland or
  to Niagara every year, is wholly a modern development. This
  development of what is almost a new sense in man certainly
  deserves notice. To fix an exact date for its beginning is,
  of course, impossible, but it is generally regarded as a
  product of the Italian Renaissance, and Burckhardt, seeking
  for its slow unfolding, traces it back to Petrarch, who, in
  his poetry, speaks of nature repeatedly.

  Petrarch's poetry was so highly valued by the Italians that
  they unanimously agreed to confer upon the author a laurel
  crown. This was a revival of the old Greek method of
  honoring poets, and as such it was felt by the Italians a
  specially fitting way to proclaim their reviving interest in
  art. So a great public gathering was arranged at Rome, and
  the laurel was with elaborate ceremonies placed on
  Petrarch's brow.

  The recipient of this new and distinguished honor is
  regarded as second only to Dante in Italian literature. In
  addition to his world-famed sonnets to Laura, he wrote
  much-admired Latin poems, and was a scholar of high repute.
  His enthusiasm for the ancient Greek and Latin authors made
  him the central figure in that revival of classic learning
  which at this time began in Italy.

Petrarch, who lives in the memory of most people nowadays chiefly as a
great Italian poet, owed his fame among his contemporaries far rather to
the fact that he was a kind of living representative of antiquity, that
he imitated all styles of Latin poetry, endeavored by his voluminous
historical and philosophical writings not to supplant, but to make
known, the works of the ancients, and wrote letters that, as treatises
on matters of antiquarian interest, obtained a reputation which to us is
unintelligible, but which was natural enough in an age without
handbooks. Petrarch himself trusted and hoped that his Latin writings
would bring him fame with his contemporaries and with posterity, and
thought so little of his Italian poems that, as he often tells us, he
would gladly have destroyed them if he could have succeeded thereby in
blotting them out from the memory of men.

It was the same with Boccaccio. For two centuries, when but little was
known of the _Decameron_ north of the Alps, he was famous all over
Europe simply on account of his Latin compilations on mythology,
geography, and biography. One of these, _de Genealogia Deorum_, contains
in the fourteenth and fifteenth books a remarkable appendix, in which he
discusses the position of the then youthful humanism with regard to the
age. We must not be misled by his exclusive references to _poesia_, as
closer observation shows that he means thereby the whole mental activity
of the poet-scholars. This it is whose enemies he so vigorously
combats--the frivolous ignoramuses who have no soul for anything but
debauchery; the sophistical theologian to whom Helicon, the Castalian
fountain, and the grove of Apollo were foolishness; the greedy lawyers,
to whom poetry was a superfluity, since no money was to be made by it;
finally the mendicant friars, described periphrastically, but clearly
enough, who made free with their charges of paganism and immorality.
Then follow the defence of poetry, the proof that the poetry of the
ancients and of their modern followers contains nothing mendacious, the
praise of it, and especially of the deeper and allegorical meanings
which we must always attribute to it, and of that calculated obscurity
which is intended to repel the dull minds of the ignorant.

And finally, with a clear reference to his own scholarly work, the
writer justifies the new relation in which his age stood to paganism.
The case was wholly different, he pleads, when the Early Church had to
fight its way among the heathen. Now--praised be Jesus Christ!--true
religion was strengthened, paganism destroyed, and the victorious Church
in possession of the hostile camp. It was now possible to touch and
study paganism almost (_fere_) without danger. Boccaccio, however, did
not hold this liberal view consistently. The ground of his apostasy lay
partly in the mobility of his character, partly in the still powerful
and widespread prejudice that classical pursuits were unbecoming in a
theologian. To these reasons must be added the warning given him in the
name of the dead Pietro Petroni by the monk Gioacchino Ciani to give up
his pagan studies under pain of early death. He accordingly determined
to abandon them, and was only brought back from this cowardly resolve by
the earnest exhortations of Petrarch, and by the latter's able
demonstration that humanism was reconcilable with religion.

There was thus a new cause in the world, and a new class of men to
maintain it. It is idle to ask if this cause ought not to have stopped
short in its career of victory, to have restrained itself deliberately,
and conceded the first place to purely national elements of culture. No
conviction was more firmly rooted in the popular mind than that
antiquity was the highest title to glory which Italy possessed.

There was a symbolical ceremony familiar to this generation of
poet-scholars which lasted on into the fifteenth and sixteenth
centuries, though losing the higher sentiment which inspired it--the
coronation of the poets with the laurel wreath. The origin of this
system in the Middle Ages is obscure, and the ritual of the ceremony
never became fixed. It was a public demonstration, an outward and
visible expression of literary enthusiasm, and naturally its form was
variable. Dante, for instance, seems to have understood it in the sense
of a half-religious consecration; he desired to assume the wreath in the
baptistery of San Giovanni, where, like thousands of other Florentine
children, he had received baptism. He could, says his biographer, have
anywhere received the crown in virtue of his fame, but desired it
nowhere but in his native city, and therefore died uncrowned. From the
same source we learn that the usage was till then uncommon, and was held
to be inherited by the ancient Romans from the Greeks. The most recent
source to which the practices could be referred is to be found in the
Capitoline contests of musicians, poets, and other artists, founded by
Domitian in imitation of the Greeks and celebrated every five years,
which may possibly have survived for a time the fall of the Roman
Empire; but as few other men would venture to crown themselves, as Dante
desired to do, the question arises, To whom did this office belong?
Albertino Mussato was crowned at Padua in 1310 by the Bishop and the
rector of the university.

The University of Paris, the rector of which was then a Florentine,
1341, and the municipal authorities of Rome competed for the honor of
crowning Petrarch. His self-elected examiner, King Robert of Anjou,
would gladly have performed the ceremony at Naples, but Petrarch
preferred to be crowned on the Capitol by the senator of Rome. This
honor was long the highest object of ambition, and so it seemed to
Jacobus Pizinga, an illustrious Sicilian magistrate. Then came the
Italian journey of Charles IV, whom it amused to flatter the vanity of
ambitious men, and impress the ignorant multitude by means of gorgeous
ceremonies. Starting from the fiction that the coronation of poets was a
prerogative of the old Roman emperors, and consequently was no less his
own, he crowned, May 15, 1355, the Florentine scholar Zanobi della
Strada at Pisa, to the annoyance of Petrarch, who complained that the
barbarian laurel had dared adorn the man loved by the Ausonian muses,
and to the great disgust of Boccaccio, who declined to recognize this
_laurea Pisana_ as legitimate. Indeed, it might be fairly asked with
what right this stranger, half Slavonic by birth, came to sit in
judgment on the merits of Italian poets. But from henceforth the
emperors crowned poets whenever they went on their travels; and in the
fifteenth century the popes and other princes assumed the same right,
till at last no regard whatever was paid to place or circumstances.

Outside the sphere of scientific investigation, there is another way to
draw near to nature. The Italians are the first among modern peoples by
whom the outward world was seen and felt as something beautiful. The
power to do so is always the result of a long and complicated
development, and its origin is not easily detected, since a dim feeling
of this kind may exist long before it shows itself in poetry and
painting, and thereby becomes conscious of itself. Among the ancients,
for example, art and poetry had gone through the whole circle of human
interests before they turned to the representation of nature, and even
then the latter filled always a limited and subordinate place. And yet,
from the time of Homer downward, the powerful impression made by nature
upon man is shown by countless verses and chance expressions. The
Germanic races which founded their states on the ruins of the Roman
Empire were thoroughly and specially fitted to understand the spirit of
natural scenery; and though Christianity compelled them for a while to
see in the springs and mountains, in the lakes and woods, which they had
till then revered, the working of evil demons, yet this transitional
conception was soon outgrown.

By the year 1200, at the height of the Middle Ages, a genuine, hearty
enjoyment of the external world was again in existence, and found lively
expression in the minstrelsy of different nations, which gives evidence
of the sympathy felt with all the simple phenomena of nature--spring
with its flowers, the green fields, and the woods. But these pictures
are all foreground, without perspective. Even the crusaders, who
travelled so far and saw so much, are not recognizable as such in these
poems. The epic poetry, which describes armor and costumes so fully,
does not attempt more than a sketch of outward nature; and even the
great Wolfram von Eschenbach scarcely anywhere gives us an adequate
picture of the scene on which his heroes move. From these poems it would
never be guessed that their noble authors in all countries inhabited or
visited lofty castles, commanding distant prospects. Even in the Latin
poems of the wandering clerks, we find no traces of a distant view--of
landscape properly so called; but what lies near is sometimes described
with a glow and splendor which none of the knightly minstrels can
surpass.

To the Italian mind, at all events, nature had by this time lost its
taint of sin, and had shaken off all trace of demoniacal powers. St.
Francis of Assisi, in his _Hymn to the Sun_, frankly praises the Lord
for creating the heavenly bodies and the four elements.

The unmistakable proofs of a deepening effect of nature on the human
spirit begin with Dante. Not only does he awaken in us by a few vigorous
lines the sense of the morning airs and the trembling light on the
distant ocean, or of the grandeur of the storm-beaten forest, but he
makes the ascent of lofty peaks, _with_ the only possible object of
enjoying the view--the first man, perhaps, since the days of antiquity
who did so. In Boccaccio we can do little more than infer how country
scenery affected him; yet his pastoral romances show his imagination to
have been filled with it.

But the significance of nature for a receptive spirit is fully and
clearly displayed by Petrarch--one of the first truly modern men. That
clear soul--who first collected from the literature of all countries
evidence of the origin and progress of the sense of natural beauty, and
himself, in his _Ansichten der Natur_, achieved the noblest masterpiece
of description--Alexander von Humboldt, has not done full justice to
Petrarch; and, following in the steps of the great reaper, we may still
hope to glean a few ears of interest and value.

Petrarch was not only a distinguished geographer--the first map of Italy
is said to have been drawn by his direction--and not only a reproducer
of the sayings of the ancients, but felt himself the influence of
natural beauty. The enjoyment of nature is, for him, the favorite
accompaniment of intellectual pursuits; it was to combine the two that
he lived in learned retirement at Vaucluse and elsewhere, that he from
time to time fled from the world and from his age. We should do him
wrong by inferring from his weak and undeveloped power of describing
natural scenery that he did not feel it deeply. His picture, for
instance, of the lovely Gulf of Spezzia and Porto Venere, which he
inserts at the end of the sixth book of the _Africa_, for the reason
that none of the ancients or moderns had sung of it, is no more than a
simple enumeration, but the descriptions in letters to his friends of
Rome, Naples, and other Italian cities in which he willingly lingered,
are picturesque and worthy of the subject. Petrarch is also conscious of
the beauty of rock scenery, and is perfectly able to distinguish the
picturesqueness from the utility of nature. During his stay among the
woods of Reggio, the sudden sight of an impressive landscape so affected
him that he resumed a poem which he had long laid aside. But the deepest
impression of all was made upon him by the ascent of Mont Ventoux, near
Avignon. An indefinable longing for a distant panorama grew stronger and
stronger in him, till at length the accidental sight of a passage in
Livy, where King Philip, the enemy of Rome, ascends the Haemus, decided
him. He thought that what was not blamed in a gray-headed monarch might
be well excused in a young man of private station.

The ascent of a mountain for its own sake was unheard of, and there
could be no thought of the companionship of friends or acquaintances.
Petrarch took with him only his younger brother and two country people
from the last place where he halted. At the foot of the mountain an old
herdsman besought him to turn back, saying that he himself had attempted
to climb it fifty years before, and had brought home nothing but
repentance, broken bones, and torn clothes, and that neither before nor
after had anyone ventured to do the same. Nevertheless, they struggled
forward and upward, till the clouds lay beneath their feet, and at last
they reached the top. A description of the view from the summit would be
looked for in vain, not because the poet was insensible to it, but, on
the contrary, because the impression was too overwhelming. His whole
past life, with all its follies, rose before his mind; he remembered
that ten years ago that day he had quitted Bologna a young man, and
turned a longing gaze toward his native country; he opened a book which
then was his constant companion, the _Confessions_ of St. Augustine, and
his eye fell on the passage in the tenth chapter, "and men go forth, and
admire lofty mountains and broad seas and roaring torrents and the ocean
and the course of the stars, and forget their own selves while doing
so." His brother, to whom he read these words, could not understand why
he closed the book and said no more.

Some decades later, about 1360, Fazio degli Uberti describes, in his
rhyming geography, the wide panorama from the mountains of Auvergne,
with the interest, it is true, of the geographer and antiquarian only,
but still showing clearly that he himself had seen it. He must, however,
have ascended higher peaks, since he is familiar with facts which only
occur at a height of ten thousand feet or more above the
sea--mountain-sickness and its accompaniments--of which his imaginary
comrade Solinus tries to cure him with a sponge dipped in essence. The
ascents of Parnassus and Olympus, of which he speaks, are perhaps only
fictions.

In the fifteenth century, the great masters of the Flemish school,
Hubert and Johann van Eyck, suddenly lifted the veil from nature. Their
landscapes are not merely the fruit of an endeavor to reflect the real
world in art, but have, even if expressed conventionally, a certain
poetical meaning--in short, a soul. Their influence on the whole art of
the West is undeniable, and extended to the landscape-painting of the
Italians, but without preventing the characteristic interest of the
Italian eye for nature from finding its own expression.

On this point, as in the scientific description of nature, AEneas Sylvius
is again one of the most weighty voices of his time. Even if we grant
the justice of all that has been said against his character, we must,
nevertheless, admit that in few other men was the picture of the age and
its culture so fully reflected, and that few came nearer to the normal
type of the men of the early Renaissance. It may be added
parenthetically that even in respect to his moral character he will not
be fairly judged if we listen solely to the complaints of the German
Church, which his fickleness helped to balk of the council it so
ardently desired.

He here claims our attention as the first who not only enjoyed the
magnificence of the Italian landscape, but described it with enthusiasm
down to its minutest details. The ecclesiastical state and the South of
Tuscany--his native home--he knew thoroughly, and after he became pope
he spent his leisure during the favorable season chiefly in excursions
to the country. Then at last the gouty man was rich enough to have
himself carried in a litter through the mountains and valleys; and when
we compare his enjoyments with those of the popes who succeeded him,
Pius, whose chief delight was in nature, antiquity, and simple but noble
architecture, appears almost a saint. In the elegant and flowing Latin
of his _Commentaries_ he freely tells us of his happiness.

His eye seems as keen and practised as that of any modern observer. He
enjoys with rapture the panoramic splendor of the view from the summit
of the Alban hills--from the Monte Cavo--whence he could see the shores
of St. Peter from Terracina and the promontory of Circe as far as Monte
Argentaro, and the wide expanse of country round about, with the ruined
cities of the past, and with the mountain chains of central Italy
beyond; and then his eye would turn to the green woods in the hollows
beneath, and the mountain lakes among them. He feels the beauty of the
position of Todi, crowning the vineyards and olive-clad slopes, looking
down upon distant woods and upon the valley of the Tiber, where towns
and castles rise above the winding river. The lovely hills about Siena,
with villas and monasteries on every height, are his own home, and his
descriptions of them are touched with a peculiar feeling. Single
picturesque glimpses charm him, too, like the little promontory of Capo
di Monte that stretches out into the Lake of Bolsena. "Rocky steps," we
read, "shaded by vines, descend to the water's edge, where the evergreen
oaks stand between the cliffs, alive with the song of thrushes." On the
path round the Lake of Nemi, beneath the chestnuts and fruit-trees, he
feels that here, if anywhere, a poet's soul must awake--here in the
hiding-place of Diana! He often held consistories or received
ambassadors under huge old chestnut-trees, or beneath the olives on the
greensward by some gurgling spring. A view like that of a narrowing
gorge, with a bridge arched boldly over it, awakens at once his artistic
sense. Even the smallest details give him delight through something
beautiful, or perfect, or characteristic in them--the blue fields of
waving flax, the yellow gorge which covers the hills, even tangled
thickets, or single trees, or springs, which seem to him like wonders of
nature.

The height of his enthusiasm for natural beauty was reached during his
stay on Monte Amiata, in the summer of 1462, when plague and heat made
the lowlands uninhabitable. Half way up the mountain, in the old Lombard
monastery of San Salvatore, he and his court took up their quarters.
There, between the chestnuts which clothe the steep declivity, the eye
may wander over all Southern Tuscany, with the towers of Siena in the
distance. The ascent of the highest peak he left to his companions, who
were joined by the Venetian envoy; they found at the top two vast blocks
of stone one upon the other--perhaps the sacrificial altar of a
prehistorical people--and fancied that in the far distance they saw
Corsica and Sardinia rising above the sea.

In the cool air of the hills, among the old oaks and chestnuts, on the
green meadows where there were no thorns to wound the feet and no snakes
or insects to hurt or to annoy, the Pope passed days of unclouded
happiness. For the _segnatura_, which took place on certain days of the
week, he selected on each occasion some new shady retreat "_novas in
convallibus fontes et novas inveniens umbras, quae dubiam jacerent
electionem_." At such times the dogs would perhaps start a great stag
from his lair, who, after defending himself a while with hoofs and
antlers, would fly at last up the mountain. In the evening the Pope was
accustomed to sit before the monastery on the spot from which the whole
valley of the Paglia was visible, holding lively conversations with the
cardinals. The courtiers, who ventured down from the heights on their
hunting expeditions, found the heat below intolerable, and the scorched
plains like a very hell, while the monastery, with its cool, shady
woods, seemed like an abode of the blessed.

All this is genuine modern enjoyment, not a reflection of antiquity. As
surely as the ancients themselves felt in the same manner, so surely,
nevertheless, were the scanty expressions of the writers whom Pius knew
insufficient to awaken in him such enthusiasm.

The second great age of Italian poetry, which now followed at the end of
the fifteenth century, as well as the Latin poetry of the same period,
is rich in proofs of the powerful effect of nature on the human mind.
The first glance at the lyric poets of that time will suffice to
convince us. Elaborate descriptions, it is true, of natural scenery are
very rare, for the reason that, in this energetic age, the novels and
the lyric or epic poetry had something else to deal with. Bojardo and
Ariosto paint nature vigorously, but as briefly as possible, and with no
effort to appeal by their descriptions to the feelings of the reader,
which they endeavor to reach solely by their narrative and characters.

Letter-writers and the authors of philosophical dialogues are, in fact,
better evidences of the growing love of nature than the poets. The
novelist Bandello, for example, observes rigorously the rules of his
department of literature; he gives us in his novels themselves not a
word more than is necessary on the natural scenery amid which the action
of his tales takes place, but in the dedications which always precede
them we meet with charming descriptions of nature as the setting for his
dialogues and social pictures. Among letter-writers, Aretino
unfortunately must be named as the first who has fully painted in words
the splendid effect of light and shadow in an Italian sunset.

We sometimes find the feeling of the poets, also, attaching itself with
tenderness to graceful scenes of country life. Tito Strozza, about the
year 1480, describes in a Latin elegy the dwelling of his mistress. We
are shown an old ivy-clad house, half hidden in trees, and adorned with
weather-stained frescoes of the saints, and near it a chapel, much
damaged by the violence of the river Po, which flowed hard by; not far
off, the priest ploughs his few barren roods with borrowed cattle. This
is no reminiscence of the Roman elegists, but true modern sentiment.

It may be objected that the German painters at the beginning of the
sixteenth century succeed in representing with perfect mastery these
scenes of country life, as, for instance, Albrecht Durer, in his
engraving of the prodigal son. But it is one thing if a painter, brought
up in a school of realism, introduces such scenes, and quite another
thing if a poet, accustomed to an ideal or mythological framework, is
driven by inward impulse into realism. Besides which, priority in point
of time is here, as in the descriptions of country life, on the side of
the Italian poets.




RIENZI'S REVOLUTION IN ROME

A.D. 1347

R. LODGE


  When for nearly forty years Rome had been deserted by the
  popes, who had betaken themselves in 1309 to a long
  residence at Avignon, France, and when the Eternal City was
  virtually without an imperial government--the Teutonic
  emperors having likewise abandoned her--she fell back upon
  the memories of her great past, recalling the glories of her
  ancient supremacy and the means whereby it had been
  established and maintained. Whatever might promise to
  restore it she was ready to welcome.

  At this time the real masters of Rome were the princes or
  barons dwelling in their fortified castles outside or in
  their strong palaces within the city. Over the northern
  district, near the Quirinal, reigned the celebrated old
  family of the Colonnas; while along the Tiber, from the
  Campo-di-Fiore to the Church of St. Peter, extended the sway
  of the new family of the Orsini. Other members of the
  nobility, in the country, held their seats in small
  fortified cities or castles. Under such domination Rome had
  become almost deserted. "The population of the seven-hilled
  city had come down to about thirty thousand souls." When at
  peace with one another--which was rarely--the barons
  exercised over the citizens and serfs a combined tyranny,
  while the farmers, travellers, and pilgrims were made
  victims of their plunder. At this period Petrarch--that
  "first modern man"--wrote to Pope Clement VI that Rome had
  become the abode of demons, the receptacle of all crimes, a
  hell for the living.

  "It was in these circumstances that a momentary revival of
  order and liberty was effected by the most extraordinary
  adventurer of an age that was prolific in adventurers." This
  was Cola Di Rienzi, who was born in Rome about 1313, and who
  is sometimes styled "an Italian patriot." In his ambitious
  endeavor to reinstate the Caesarean power in Italy he appears
  alternately in the figure of a hero and the character of a
  charlatan. Believing himself the founder of a new era, he
  was inflamed by his successes, and ended in "mystical
  extravagances and follies which could not fail to cause his
  ruin."

Cola Di Rienzi was born of humble parents, though he afterward tried to
gratify his own vanity and to gain the ear of Charles IV by claiming to
be the bastard son of Henry VII. A wrong which he could not venture to
avenge excited his bitter hostility against the baronage, while the
study of Livy and other classical writers inspired him with regretful
admiration for the glories of ancient Rome.

He succeeded in attracting notice by his personal beauty and by the
rather turgid eloquence which was his chief talent. In 1342 he took the
most prominent part in an embassy from the citizens to Clement VI; and
though he failed to induce the Pope to return to Rome, which at that
time he seems to have regarded as the panacea for the evils of the time,
he gained sufficient favor at Avignon to be appointed papal notary.

From this time he deliberately set himself to raise the people to open
resistance against their oppressors, while he disarmed the suspicions of
the nobles by intentional buffoonery and extravagance of conduct. On May
20, 1347, the first blow was struck. Rienzi, with a chosen band of
conspirators, and accompanied by the papal vicar, who had every interest
in weakening the baronage, proceeded to the Capitol, and, amid the
applause of the mob, promulgated the laws of the _buono stato_.

He himself took the title of tribune, in order to emphasize his
championship of the lower classes. The most important of his laws were
for the maintenance of order. Private garrisons and fortified houses
were forbidden. Each of the thirteen districts was to maintain an armed
force of a hundred infantry and twenty-five horsemen. Every port was
provided with a cruiser for the protection of merchandise, and the trade
on the Tiber was to be secured by a river police.

The nobles watched the progress of this astonishing revolution with
impotent surprise. Stefano Colonna, who was absent on the eventful day,
expressed his scorn of the mob and their leader. But a popular attack on
his palace convinced him of his error and forced him to fly from the
city. Within fifteen days the triumph of Rienzi seemed to be complete,
when the proudest nobles of Rome submitted and took an oath to support
the new constitution. But the suddenness of his success was enough to
turn a head which was never of the strongest.

The Tribune began to dream of restoring to the Roman Republic its old
supremacy. And for a moment even this dream seemed hardly chimerical.
Europe was really dazzled by the revival of its ancient capital. Louis
of Hungary and Joanna of Naples submitted their quarrel to Rienzi's
arbitration. Thus encouraged, he set no bounds to his ambition. He
called upon the Pope and cardinals to return at once to Rome. He
summoned Louis and Charles, the two claimants to the Imperial dignity,
to appear before his throne and submit to his tribunal.

His arrogance was shown in the pretentious titles which he assumed and
in the gorgeous pomp with which he was accompanied on public and even on
private occasions. On August 15th, after bathing in the porphyry font in
which the emperor Constantine had been baptized, he was crowned with
seven crowns representing the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost. His most
loyal admirer prophesied disaster when the Tribune ventured on this
occasion to blasphemously compare himself with Christ.

Rienzi's government deteriorated with his personal character. It had at
first been liberal and just; it became arbitrary and even treacherous.
His personal timidity made him at once harsh and vacillating. The heads
of the great families, whom he had invited to a banquet, were seized and
condemned to death on a charge of conspiracy. But a sudden terror of the
possible consequences of his action caused him to relent, and he
released his victims just as they were preparing for execution. His
leniency was as ill-timed as his previous severity. The nobles could no
longer trust him, and their fear was diminished by the weakness which
they despised while they profited by it. They retired from Rome and
concerted measures for the overthrow of their enemy.

The first attack, which was led by Stefano Colonna, was repulsed almost
by accident; but Rienzi, who had shown more cowardice than generalship,
disgusted his supporters by his indecent exultation over the bodies of
the slain. And there was one fatal ambiguity in Rienzi's position. He
had begun by announcing himself as the ally and champion of the papacy,
and Clement VI had been willing enough to stand by and watch the
destruction of the baronage. But the growing independence and the
arrogant pretensions of the Tribune exasperated the Pope. A new legate
was despatched to Italy to denounce and excommunicate Rienzi as a
heretic. The latter had no longer any support to lean upon. When a new
attack was threatened, the people sullenly refused to obey the call to
arms. Rienzi had not sufficient courage to risk a final struggle. On
December 15th he abdicated and retired in disguise from Rome. His rise
to power, his dazzling triumph, and his downfall were all comprised
within the brief period of seven months.

For the next few years Rienzi disappeared from view. According to his
own account he was concealed in a cave in the Apennines, where he
associated with some of the wilder members of the sect of the Fraticelli
and probably imbibed some of their tenets. Rome relapsed into anarchy,
and men's minds were distracted from politics by the ravages of the
black death. The great jubilee held in Rome in 1350 became a kind of
thanksgiving service of those whom the plague had spared.

It is said that Rienzi himself visited the scene of his exploits without
detection among the crowds of pilgrims. But he was destined to reappear
in a more public and disastrous manner. In his solitude his courage and
his ambition revived, and he meditated new plans for restoring freedom
to Rome and to Italy. The allegiance to the Church, which he had
professed in 1347, was weakened by the conduct of Clement VI and by the
influence of the Fraticelli, and he resolved in the future to ally
himself with the secular rather than with the ecclesiastical power, with
the Empire rather than with the papacy. In August, 1351, he appeared in
disguise in Prague and demanded an audience of Charles IV. To him he
proposed the far-reaching scheme which he had formed during his exile.

The Pope and the whole body of clergy were to be deprived of their
temporal power; the petty tyrants of Italy were to be driven out; and
the Emperor was to fix his residence in Rome as the supreme ruler of
Christendom. All this was to be accomplished by Rienzi himself at his
own cost and trouble. Charles IV listened with some curiosity to a man
whose career had excited such universal interest, but he was the last
man to be carried away by such chimerical suggestions.

The introduction into the political proposals of some of the religious
and communistic ideas of the Fraticelli gave the Emperor a pretext for
committing Rienzi to the Archbishop of Prague for correction and
instruction. The Archbishop communicated with the Pope, and on the
demand of Clement VI Charles agreed to hand Rienzi over to the papal
court on condition that his life should be spared. In 1352 Rienzi was
conveyed to Avignon and thrust into prison. He owed his life perhaps
less to the Emperor's request than to the opportune death of Clement VI
in this year.

The new Pope, Innocent VI, was more independent of French control than
his immediate predecessors. The French King was fully occupied with
internal disorders and with the English war. Thus the Pope was able to
give more attention to Italian politics, which were sufficiently
pressing. The independence and anarchy of the Papal States constituted a
serious problem, but the danger of their subjection to a foreign power
was still more serious. In 1350 the important city of Bologna had been
seized by the Visconti of Milan, and the progress of this powerful
family threatened to absorb the whole of the Romagna. Innocent
determined to resist their encroachments and at the same time to restore
the papal authority, and in 1353 he intrusted this double task to
Cardinal Albornoz.

Albornoz, equally distinguished as a diplomatist and as a military
commander, resolved to ally the cause of the papacy with that of
liberty. His programme was to overthrow the tyrants as the enemies both
of the people and of the popes, and to restore municipal self-government
under papal protection. His attention was first directed to the city of
Rome, which, after many vicissitudes since 1347, had fallen under the
influence of a demagogue named Baroncelli.

Baroncelli had revived to some extent the schemes of Rienzi, but had
declared openly against papal rule. To oppose this new tribune, Albornoz
conceived the project of using the influence of Rienzi, whose rule was
now regretted by the populace that had previously deserted him. The Pope
was persuaded to release Rienzi from prison and to send him to Rome,
where the effect of his presence was almost magical. The Romans flocked
to welcome their former liberator, and he was reinstalled in power with
the title of senator, conferred upon him by the Pope. But his character
was not improved by adversity, and his rule was more arbitrary and
selfish than it had been before.

The execution of the _condottiere_, Fra Moreale, was an act of
ingratitude as well as of treachery. Popular favor was soon alienated
from a ruler who could no longer command either affection or respect,
and, in a mob rising, Rienzi was put to death, October 8, 1354. But his
return had served the purpose of Albornoz. Rome was preserved to the
papacy, and the cardinal could proceed in safety with his task of
subduing the independent tyrants of Romagna.

Central Italy had not yet witnessed the general introduction of
mercenaries, and the native populations still fought their own battles.
The policy of exciting revolts among the subject citizens was completely
successful, and by 1360 almost the whole of Romagna had submitted to the
papal legate. His triumph was crowned in this year, when, by skilful use
of quarrels among the Visconti princes, he succeeded in recovering
Bologna.




BEGINNING AND PROGRESS OF THE RENAISSANCE

FOURTEENTH TO SIXTEENTH CENTURY

JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS


  The new birth or resurrection known as the "Renaissance" is
  usually considered to have begun in Italy in the fourteenth
  century, though some writers would date its origin from the
  reign of Frederick II, 1215-1250; and by this Prince--the
  most enlightened man of his age--it was at least
  anticipated. Well versed in languages and science, he was a
  patron of scholars, whom he gathered about him, from all
  parts of the world, at his court in Palermo.

  At all events the Renaissance was heralded through the
  recovery by Italian scholars of Greek and Roman classical
  literature. When the movement began, the civilization of
  Greece and Rome had long been exerting a partial influence,
  not only upon Italy, but on other parts of mediaeval Europe
  as well. But in Italy especially, when the wave of barbarism
  had passed, the people began to feel a returning
  consciousness of their ancient culture, and a desire to
  reproduce it. To Italians the Latin language was easy, and
  their country abounded in documents and monumental records
  which symbolized past greatness.

  The modern Italian spirit was produced through the
  combination of various elements, among which were the
  political institutions brought by the Lombards from Germany,
  the influence of chivalry and other northern forms of
  civilization, and the more immediate power of the Church.
  That which was foreshadowed in the thirteenth century became
  in the fourteenth a distinct national development, which, as
  Symonds, its most discerning interpreter, shows us, was
  constructing a model for the whole western world.

The word "renaissance" has of late years received a more extended
significance than that which is implied in our English equivalent--the
"revival of learning." We use it to denote the whole transition from the
Middle Ages to the modern world; and though it is possible to assign
certain limits to the period during which this transition took place, we
cannot fix on any dates so positively as to say between this year and
that the movement was accomplished. To do so would be like trying to
name the days on which spring in any particular season began and ended.
Yet we speak of spring as different from winter and from summer.

The truth is that in many senses we are still in mid-Renaissance. The
evolution has not been completed. The new life is our own and is
progressive. As in the transformation scene of some pantomime, so here
the waning and the waxing shapes are mingled; the new forms, at first
shadowy and filmy, gain upon the old; and now both blend; and now the
old scene fades into the background; still, who shall say whether the
new scene be finally set up?

In like manner we cannot refer the whole phenomena of the Renaissance to
any one cause or circumstance, or limit them within the field of any one
department of human knowledge. If we ask the students of art what they
mean by the Renaissance, they will reply that it was the revolution
effected in architecture, painting, and sculpture by the recovery of
antique monuments. Students of literature, philosophy, and theology see
in the Renaissance that discovery of manuscripts, that passion for
antiquity, that progress in philology and criticism, which led to a
correct knowledge of the classics, to a fresh taste in poetry, to new
systems of thought, to more accurate analysis, and finally to the
Lutheran schism and the emancipation of the conscience. Men of science
will discourse about the discovery of the solar system by Copernicus and
Galileo, the anatomy of Vesalius, and Harvey's theory of the circulation
of the blood. The origination of a truly scientific method is the point
which interests them most in the Renaissance. The political historian,
again, has his own answer to the question. The extinction of feudalism,
the development of the great nationalities of Europe, the growth of
monarchy, the limitation of the ecclesiastical authority, and the
erection of the papacy into an Italian kingdom, and in the last place
the gradual emergence of that sense of popular freedom which exploded in
the Revolution: these are the aspects of the movement which engross his
attention.

Jurists will describe the dissolution of legal fictions based upon the
False Decretals, the acquisition of a true text of the Roman code, and
the attempt to introduce a rational method into the theory of modern
iurisprudence, as well as to commence the study of international law.
Men whose attention has been turned to the history of discoveries and
inventions will relate the exploration of America and the East, or will
point to the benefits conferred upon the world by the arts of printing
and engraving, by the compass and the telescope, by paper and by
gunpowder; and will insist that at the moment of the Renaissance all the
instruments of mechanical utility started into existence, to aid the
dissolution of what was rotten and must perish, to strengthen and
perpetuate the new and useful and life-giving.

Yet neither any one of these answers, taken separately, nor indeed all
of them together, will offer a solution of the problem. By the term
"renaissance," or new birth, is indicated a natural movement, not to be
explained by this or that characteristic, but to be accepted as an
effort of humanity for which at length the time had come, and in the
onward progress of which we still participate. The history of the
Renaissance is not the history of arts or of sciences or of literature
or even of nations. It is the history of the attainment of
self-conscious freedom by the human spirit manifested in the European
races. It is no mere political mutation, no new fashion of art, no
restoration of classical standards of taste. The arts and the
inventions, the knowledge and the books which suddenly became vital at
the time of the Renaissance, had long lain neglected on the shores of
the dead sea which we call the Middle Ages. It was not their discovery
which caused the Renaissance. But it was the intellectual energy, the
spontaneous outburst of intelligence, which enabled mankind at that
moment to make use of them. The force then generated still continues,
vital and expansive, in the spirit of the modern world.

How was it, then, that at a certain period, about fourteen centuries
after Christ, to speak roughly, humanity awoke as it were from slumber
and began to live? That is a question which we can but imperfectly
answer. The mystery of organic life defeats analysis. Whether the
subject of our inquiry be a germ-cell, or a phenomenon so complex as the
commencement of a new religion, or the origination of a new disease, or
a new phase in civilization, it is alike impossible to do more than to
state the conditions under which the fresh growth begins, and to point
out what are its manifestations. In doing so, moreover, we must be
careful not to be carried away by words of our own making. Renaissance,
Reformation, and Revolution are not separate things, capable of being
isolated; they are moments in the history of the human race which we
find it convenient to name; while history itself is one and continuous,
so that our utmost endeavors to regard some portion of it, independently
of the rest, will be defeated.

A glance at the history of the preceding centuries shows that, after the
dissolution of the fabric of the Roman Empire, there was no possibility
of any intellectual revival. The barbarous races which had deluged
Europe had to absorb their barbarism; the fragments of Roman
civilization had either to be destroyed or assimilated; the Germanic
nations had to receive culture and religion from the effete people they
had superseded. It was further necessary that the modern nationalities
should be defined, that the modern languages should be formed, that
peace should be secured to some extent, and wealth accumulated, before
the indispensable _milieu_ for a resurrection of the free spirit of
humanity could exist. The first nation which fulfilled these conditions
was the first to inaugurate the new era. The reason why Italy took the
lead in the Renaissance was that Italy possessed a language, a favorable
climate, political freedom, and commercial prosperity, at a time when
other nations were still semibarbarous. Where the human spirit had been
buried in the decay of the Roman Empire, there it arose upon the ruins
of that Empire; and the papacy--called by Hobbes the ghost of the dead
Roman Empire, seated, throned, and crowned, upon the ashes thereof--to
some extent bridged over the gulf between the two periods.

Keeping steadily in sight the truth that the real quality of the
Renaissance was intellectual--that it was the emancipation of the reason
for the modern world--we may inquire how feudalism was related to it.
The mental condition of the Middle Ages was one of ignorant prostration
before the idols of the Church--dogma and authority and scholasticism.
Again, the nations of Europe during these centuries were bound down by
the brute weight of material necessities. Without the power over the
outer world which the physical sciences and useful arts communicate,
without the ease of life which wealth and plenty secure, without the
traditions of a civilized past, emerging slowly from a state of utter
rawness, each nation could barely do more than gain and keep a difficult
hold upon existence. To depreciate the work achieved for humanity during
the Middle Ages would be ridiculous. Yet we may point out that it was
done unconsciously--that it was a gradual and instinctive process of
becoming. The reason, in a word, was not awake; the mind of man was
ignorant of its own treasures and its own capacities. It is pathetic to
think of the mediaeval students poring over a single ill-translated
sentence of Porphyry, endeavoring to extract from its clauses whole
systems of logical science, and torturing their brains about puzzles
more idle than the dilemma of Buridan's donkey, while all the time, at
Constantinople and at Seville, in Greek and Arabic, Plato and Aristotle
were alive, but sleeping, awaiting only the call of the Renaissance to
bid them speak with voice intelligible to the modern mind. It is no less
pathetic to watch tide after tide of the ocean of humanity sweeping from
all parts of Europe, to break in passionate but unavailing foam upon the
shores of Palestine, whole nations laying life down for the chance of
seeing the walls of Jerusalem, worshipping the sepulchre whence Christ
had risen, loading their fleet with relics and with cargoes of the
sacred earth, while all the time, within their breasts and brains, the
spirit of the Lord was with them, living but unrecognized, the spirit of
freedom which ere long was destined to restore its birthright to the
world.

Meanwhile the Middle Age accomplished its own work. Slowly and
obscurely, amid stupidity and ignorance, were being forged the nations
and the languages of Europe. Italy, France, Spain, England, Germany took
shape. The actors of the future drama acquired their several characters,
and formed the tongues whereby their personalities should be expressed.
The qualities which render modern society different from that of the
ancient world were being impressed upon these nations by Christianity,
by the Church, by chivalry, by feudal customs. Then came a further
phase. After the nations had been moulded, their monarchies and
dynasties were established. Feudalism passed by slow degrees into
various forms of more or less defined autocracy. In Italy and Germany
numerous principalities sprang into preeminence; and though the nation
was not united under one head, the monarchical principle was
acknowledged. France and Spain submitted to a despotism, by right of
which the king could say, "_L'etat c'est moi_." England developed her
complicated constitution of popular right and royal prerogative. At the
same time the Latin Church underwent a similar process of
transformation. The papacy became more autocratic. Like the king the
pope began to say, "_L'Eglise c'est moi_." This merging of the mediaeval
state and mediaeval church in the personal supremacy of king and pope may
be termed the special feature of the last age of feudalism which
preceded the Renaissance. It was thus that the necessary milieu was
prepared. The organization of the five great nations, and the levelling
of political and spiritual interests under political and spiritual
despots, formed the prelude to that drama of liberty of which the
Renaissance was the first act, the Reformation the second, the
Revolution the third, and which we nations of the present are still
evolving in the establishment of the democratic idea.

Meanwhile it must not be imagined that the Renaissance burst suddenly
upon the world in the fifteenth century without premonitory symptoms.
Far from that, within the Middle Age itself, over and over again, the
reason strove to break loose from its fetters. Abelard, in the twelfth
century, tried to prove that the interminable dispute about entities and
words was founded on a misapprehension. Roger Bacon, at the beginning of
the thirteenth century, anticipated modern science, and proclaimed that
man, by use of nature, can do all things. Joachim of Flora, intermediate
between the two, drank one drop of the cup of prophecy offered to his
lips, and cried that "the gospel of the Father was past, the gospel of
the Son was passing, the gospel of the Spirit was to be." These three
men, each in his own way, the Frenchman as a logician, the Englishman as
an analyst, the Italian as a mystic, divined the future but inevitable
emancipation of the reason of mankind. Nor were there wanting signs,
especially in Provence, that Aphrodite and Phoebus and the Graces were
ready to resume their sway. We have, moreover, to remember the Cathari,
the Paterini, the Fraticelli, the Albigenses, the Hussites--heretics in
whom the new light dimly shone, but who were instantly exterminated by
the Church.

We have to commemorate the vast conception of the emperor Frederick II,
who strove to found a new society of humane culture in the South of
Europe, and to anticipate the advent of the spirit of modern tolerance.
He, too, and all his race were exterminated by the papal jealousy. Truly
we may say with Michelet that the sibyl of the Renaissance kept offering
her books in vain to feudal Europe. In vain, because the time was not
yet. The ideas projected thus early on the modern world were immature
and abortive, like those headless trunks and zoophytic members of
half-moulded humanity which, in the vision of Empedocles, preceded the
birth of full-formed man. The nations were not ready. Franciscans
imprisoning Roger Bacon for venturing to examine what God had meant to
keep secret; Dominicans preaching crusades against the cultivated nobles
of Provence; popes stamping out the seed of enlightened Frederick;
Benedictines erasing the masterpieces of classical literature to make
way for their own litanies and lurries, or selling pieces of the
parchment for charms; a laity devoted by superstition to saints and by
sorcery to the devil; a clergy sunk in sensual sloth or fevered with
demoniac zeal--these still ruled the intellectual destinies of Europe.
Therefore the first anticipations of the Renaissance were fragmentary
and sterile.

Then came a second period. Dante's poem, a work of conscious art,
conceived in a modern spirit and written in a modern tongue, was the
first true sign that Italy, the leader of the nations of the West, had
shaken off her sleep. Petrarch followed. His ideal of antique culture as
the everlasting solace and the universal education of the human race,
his lifelong effort to recover the classical harmony of thought and
speech, gave a direct impulse to one of the chief movements of the
Renaissance--its passionate outgoing toward the ancient world. After
Petrarch, Boccaccio opened yet another channel for the stream of
freedom. His conception of human existence as a joy to be accepted with
thanksgiving, not as a gloomy error to be rectified by suffering,
familiarized the fourteenth century with that form of semipagan gladness
that marked the real Renaissance.

In Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio Italy recovered the consciousness of
intellectual liberty. What we call the Renaissance had not yet arrived;
but their achievement rendered its appearance in due season certain.
With Dante the genius of the modern world dared to stand alone and to
create confidently after its own fashion. With Petrarch the same genius
reached forth across the gulf of darkness, resuming the tradition of a
splendid past. With Boccaccio the same genius proclaimed the beauty of
the world, the goodliness of youth, and strength and love and life,
unterrified by hell, unappalled by the shadow of impending death.

It was now, at the beginning of the fourteenth century, when Italy had
lost, indeed, the heroic spirit which we admire in her communes of the
thirteenth, but had gained instead ease, wealth, magnificence, and that
repose which springs from long prosperity, that the new age at last
began. Europe was, as it were, a fallow field, beneath which lay buried
the civilization of the Old World. Behind stretched the centuries of
mediaevalism, intellectually barren and inert. Of the future there were
as yet but faint foreshadowings. Meanwhile, the force of the nations who
were destined to achieve the coming transformation was unexhausted,
their physical and mental faculties were unimpaired. No ages of
enervating luxury, of intellectual endeavor, of life artificially
preserved or ingeniously prolonged, had sapped the fibre of the men who
were about to inaugurate the modern world. Severely nurtured, unused to
delicate living, these giants of the Renaissance were like boys in their
capacity for endurance, their inordinate appetite for enjoyment. No
generations, hungry, sickly, effete, critical, disillusioned, trod them
down. Ennui and the fatigue that springs from scepticism, the despair of
thwarted effort, were unknown. Their fresh and unperverted senses
rendered them keenly alive to what was beautiful and natural. They
yearned for magnificence and instinctively comprehended splendor. At the
same time the period of satiety was still far off.

Everything seemed possible to their young energy; nor had a single
pleasure palled upon their appetite. Born, as it were, at the moment
when desires and faculties are evenly balanced, when the perceptions are
not blunted, nor the senses cloyed, opening their eyes for the first
time on a world of wonder, these men of the Renaissance enjoyed what we
may term the first transcendent springtide of the modern world. Nothing
is more remarkable than the fulness of the life that throbbed in them.
Natures rich in all capacities and endowed with every kind of
sensibility were frequent. Nor was there any limit to the play of
personality in action. We may apply to them what Browning has written of
Sordello's temperament:

            "A footfall there
  Suffices to upturn to the warm air
  Half-germinating spices, mere decay
  Produces richer life, and day by day
  New pollen on the lily-petal grows,
  And still more labyrinthine buds the rose."

During the Middle Ages man had lived enveloped in a cowl. He had not
seen the beauty of the world, or had seen it only to cross himself, and
turn aside and tell his beads and pray. Like St. Bernard travelling
along the shores of Lake Leman, and noticing neither the azure of the
waters nor the luxuriance of the vines, nor the radiance of the
mountains with their robe of sun and snow, but bending a
thought-burdened forehead over the neck of his mule--even like this
monk, humanity had passed, a careful pilgrim, intent on the terrors of
sin, death, and judgment, along the highways of the world, and had not
known that they were sightworthy, or that life is a blessing. Beauty is
a snare, pleasure a sin, the world a fleeting show, man fallen and lost,
death the only certainty, judgment inevitable, hell everlasting, heaven
hard to win, ignorance is acceptable to God as a proof of faith and
submission, abstinence and mortification are the only safe rules of
life--these were the fixed ideas of the ascetic mediaeval Church. The
Renaissance shattered and destroyed them, rending the thick veil which
they had drawn between the mind of man and the outer world, and flashing
the light of reality upon the darkened places of his own nature. For the
mystic teaching of the Church was substituted culture in the classical
humanities; a new ideal was established, whereby man strove to make
himself the monarch of the globe on which it is his privilege as well as
destiny to live. The Renaissance was the liberation of humanity from a
dungeon, the double discovery of the outer and the inner world.

An external event determined the direction which this outburst of the
spirit of freedom should take. This was the contact of the modern with
the ancient mind, which followed upon what is called the Revival of
Learning. The fall of the Greek empire in 1453, while it signalized the
extinction of the old order, gave an impulse to the now accumulated
forces of the new. A belief in the identity of the human spirit under
all manifestations was generated. Men found that in classical as well as
biblical antiquity existed an ideal of human life, both moral and
intellectual, by which they might profit in the present. The modern
genius felt confidence in its own energies when it learned what the
ancients had achieved. The guesses of the ancients stimulated the
exertions of the moderns. The whole world's history seemed once more to
be one.

The great achievements of the Renaissance were the discovery of the
world and the discovery of man. Under these two formulas may be
classified all the phenomena which properly belong to this period. The
discovery of the world divides itself into two branches--the exploration
of the globe, and that systematic exploration of the universe which is
in fact what we call science. Columbus made known America in 1492; the
Portuguese rounded the Cape in 1497; Copernicus explained the solar
system in 1507. It is not necessary to add anything to this plain
statement, for, in contact with facts of such momentous import, to avoid
what seems like commonplace reflection would be difficult. Yet it is
only when we contrast the ten centuries which preceded these dates with
the four centuries which have ensued that we can estimate the magnitude
of that Renaissance movement by means of which a new hemisphere has been
added to civilization.

In like manner, it is worth while to pause a moment and consider what is
implied in the substitution of the Copernican for the Ptolemaic system.
The world, regarded in old times as the centre of all things, the apple
of God's eye, for the sake of which were created sun and moon and stars,
suddenly was found to be one of the many balls that roll round a giant
sphere of light and heat, which is itself but one among innumerable
suns, attended each by a _cortege_ of planets, and scattered--how, we
know not--through infinity. What has become of that brazen seat of the
old gods, that paradise to which an ascending Deity might be caught up
through clouds, and hidden for a moment from the eyes of his disciples?
The demonstration of the simplest truths of astronomy destroyed at a
blow the legends that were most significant to the early Christians by
annihilating their symbolism. Well might the Church persecute Galileo
for his proof of the world's mobility. Instinctively she perceived that
in this one proposition was involved the principle of hostility to her
most cherished conceptions, to the very core of her mythology.

Science was born, and the warfare between scientific positivism and
religious metaphysics was declared. Henceforth God could not be
worshipped under the forms and idols of a sacerdotal fancy; a new
meaning had been given to the words "God is a Spirit, and they that
worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth." The reason of man
was at last able to study the scheme of the universe, of which he is a
part, and to ascertain the actual laws by which it is governed. Three
centuries and a half have elapsed since Copernicus revolutionized
astronomy. It is only by reflecting on the mass of knowledge we have
since acquired, knowledge not only infinitely curious, but also
incalculably useful in its application to the arts of life, and then
considering how much ground of this kind was acquired in the ten
centuries which preceded the Renaissance, that we are at all able to
estimate the expansive force which was then generated. Science, rescued
from the hands of astrology, geomancy, alchemy, began her real life with
the Renaissance. Since then, as far as to the present moment, she has
never ceased to grow. Progressive and durable, science may be called the
first-born of the spirit of the modern world.

Thus by the discovery of the world is meant on the one hand the
appropriation by civilized humanity of all corners of the habitable
world, and on the other the conquest by science of all that we now know
about the nature of the universe. In the discovery of man, again, it is
possible to trace a twofold process. Man in his temporal relations,
illustrated by pagan antiquity, and man in his spiritual relations,
illustrated by biblical antiquity: these are the two regions, at first
apparently distinct, afterward found to be interpenetrative, which the
critical and inquisitive genius of the Renaissance opened for
investigation. In the former of these regions we find two agencies at
work--art and scholarship. During the Middle Ages the plastic arts, like
philosophy, had degenerated into barren and meaningless scholasticism--a
frigid reproduction of lifeless forms copied technically and without
inspiration from debased patterns. Pictures became symbolically
connected with the religious feelings of the people, formulas from which
to deviate would be impious in the artist and confusing to the
worshipper. Superstitious reverence bound the painter to copy the almond
eyes and stiff joints of the saints whom he had adored from infancy;
and, even had it been otherwise, he lacked the skill to imitate the
natural forms he saw around him.

But with the dawning of the Renaissance a new spirit in the arts arose.
Men began to conceive that the human body is noble in itself and worthy
of patient study. The object of the artist then became to unite
devotional feeling and respect for the sacred legend with the utmost
beauty and the utmost fidelity of delineation. He studied from the nude;
he drew the body in every posture; he composed drapery, invented
attitudes, and adapted the action of his figures and the expression of
his faces to the subject he had chosen. In a word, he humanized the
altar-pieces and the cloister frescoes upon which he worked. In this way
the painters rose above the ancient symbols and brought heaven down to
earth. By drawing Madonna and her son like living human beings, by
dramatizing the Christian history, they silently substituted the love of
beauty and the interests of actual life for the principles of the
Church. The saint or angel became an occasion for the display of
physical perfection, and to introduce _un bel corpo ignudo_ into the
composition was of more moment to them than to represent the macerations
of the Magdalen. Men thus learned to look beyond the relique and the
host, and to forget the dogma in the lovely forms which gave it
expression. Finally, when the classics came to aid this work of
progress, a new world of thought and fancy, divinely charming, wholly
human, was revealed to their astonished eyes.

Thus art, which had begun by humanizing the legends of the Church,
diverted the attention of its students from the legend to the work of
beauty, and lastly, severing itself from the religious tradition, became
the exponent of the majesty and splendor of the human body. This final
emancipation of art from ecclesiastical trammels culminated in the great
age of Italian painting. Gazing at Michelangelo's prophets in the
Sistine Chapel, we are indeed in contact with ideas originally
religious. But the treatment of these ideas is purely, broadly human, on
a level with that of the sculpture of Phidias. Titian's "Virgin Received
into Heaven," soaring midway between the archangel who descends to crown
her and the apostles who yearn to follow her, is far less a Madonna
Assunta than the apotheosis of humanity conceived as a radiant mother.
Throughout the picture there is nothing ascetic, nothing mystic, nothing
devotional. Nor did the art of the Renaissance stop here. It went
further, and plunged into paganism. Sculptors and painters combined with
architects to cut the arts loose from their connection with the Church
by introducing a spirit and a sentiment alien to Christianity.

Through the instrumentality of art, and of all the ideas which art
introduced into daily life, the Renaissance wrought for the modern world
a real resurrection of the body which, since the destruction of the
pagan civilization, had lain swathed up in hair-shirts and cerements
within the tomb of the mediaeval cloister. It was scholarship which
revealed to men the wealth of their own minds, the dignity of human
thought, the value of human speculation, the importance of human life
regarded as a thing apart from religious rules and dogmas. During the
Middle Ages a few students had possessed the poems of Vergil and the
prose of Boethius--and Vergil at Mantua, Boethius at Pavia, had actually
been honored as saints--together with fragments of Lucan, Ovid, Statius,
Cicero, and Horace. The Renaissance opened to the whole reading public
the treasure-houses of Greek and Latin literature. At the same time the
Bible, in its original tongues, was rediscovered. Mines of oriental
learning were laid bare for the students of the Jewish and Arabic
traditions. What we may call the Aryan and the Semitic revelations were
for the first time subjected to something like a critical comparison.
With unerring instinct the men of the Renaissance named the voluminous
subject-matter of scholarship _Litterae Humaniores_ ("the more human
literature"), the literature that humanizes.

There are three stages in the history of scholarship during the
Renaissance. The first is the age of passionate desire. Petrarch poring
over a Homer he could not understand, and Boccaccio in his maturity
learning Greek, in order that he might drink from the well-head of
poetic inspiration, are the heroes of this period. They inspired the
Italians with a thirst for antique culture. Next comes the age of
acquisition and of libraries. Nicholas V, who founded the Vatican
Library in 1453, Cosmo de' Medici, who began the Medicean collection a
little earlier, and Poggio Bracciolini, who ransacked all the cities and
convents of Europe for manuscripts, together with the teachers of Greek,
who in the first half of the fifteenth century escaped from
Constantinople with precious freights of classic literature, are the
heroes of this second period. It was an age of accumulation, of
uncritical and indiscriminate enthusiasm. Manuscripts were worshipped by
these men, just as the reliques of the Holy Land had been adored by
their great-grandfathers. The eagerness of the crusades was revived in
this quest of the holy grail of ancient knowledge. Waifs and strays of
pagan authors were valued like precious gems, revelled in like
odoriferous and gorgeous flowers, consulted like oracles of God, gazed
on like the eyes of a beloved mistress. The good, the bad, and the
indifferent received an almost equal homage. Criticism had not yet
begun. The world was bent on gathering up its treasures, frantically
bewailing the lost books of Livy, the lost songs of Sappho--absorbing to
intoxication the strong wine of multitudinous thoughts and passions that
kept pouring from those long buried amphorae of inspiration.

What is most remarkable about this age of scholarship is the enthusiasm
which pervaded all classes in Italy for antique culture. Popes and
princes, captains of adventure and peasants, noble ladies and the
leaders of the _demi-monde_ alike became scholars. There is a story told
by Infessura which illustrates the temper of the times with singular
felicity. On April 18, 1485, a report circulated in Rome that some
Lombard workmen had discovered a Roman sarcophagus while digging on the
Appian Way. It was a marble tomb, engraved with the inscription
"Julia, Daughter of Claudius," and inside the coffer lay the body of a
most beautiful girl of fifteen years, preserved by precious unguents
from corruption and the injury of time. The bloom of youth was still
upon her cheeks and lips; her eyes and mouth were half open; her long
hair floated round her shoulders. She was instantly removed--so goes the
legend--to the Capitol; and then began a procession of pilgrims from all
the quarters of Rome to gaze upon this saint of the old pagan world. In
the eyes of those enthusiastic worshippers, her beauty was beyond
imagination or description. She was far fairer than any woman of the
modern age could hope to be. At last Innocent VIII feared lest the
orthodox faith should suffer by this new cult of a heathen corpse. Julia
was buried secretly and at night by his direction, and naught remained
in the Capitol but her empty marble coffin. The tale, as told by
Infessura, is repeated in Matarazzo and in Nantiporto with slight
variations. One says that the girl's hair was yellow, another that it
was of the glossiest black. What foundation for the legend may really
have existed need not here be questioned. Let us rather use the _mythus_
as a parable of the ecstatic devotion which prompted the men of that age
to discover a form of unimaginable beauty in the tomb of the classic
world.

Then came the third age of scholarship--the age of the critics,
philologers, and printers. What had been collected by Poggio and Aurispa
had now to be explained by Ficino, Poliziano, and Erasmus. They began
their task by digesting and arranging the contents of the libraries.
There were then no short cuts of learning, no comprehensive lexicons, no
dictionaries of antiquities, no carefully prepared _thesauri_ of
mythology and history. Each student had to hold in his brain the whole
mass of classical erudition. The text and the canon of Homer, Plato,
Aristotle, and the tragedians had to be decided. Greek type had to be
struck. Florence, Venice, Basel, and Paris groaned with
printing-presses. The Aldi, the Stephani, and Froben toiled by night and
day, employing scores of scholars, men of supreme devotion and of mighty
brain, whose work it was to ascertain the right reading of sentences, to
accentuate, to punctuate, to commit to the press, and to place, beyond
the reach of monkish hatred or of envious time, that everlasting solace
of humanity which exists in the classics. All subsequent achievements in
the field of scholarship sink into insignificance beside the labors of
these men, who needed genius, enthusiasm, and the sympathy of Europe for
the accomplishment of their titanic task. Vergil was printed in 1470,
Homer in 1488, Aristotle in 1498, Plato in 1512. They then became the
inalienable heritage of mankind. But what vigils, what anxious
expenditure of thought, what agonies of doubt and expectation, were
endured by those heroes of humanizing scholarship, whom we are apt to
think of merely as pedants! Which of us now warms and thrills with
emotion at hearing the name of Aldus Manutius or of Henricus Stephanus
or of Johannes Froben? Yet this we surely ought to do; for to them we
owe in a great measure the freedom of our spirit, our stores of
intellectual enjoyment, our command of the past, our certainty of the
future of human culture.

This third age in the history of the Renaissance scholarship may be said
to have reached its climax in Erasmus; for by this time Italy had handed
on the torch of learning to the northern nations. The publication of his
_Adagia_ in 1500 marks the advent of a more critical and selective
spirit, which from that date onward has been gradually gaining strength
in the modern mind. Criticism, in the true sense of accurate testing and
sifting, is one of the points which distinguish the moderns from the
ancients; and criticism was developed by the process of assimilation,
comparison, and appropriation, which was necessary in the growth of
scholarship. The ultimate effect of this recovery of classic culture
was, once and for all, to liberate the intellect. The modern world was
brought into close contact with the free virility of the ancient world,
and emancipated from the thraldom of improved traditions. The force to
judge and the desire to create were generated. The immediate result in
the sixteenth century was an abrupt secession of the learned, not merely
from monasticism, but also from the true spirit of Christianity. The
minds of the Italians assimilated paganism. In their hatred of mediaeval
ignorance, in their loathing of cowled and cloistered fools, they flew
to an extreme, and affected the manner of an irrevocable past. This
extravagance led of necessity to a reaction--in the North, of
Puritanism; in the South, to what has been termed the Counter-Reformation
effected under Spanish influences in the Latin Church. But Christianity,
that most precious possession of the modern world, was never seriously
imperilled by the classical enthusiasm of the Renaissance; nor, on the
other hand, was the progressive emancipation of the reason materially
retarded by the reaction it produced.

The transition at this point to the third branch in the discovery of
man, the revelation to the consciousness of its own spiritual freedom,
is natural. Not only did scholarship restore the classics and encourage
literary criticism; it also restored the text of the Bible, and
encouraged theological criticism. In the wake of theological freedom
followed a free philosophy, no longer subject to the dogmas of the
Church. To purge the Christian faith from false conceptions, to liberate
the conscience from the tyranny of priests, and to interpret religion to
the reason, has been the work of the last centuries; nor is this work as
yet by any means accomplished. On the one side, Descartes and Bacon and
Spinoza and Locke are sons of the Renaissance, champions of new-found
philosophical freedom; on the other side, Luther is a son of the
Renaissance, the herald of new-found religious freedom. The whole
movement of the Reformation is a phase in that accelerated action of the
modern mind which at its commencement we call the Renaissance. It is a
mistake to regard the Reformation as an isolated phenomenon, or as a
mere effort to restore the Church to purity. The Reformation exhibits,
in the region of religious thought and national politics, what the
Renaissance displays in the sphere of culture, art, and science--the
recovered energy and freedom of humanity. We are too apt to treat of
history in parcels, and to attempt to draw lessons from detached
chapters in the biography of the human race. To observe the connection
between the several stages of a progressive movement of the human
spirit, and to recognize that the forces at work are still active, is
the true philosophy of history.

The Reformation, like the revival of science and of culture, had its
mediaeval anticipations and foreshadowings. The heretics whom the Church
successfully combated in North Italy, in France, and in Bohemia were the
precursors of Luther. The scholars prepared the way in the fifteenth
century. Teachers of Hebrew, founders of Hebrew type--Reuchlin in
Germany, Alexander in Paris, Von Hutten as a pamphleteer, and Erasmus as
a humanist--contribute each a definite momentum. Luther, for his part,
incarnates the spirit of revolt against tyrannical authority, urges the
necessity of a return to the essential truth of Christianity as
distinguished from the idols of the Church, and asserts the right of the
individual to judge, interpret, criticise, and construct opinion for
himself. The veil which the Church had interposed between humanity and
God was broken down. The freedom of the conscience was established. The
principles involved in what we call the Reformation were momentous.
Connected on the one side with scholarship and the study of texts, it
opened the path for modern biblical criticism. Connected on the other
side with intolerance of mere authority, it led to what has since been
named rationalism--the attempt to reconcile the religious tradition with
the reason, and to define the logical ideas that underlie the
conceptions of the popular religious conscience. Again, by promulgating
the doctrine of personal freedom, and by connecting itself with national
politics, the Reformation was linked historically to the Revolution. It
was the Puritan Church in England, stimulated by the patriotism of the
Dutch Protestants, which established our constitutional liberty and
introduced in America the general principle of the equality of men. This
high political abstraction, latent in Christianity, evolved by
criticism, and promulgated as a gospel in the second half of the
eighteenth century, was externalized in the French Revolution. The work
that yet remains to be accomplished for the modern world is the
organization of society in harmony with democratic principles.

Thus what the word Renaissance really means is new birth to liberty--the
spirit of mankind recovering consciousness and the power of
self-determination, recognizing the beauty of the outer world and of the
body through art, liberating the reason in science and the conscience in
religion, restoring culture to the intelligence, and establishing the
principle of political freedom. The Church was the schoolmaster of the
Middle Ages. Culture was the humanizing and refining influence of the
Renaissance. The problem for the present and the future is how, through
education, to render culture accessible to all--to break down that
barrier which in the Middle Ages was set between clerk and layman, and
which in the intermediate period has arisen between the intelligent and
ignorant classes. Whether the Utopia of a modern world in which all men
shall enjoy the same social, political, and intellectual advantages be
realized or not, we cannot doubt that the whole movement of humanity,
from the Renaissance onward, has tended in this direction. To destroy
the distinctions, mental and physical, which nature raises between
individuals, and which constitute an actual hierarchy, will always be
impossible. Yet it may happen that in the future no civilized man will
lack the opportunity of being physically and mentally the best that God
has made him.

It remains to speak of the instruments and mechanical inventions which
aided the emancipation of the spirit in the modern age. Discovered over
and over again, and offered at intervals to the human race at various
times and on divers soils, no effective use was made of these material
resources until the fifteenth century. The compass, discovered according
to tradition by Gioja of Naples in 1302, was employed by Columbus for
the voyage to America in 1492. The telescope, known to the Arabians in
the Middle Ages, and described by Roger Bacon in 1250, helped Copernicus
to prove the revolution of the earth in 1530, and Galileo to
substantiate his theory of the planetary system. Printing, after
numerous useless revelations to the world of its resources, became an
art in 1438; and paper, which had long been known to the Chinese, was
first made of cotton in Europe about 1000 and of rags in 1319. Gunpowder
entered into use about 1320. As employed by the Genius of the
Renaissance, each one of these inventions became a lever by means of
which to move the world. Gunpowder revolutionized the art of war. The
feudal castle, the armor of the knight and his battle-horse, the prowess
of one man against a hundred, and the pride of aristocratic cavalry
trampling upon ill-armed militia, were annihilated by the flashes of the
cannon. Courage became more a moral than a physical quality. The victory
was delivered to the brain of the general. Printing has established, as
indestructible, all knowledge, and disseminated, as the common property
of everyone, all thought; while paper has made the work of printing
cheap. Such reflections as these, however, are trite and must occur to
every mind. It is far more to the purpose to repeat that not the
inventions, but the intelligence that used them, the conscious
calculating spirit of the modern world, should rivet our attention when
we direct it to the phenomena of the Renaissance.

In the work of the Renaissance all the great nations of Europe shared.
But it must never be forgotten that, as a matter of history, the true
Renaissance began in Italy. It was there that the essential qualities
which distinguish the modern from the ancient and the mediaeval world
were developed. Italy created that new spiritual atmosphere of culture
and of intellectual freedom which has been the life-breath of the
European races. As the Jews are called the chosen and peculiar people of
divine revelation, so may the Italians be called the chosen and peculiar
vessels of the prophecy of the Renaissance. In art, in scholarship, in
science, in the mediation between antique culture and the modern
intellect, they took the lead, handing to Germany and France and England
the restored humanities complete. Spain and England have since done more
for the exploration and colonization of the world. Germany achieved the
labor of the Reformation almost single-handed. France has collected,
centralized, and diffused intelligence with irresistible energy. But if
we return to the first origins of the Renaissance, we find that, at a
time when the rest of Europe was inert, Italy had already begun to
organize the various elements of the modern spirit, and to set the
fashion whereby the other great nations should learn and live.




THE BLACK DEATH RAVAGES EUROPE

A.D. 1348

J. F. C. HECKER[51]  GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO


  Different parts of the oriental world have been mentioned as
  the probable locality of the first appearance of the plague
  or pestilence known as the "black death," but its origin is
  most generally referred to China, where, at all events, it
  raged violently about 1333, when it was accompanied at its
  outbreak by terrestrial and atmospheric phenomena of a
  destructive character, such as are said to have attended the
  first appearance of Asiatic cholera and other spreading and
  deadly diseases; from which it has been conjectured that
  through these convulsions deleterious foreign substances may
  have been projected into the atmosphere.

  But while for centuries the nature and causes of the black
  death have been subjects of medical inquiry in all
  countries, it remained for our own time to discover a more
  scientific explanation than those previously advanced. The
  malady is now identified by pathologists with the bubonic
  plague, which at intervals still afflicts India and other
  oriental lands, and has in recent years been a cause of
  apprehension at more than one American seaport.

  It is called _bubonic_--from the Greek _boubon_
  ("groin")--because it attacks the lymphatic glands of the
  groins, armpits, neck, and other parts of the body. Among
  its leading symptoms are headache, fever, vertigo, vomiting,
  prostration, etc., with dark purple spots or a mottled
  appearance upon the skin. Death in severe cases usually
  occurs within forty-eight hours. Bacteriologists are now
  generally agreed that the disorder is due to a bacillus
  identified by investigators both in India and in western
  countries.

  The first historic appearance of the black death in Europe
  was at Constantinople, A.D. 543. But far more widespread and
  terrible were its ravages in the fourteenth century, when
  they were almost world-wide. Of the dreadful visitation in
  Europe then, we are fortunate to have the striking account
  of Dr. Hecker, which follows.

  The name "black death" was given to the disease in the more
  northern parts of Europe--from the dark spots on the skin
  above mentioned--while in Italy it was called _la mortalega
  grande_ ("the great mortality"). From Italy came almost the
  only credible accounts of the manner of living, and of the
  ruin caused among the people in their more private life,
  during the pestilence; and the subjoined account of what was
  seen in Florence is of special interest as being from no
  less an eye-witness than Boccaccio.


J. F. C. HECKER

The nature of the first plague in China is unknown. We have no certain
intelligence of the disease until it entered the western countries of
Asia. Here it showed itself as the oriental plague with inflammation of
the lungs; in which form it probably also may have begun in China--that
is to say, as a malady which spreads, more than any other, by contagion;
a contagion that in ordinary pestilences requires immediate contact, and
only under unfavorable circumstances of rare occurrence is communicated
by the mere approach to the sick.

The share which this cause had in the spreading of the plague over the
whole earth was certainly very great; and the opinion that the black
death might have been excluded from Western Europe, by good regulations,
similar to those which are now in use, would have all the support of
modern experience, provided it could be proved that this plague had been
actually imported from the East; or that the oriental plague in general,
whenever it appears in Europe, has its origin in Asia or Egypt. Such a
proof, however, can by no means be produced so as to enforce conviction.
The plague was, however, known in Europe before nations were united by
the bonds of commerce and social intercourse; hence there is ground for
supposing that it sprung up spontaneously, in consequence of the rude
manner of living and the uncultivated state of the earth; influences
which peculiarly favor the origin of severe diseases. We need not go
back to the earlier centuries, for the fourteenth itself, before it had
half expired, was visited by five or six pestilences.

If, therefore, we consider the peculiar property of the plague, that in
countries which it has once visited it remains for a long time in a
milder form, and that the epidemic influences of 1342, when it had
appeared for the last time, were particularly favorable to its
unperceived continuance, till 1348, we come to the notion that in this
eventful year also, the germs of plague existed in Southern Europe,
which might be vivified by atmospherical deteriorations. Thus, at least
in part, the black plague may have originated in Europe itself. The
corruption of the atmosphere came from the East; but the disease itself
came not upon the wings of the wind, but was only excited and increased
by the atmosphere where it had previously existed.

This source of the black plague was not, however, the only one; for, far
more powerful than the excitement of the latent elements of the plague
by atmospheric influences was the effect of the contagion communicated
from one people to another, on the great roads, and in the harbors of
the Mediterranean. From China, the route of the caravans lay to the
north of the Caspian Sea, through Central Asia to Tauris. Here ships
were ready to take the produce of the East to Constantinople, the
capital of commerce and the medium of connection between Asia, Europe,
and Africa. Other caravans went from India to Asia Minor, and touched at
the cities south of the Caspian Sea, and lastly from Bagdad, through
Arabia to Egypt; also the maritime communication on the Red Sea, from
India to Arabia and Egypt, was not inconsiderable. In all these
directions contagion made its way; and doubtless Constantinople and the
harbors of Asia Minor are to be regarded as the _foci_ of infection;
whence it radiated to the most distant seaports and islands.

To Constantinople the plague had been brought from the northern coast of
the Black Sea, after it had depopulated the countries between those
routes of commerce and appeared as early as 1347, in Cyprus, Sicily,
Marseilles, and some of the seaports of Italy. The remaining islands of
the Mediterranean, particularly Sardinia, Corsica, and Majorca, were
visited in succession. _Foci_ of contagion existed also in full activity
along the whole southern coast of Europe, when, in January, 1348, the
plague appeared in Avignon, and in other cities in the South of France
and North of Italy, as well as in Spain.

The precise days of its eruption in the individual towns are no longer
to be ascertained; but it was not simultaneous; for in Florence the
disease appeared in the beginning of April; in Cesena, the 1st of June;
and place after place was attacked throughout the whole year; so that
the plague, after it had passed through the whole of France and Germany,
where, however, it did not make its ravages until the following year,
did not break out till August in England; where it advanced so
gradually that a period of three months elapsed before it reached
London. The northern kingdoms were attacked by it in 1349; Sweden,
indeed, not until November of that year, almost two years after its
eruption in Avignon. Poland received the plague in 1349, probably from
Germany, if not from the northern countries; but in Russia it did not
make its appearance until 1351, more than three years after it had
broken out in Constantinople. Instead of advancing in a northwesterly
direction from Tauris and from the Caspian Sea, it had thus made the
great circuit of the Black Sea, by way of Constantinople, Southern and
Central Europe, England, the northern kingdoms and Poland, before it
reached the Russian territories; a phenomenon which has not again
occurred with respect to more recent pestilences originating in Asia.

We have no certain measure by which to estimate the ravages of the black
plague. Let us go back for a moment to the fourteenth century. The
people were yet but little civilized. Human life was little regarded;
governments concerned not themselves about the numbers of their
subjects, for whose welfare it was incumbent on them to provide. Thus,
the first requisite for estimating the loss of human life--namely, a
knowledge of the amount of the population--is altogether wanting.

Cairo lost daily, when the plague was raging with its greatest violence,
from ten thousand to fifteen thousand, being as many as, in modern
times, great plagues have carried off during their whole course. In
China, more than thirteen millions are said to have died; and this is in
correspondence with the certainly exaggerated accounts from the rest of
Asia. India was depopulated. Tartary, the Tartar kingdom of Kaptschak,
Mesopotamia, Syria, Armenia, were covered with dead bodies; the Kurds
fled in vain to the mountains. In Caramania and Caesarea, none was left
alive. On the roads, in the camps, in the caravansaries, unburied bodies
were seen; and a few cities only remained, in an unaccountable manner,
free. In Aleppo, five hundred died daily; twenty-two thousand people and
most of the animals were carried off in Gaza within six weeks. Cyprus
lost almost all its inhabitants; and ships without crews were often seen
in the Mediterranean, as afterward in the North Sea, driving about and
spreading the plague wherever they went on shore. It was reported to
Pope Clement, at Avignon, that throughout the East, probably with the
exception of China, twenty-three million eight hundred and forty
thousand people had fallen victims to the plague.

Luebeck, which could no longer contain the multitudes that flocked to it,
was thrown into such consternation on the eruption of the plague that
the citizens destroyed themselves, as if in frenzy. When the plague
ceased, men thought they were still wandering among the dead, so
appalling was the livid aspect of the survivors, in consequence of the
anxiety they had undergone, and the unavoidable infection of the air.
Many other cities probably presented a similar appearance; and small
country towns and villages, estimated at two hundred thousand
population, were bereft of all their inhabitants.

In many places in France not more than two out of twenty of the
inhabitants were left alive. Two queens, one bishop, and great numbers
of other distinguished persons fell a sacrifice to it, and more than
five hundred a day died in the Hotel-Dieu, under the faithful care of
the religious women, whose disinterested courage, in this age of horror,
displayed the most beautiful traits of human virtue.

The church-yards were soon unable to contain the dead, and many houses,
left without inhabitants, fell to ruins. In Avignon, the Pope found it
necessary to consecrate the Rhone, that bodies might be thrown into the
river without delay, as the church-yards would no longer hold them.

In Vienna, where for some time twelve hundred inhabitants died daily,
the interment of corpses in the church-yards and within the churches was
forthwith prohibited, and the dead were then arranged in layers, by
thousands, in six large pits outside the city. In many places it was
rumored that plague patients were buried alive, and thus the horror of
the distressed people was everywhere increased. In Erfurt, after the
church-yards were filled, twelve thousand corpses were thrown into
eleven great pits; and the like might be stated with respect to all the
larger cities. Funeral ceremonies, the last consolation of the
survivors, were everywhere impracticable.

In all Germany there seem to have died only one million two hundred and
forty-four thousand four hundred and thirty-four inhabitants; this
country, however, was more spared than others. Italy was most severely
visited. It is said to have lost half its inhabitants; in Sardinia and
Corsica, according to the account of John Villani, who was himself
carried off by the black plague, scarcely a third part of the population
remained alive; and the Venetians engaged ships at a high rate to
retreat to the islands; so that, after the plague had carried off
three-fourths of her inhabitants, their proud city was left forlorn and
desolate. In Florence it was prohibited to publish the numbers of the
dead and to toll the bells at their funerals, in order that the living
might not abandon themselves to despair.

In England most of the great cities suffered incredible losses; above
all, Yarmouth, in which seven thousand and fifty-two died; Bristol,
Oxford, Norwich, Leicester, York, and London, where, in one
burial-ground alone, there were interred upward of fifty thousand
corpses, arranged in layers, in large pits. It is said that in the whole
country scarcely a tenth part remained alive. Morals were deteriorated
everywhere, and public worship was, in a great measure, laid aside, in
many places the churches being bereft of their priests. The instruction
of the people was impeded, covetousness became general; and when
tranquillity was restored, the great increase of lawyers was
astonishing, to whom the endless disputes regarding inheritances offered
a rich harvest. The want of priests, too, throughout the country,
operated very detrimentally upon the people. The lower classes were most
exposed to the ravages of the plague, while the houses of the nobility
were, in proportion, much more spared. The sittings of parliament, of
the king's bench, and of most of the other courts were suspended as long
as the malady raged.

Ireland was much less heavily visited than England. The disease seems to
have scarcely reached the mountainous districts of that kingdom; and
Scotland, too, would, perhaps, have remained free had not the Scots
availed themselves of the misfortune of the English, to make an
irruption into their territory, which terminated in the destruction of
their army, by the plague and by the sword, and the extension of the
pestilence, through those who escaped, over the whole country.

In England the plague was soon accompanied by a fatal murrain among the
cattle. Of what nature this murrain may have been can no more be
determined than whether it originated from communication with the plague
patients or from other causes. There was everywhere a great rise in the
price of food. For a whole year, until it terminated in August, 1349,
the black plague prevailed and everywhere poisoned the springs of
comfort and prosperity. In other countries it generally lasted only half
a year, but returned frequently in individual places. Spain was
uninterruptedly ravaged by the black plague till after the year 1350, to
which the frequent internal feuds and the wars with the Moors not a
little contributed. Alfonso XI, whose passion for war carried him too
far, died of it at the siege of Gibraltar, March 26, 1350. He was the
only king in Europe who fell a sacrifice to it. The mortality seems to
have been less in Spain than in Italy, and about as considerable as in
France.

The whole period during which the black plague raged with destructive
violence in Europe was, with the exception of Russia, from 1347 to 1350.
The plagues which in the sequel often returned until 1383, we do not
consider as belonging to the "great mortality."

The premature celebration of the Jubilee, to which Clement VI cited the
faithful to Rome 1350, during the great epidemic, caused a new eruption
of the plague, from which it is said that scarcely one in a hundred of
the pilgrims escaped. Italy was, in consequence, depopulated anew; and
those who returned spread poison and corruption of morals in all
directions.

The changes which occurred about this period in the North of Europe are
sufficiently memorable. In Sweden two princes died--Haken and Canute,
half-brothers of King Magnus; and in Westgothland alone four hundred and
sixty-six priests. The inhabitants of Iceland and Greenland found in the
coldness of their inhospitable climate no protection against the
southern enemy who had penetrated to them from happier countries. The
plague wrought great havoc among them. In Denmark and Norway, however,
people were so occupied with their own misery that the accustomed
voyages to Greenland ceased.

In Russia the black plague did not break out until 1351, after it had
already passed through the South and North of Europe. The mortality was
extraordinarily great. In Russia, too, the voice of nature was silenced
by fear and horror. In the hour of danger, fathers and mothers deserted
their children, and children their parents.

Of all the estimates of the number of lives lost in Europe, the most
probable is that altogether a fourth part of the inhabitants were
carried off. It may be assumed, without exaggeration, that Europe lost
during the black death twenty-five million inhabitants.

That her nations could so quickly recover from so fearful a visitation,
and, without retrograding more than they actually did, could so develop
their energies in the following century, is a most convincing proof of
the indestructibility of human society as a whole. To assume, however,
that it did not suffer any essential change internally, because in
appearance everything remained as before, is inconsistent with a just
view of cause and effect. Many historians seem to have adopted such an
opinion; hence, most of them have touched but superficially on the
"great mortality" of the fourteenth century. We for our part are
convinced that in the history of the world the black death is one of the
most important events which have prepared the way for the present state
of Europe.

He who studies the human mind with attention, and forms a deliberate
judgment on the intellectual powers which set people and states in
motion, may, perhaps, find some proofs of this assertion in the
following observations. At that time the advancement of the hierarchy
was, in most countries, extraordinary; for the Church acquired treasures
and large properties in land, even to a greater extent than after the
crusades; but experience has demonstrated that such a state of things is
ruinous to the people, and causes them to retrograde, as was evinced on
this occasion.

After the cessation of the black plague, a greater fecundity in women
was everywhere remarkable; marriages were prolific; and double and
treble births were more frequent than at other times. After the "great
mortality" the children were said to have got fewer teeth than before;
at which contemporaries were mightily shocked, and even later writers
have felt surprise. Some writers of authority published their opinions
on this subject. Others copied from them, without seeing for themselves,
and thus the world believed in the miracle of an imperfection in the
human body which had been caused by the black plague.

The people gradually consoled themselves after the sufferings which they
had undergone; the dead were lamented and forgotten; and in the stirring
vicissitudes of existence the world belonged to the living.

The mental shock sustained by all nations during the prevalence of the
black plague is without parallel and beyond description. In the eyes of
the timorous, danger was the certain harbinger of death; many fell
victims to fear on the first appearance of the distemper, and the most
stout-hearted lost their confidence. The pious closed their accounts
with the world; their only remaining desire was for a participation in
the consolations of religion. Repentance seized the transgressor,
admonishing him to consecrate his remaining hours to the exercise of
Christian virtues. Children were frequently seen, while laboring under
the plague, breathing out their spirit with prayer and songs of
thanksgiving. An awful sense of contrition seized Christians everywhere;
they resolved to forsake their vices, to make restitution for past
offences, before they were summoned hence, to seek reconciliation with
their Maker, and to avert, by self-chastisement, the punishment due to
their former sins.

Human nature would be exalted could the countless noble actions which,
in times of most imminent danger, were performed in secret, be recorded
for future generations. They, however, have no influence on the course
of worldly events. They are known only to silent eye-witnesses, and soon
fall into oblivion. But hypocrisy, illusion, and bigotry stalk abroad
undaunted; they desecrate what is noble, they pervert what is divine, to
the unholy purposes of selfishness; which hurries along every good
feeling in the false excitement of the age. Thus it was in the years of
this plague.

In the fourteenth century the monastic system was still in its full
vigor, the power of the religious orders and brotherhoods was revered by
the people, and the hierarchy was still formidable to the temporal
power. It was, therefore, in the natural constitution of society that
bigoted zeal, which in such times makes a show of public acts of
penance, should avail itself of the semblance of religion. But this took
place in such a manner that unbridled, self-willed penitence degenerated
into luke-warmness, renounced obedience to the hierarchy, and prepared a
fearful opposition to the Church, paralyzed as it was by antiquated
forms.

While all countries were filled with lamentations and woe, there first
arose in Hungary, and afterward in Germany, the Brotherhood of the
Flagellants, called also the Brethren of the Cross, or Cross-bearers,
who took upon themselves the repentance of the people for the sins they
had committed, and offered prayers and supplications for the averting of
this plague. This order consisted chiefly of persons of the lower class,
who were either actuated by sincere contrition or who joyfully availed
themselves of this pretext for idleness and were hurried along with the
tide of distracting frenzy. But as these brotherhoods gained in repute,
and were welcomed by the people with veneration and enthusiasm, many
nobles and ecclesiastics ranged themselves under their standard; and
their bands were not unfrequently augmented by children, honorable
women, and nuns.

They marched through the cities with leaders and singers, their heads
covered as far as the eyes, their look fixed on the ground, with every
token of contrition and mourning. They were robed in sombre garments,
with red crosses on the breast, back, and cap, and bore triple scourges,
tied in three or four knots, in which points of iron were fixed. Tapers
and magnificent banners of velvet and cloth of gold were carried before
them; wherever they made their appearance they were welcomed by the
ringing of bells, and the people flocked from all quarters to listen to
their hymns and witness their penance.

In 1349 two hundred Flagellants first entered Strasburg, where they were
hospitably lodged by the citizens. Above a thousand joined the
brotherhood, which now separated into two bodies, for the purpose of
journeying to the north and to the south. Adults and children left their
families to accompany them; till, at length, their sanctity was
questioned and the doors of houses and churches were closed against
them. At Spires two hundred boys, of twelve years of age and under,
constituted themselves into a brotherhood of the Cross, in imitation of
the children who, about a hundred years before, had united, at the
instigation of some fanatic monks, for the purpose of recovering the
Holy Sepulchre. All the inhabitants of this town were carried away by
the delusion; they conducted the strangers to their houses with songs of
thanksgiving, to regale them for the night. The women embroidered
banners for them, and all were anxious to augment their pomp; and at
every succeeding pilgrimage their influence and reputation increased.

All Germany, Hungary, Poland, Bohemia, Silesia, and Flanders did homage
to them; and they at length became as formidable to the secular as to
the ecclesiastical power. The influence of this fanaticism was great and
threatening. The appearance, in itself, was not novel. As far back as
the eleventh century many believers in Asia and Southern Europe
afflicted themselves with the punishment of flagellation.

The author of the solemn processions of the Flagellants is said to have
been St. Anthony of Padua (1231). In 1260 the Flagellants appeared in
Italy as _Devoti_. "When the land was polluted by vices and crimes, an
unexampled spirit of remorse suddenly seized the minds of the Italians.
The fear of Christ fell upon all; noble and lowly, old and young, and
even children of five years of age marched through the streets with no
covering but a scarf round the waist. They each carried a scourge of
leathern thongs, which they applied to their limbs, amid sighs and
tears, with such violence that the blood flowed from the wounds. Not
only during the day, but even by night and in the severest winter, they
traversed the cities with burning torches and banners, in thousands and
tens of thousands, headed by their priests, and prostrated themselves
before the altars. The melancholy chant of the penitent alone was heard;
enemies were reconciled; men and women vied with each other in splendid
works of charity, as if they dreaded that divine omnipotence would
pronounce on them the doom of annihilation."

But at length the priests resisted this dangerous fanaticism, without
being able to extirpate the illusion, which was advantageous to the
hierarchy, as long as it submitted to its sway.

The processions of the Brotherhood of the Cross undoubtedly promoted the
spreading of the plague; and it is evident that the gloomy fanaticism
which gave rise to them would infuse a new poison into the already
desponding minds of the people.

Still, however, all this was within the bounds of barbarous enthusiasm;
but horrible were the persecutions of the Jews, which were committed in
most countries with even greater exasperation than in the twelfth
century, during the first crusades. In every destructive pestilence the
common people at first attribute the mortality to poison. On whom, then,
was vengeance so likely to fall as on the Jews, the usurers and the
strangers who lived at enmity with the Christians? They were everywhere
suspected of having poisoned the wells[52] or infected the air, and were
pursued with merciless cruelty.

These bloody scenes, which disgraced Europe in the fourteenth century,
are a counterpart to a similar mania of the age which was manifested in
the persecutions of witches and sorcerers; and, like these, they prove
that enthusiasm, associated with hatred and leagued with the baser
passions, may work more powerfully upon whole nations than religion and
legal order; nay, that it even knows how to profit by the authority of
both, in order the more surely to satiate with blood the swords of
long-suppressed revenge.

The persecution of the Jews commenced in September and October, 1348, at
Chillon, on the Lake of Geneva, where the first criminal proceedings
were instituted against them, after they had long before been accused by
the people of poisoning the wells; similar scenes followed in Bern and
in Freiburg, in 1349. Under the influence of excruciating suffering, the
tortured Jews confessed themselves guilty of the crime imputed to them;
and it being affirmed that poison had in fact been found in a well at
Zofingen, this was deemed a sufficient proof to convince the world; and
the persecution of the abhorred culprits thus appeared justifiable.

Already in the autumn of 1348 a dreadful panic, caused by this supposed
poisoning, seized all nations; in Germany, especially, the springs and
wells were built over, that nobody might drink of them or employ their
contents for culinary purposes; and for a long time the inhabitants of
numerous towns and villages used only river and rain-water. The city
gates were also guarded with the greatest caution: only confidential
persons were admitted; and if medicine or any other article which might
be supposed to be poisonous was found in the possession of a
stranger--and it was natural that some should have these things by them
for private use--he was forced to swallow a portion of it. By this
trying state of privation, distrust, and suspicion the hatred against
the supposed poisoners became greatly increased, and often broke out in
popular commotions, which only served still further to infuriate the
wildest passions.

The noble and the mean fearlessly bound themselves by an oath to
extirpate the Jews by fire and sword, and to snatch them from their
protectors, of whom the number was so small that throughout all Germany
but few places can be mentioned where these unfortunate people were not
regarded as outlaws and martyred and burned. Solemn summonses were
issued from Bern to the towns of Basel, Freiburg in Breisgau, and
Strasburg, to pursue the Jews as poisoners. The burgomasters and
senators, indeed, opposed this requisition; but in Basel the populace
obliged them to bind themselves by an oath to burn the Jews and to
forbid persons of that community from entering their city for the space
of two hundred years. Upon this, all the Jews in Basel, whose number
could not have been inconsiderable, were enclosed in a wooden building,
constructed for the purpose, and burned, together with it, upon the mere
outcry of the people, without sentence or trial, which, indeed, would
have availed them nothing. Soon after the same thing took place at
Freiburg.

A regular diet was held at Bennefeld, in Alsace, where the bishops,
lords, and barons, as also deputies of the counties and towns, consulted
how they should proceed with regard to the Jews; and when the deputies
of Strasburg--not, indeed, the bishop of this town, who proved himself a
violent fanatic--spoke in favor of the persecuted, as nothing criminal
was substantiated against them, a great outcry was raised, and it was
vehemently asked why, if so, they had covered their wells and removed
their buckets? A sanguinary decree was resolved upon, of which the
populace, who obeyed the call of the nobles and superior clergy, became
but the too willing executioners. Wherever the Jews were not burned they
were at least banished; and so being compelled to wander about, they
fell into the hands of the country people, who, without humanity and
regardless of all laws, persecuted them with fire and sword.

At Eslingen, the whole Jewish community burned themselves in their
synagogue; and mothers were often seen throwing their children on the
pile, to prevent their being baptized, and then precipitating themselves
into the flames. In short, whatever deeds fanaticism, revenge, avarice,
and desperation, in fearful combination, could instigate mankind to
perform, were executed in 1349, throughout Germany, Italy, and France,
with impunity and in the eyes of all the world. It seemed as if the
plague gave rise to scandalous acts and frantic tumults, not to mourning
and grief; and the greater part of those who, by their education and
rank, were called upon to raise the voice of reason, themselves led on
the savage mob to murder and to plunder.

The humanity and prudence of Clement VI must on this occasion also be
mentioned to his honor. He not only protected the Jews at Avignon, as
far as lay in his power, but also issued two bulls in which he declared
them innocent, and he admonished all Christians, though without success,
to cease from such groundless persecutions. The emperor Charles IV was
also favorable to them, and sought to avert their destruction wherever
he could; but he dared not draw the sword of justice, and even found
himself obliged to yield to the selfishness of the Bohemian nobles, who
were unwilling to forego so favorable an opportunity of releasing
themselves from their Jewish creditors, under favor of an imperial
mandate. Duke Albert of Austria burned and pillaged those of his cities
which had persecuted the Jews--a vain and inhuman proceeding which,
moreover, is not exempt from the suspicion of covetousness; yet he was
unable, in his own fortress of Kyberg, to protect some hundreds of Jews,
who had been received there, from being barbarously burned by the
inhabitants.

Several other princes and counts, among whom was Ruprecht of the
Palatinate, took the Jews under their protection, on the payment of
large sums; in consequence of which they were called "Jew-masters," and
were in danger of being attacked by the populace and by their powerful
neighbors. These persecuted and ill-used people--except, indeed, where
humane individuals took compassion on them at their own peril, or when
they could command riches to purchase protection--had no place of refuge
left but the distant country of Lithuania, where Boleslav V, Duke of
Poland, 1227-1279, had before granted them liberty of conscience; and
King Casimir the Great, 1333-1370, yielding to the entreaties of Esther,
a favorite Jewess, received them, and granted them further protection;
on which account that country is still inhabited by a great number of
Jews, who by their secluded habits have, more than any people in Europe,
retained the manners of the Middle Ages.


GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO

When the evil had become universal in Florence, the hearts of all the
inhabitants were closed to feelings of humanity. They fled from the sick
and all that belonged to them, hoping by these means to save themselves.
Others shut themselves up in their houses, with their wives, their
children and households, living on the most costly food, but carefully
avoiding all excess. None was allowed access to them; no intelligence of
death or sickness was permitted to reach their ears; and they spent
their time in singing and music and other pastimes.

Others, on the contrary, considered eating and drinking to excess,
amusements of all descriptions, the indulgence of every gratification,
and an indifference to what was passing around them as the best
medicine, and acted accordingly. They wandered day and night from one
tavern to another, and feasted without moderation or bounds. In this way
they endeavored to avoid all contact with the sick, and abandoned their
houses and property to chance, like men whose death-knell had already
tolled.

Amid this general lamentation and woe, the influence and authority of
every law, human and divine, vanished. Most of those who were in office
had been carried off by the plague, or lay sick, or had lost so many
members of their families that they were unable to attend to their
duties; so that thenceforth everyone acted as he thought proper. Others,
in their mode of living, chose a middle course. They ate and drank what
they pleased, and walked abroad; carrying odoriferous flowers, herbs, or
spices, which they smelt at from time to time, in order to invigorate
the brain and to avert the baneful influence of the air, infected by the
sick and by the innumerable corpses of those who had died of the plague.
Others carried their precaution still further, and thought the surest
way to escape death was by flight. They therefore left the city; women
as well as men abandoning their dwellings and their relations, and
retiring into the country. But of these, also, many were carried off,
most of them alone and deserted by all the world, themselves having
previously set the example.

Thus it was that one citizen fled from another--a neighbor from his
neighbors--a relation from his relations; and in the end, so completely
had terror extinguished every kindlier feeling that the brother forsook
the brother, the sister the sister, the wife her husband, and at last
even the parent his own offspring, and abandoned them, unvisited and
unsoothed, to their fate. Those, therefore, that stood in need of
assistance fell a prey to greedy attendants; who, for an exorbitant
recompense, merely handed the sick their food and medicine, remained
with them in their last moments, and then not unfrequently became
themselves victims to their avarice, and lived not to enjoy their
extorted gain.

Propriety and decorum were extinguished among the helpless sick. Females
of rank seemed to forget their natural bashfulness, and committed the
care of their persons, indiscriminately, to men and women of the lowest
order. No longer were women, relatives or friends, found in the houses
of mourning, to share the grief of the survivors; no longer was the
corpse accompanied to the grave by neighbors and a numerous train of
priests, carrying wax tapers and singing psalms, nor was it borne along
by other citizens of equal rank. Many breathed their last without a
friend to comfort them in their last moments; and few indeed were they
who departed amid the lamentations and tears of their friends and
kindred.

Instead of sorrow and mourning, appeared indifference, frivolity, and
mirth; this being considered, especially by the females, as conducive to
health. Seldom was the body followed by even ten or twelve attendants;
and instead of the usual bearers and sextons, hirelings of the lowest
of the populace undertook the office for the sake of gain; and
accompanied by only a few priests, and often without a single taper, it
was borne to the very nearest church, and lowered into the first grave
that was not already too full to receive it. Among the middling classes,
and especially among the poor, the misery was still greater. Poverty or
negligence induced most of these to remain in their dwellings or in the
immediate neighborhood; and thus they fell by thousands; and many ended
their lives in the streets by day and by night.

The stench of putrefying corpses was often the first indication to their
neighbors that more deaths had occurred. The survivors, to preserve
themselves from infection, generally had the bodies taken out of the
houses and laid before the doors, where the early morn found them in
heaps, exposed to the affrighted gaze of the passing stranger. It was no
longer possible to have a bier for every corpse--three or four were
generally laid together; husband and wife, father and mother, with two
or three children, were frequently borne to the grave on the same bier;
and it often happened that two priests would accompany a coffin, bearing
the cross before it, and be joined on the way by several other funerals;
so that instead of one, there were five or six bodies for interment.




FIRST TURKISH DOMINION IN EUROPE

TURKS SEIZE GALLIPOLI

A.D. 1354

JOSEPH VON HAMMER-PURGSTALL[53]


  During the early years of the fourteenth century a new
  Mahometan realm was established on the ruins of the
  Seljukian and Byzantine power in Asia Minor. Osman,[54] or
  Othman, the founder of this realm, which is regarded as the
  original Ottoman empire, subdued a great part of Asia Minor,
  and in the year of his death 1326, his son Orkhan captured
  Prusa (now Brusa) and Nicomedia. In 1330 he took Nicaea--then
  second only to Constantinople in the Greek or Byzantine
  empire--and six years later he defeated the Turkish Prince
  of Karasi, the ancient Mysia, and annexed his territory,
  including the capital, Berghama, the ancient Pergamus, to
  the Ottoman dominions, thus securing nearly the whole of
  North-western Asia Minor.

  During the reign of Orkhan the Ottomans made frequent
  passages of the Hellespont for the purpose of extending
  their power into Europe. After fifteen invasions without any
  permanent conquest, in 1354 Orkhan and his son Suleiman
  perceived an opportunity by which they prepared themselves
  to profit--civil war was raging in the Byzantine empire,
  where John Palaeologus was striving to deprive the emperor
  Cantacuzenus of his throne.

  The plan whereby the Ottomans secured a foothold in Europe
  which soon enabled them to establish a permanent sovereignty
  on the peninsula of Gallipoli was executed by Suleiman with
  a military skill which gave his name a conspicuous place in
  Turkish history.

On the meridional shore of the Sea of Marmora, at the entrance of the
Hellespont, is perceived the peninsula of Kapoutaghi--the ancient,
almost insular Cyzicus, a Milesian colony. At the neck of the isthmus,
where it joins the mainland, there where are seen to-day the ruins of
Aidindjik, formerly arose Cyzicus, a city celebrated in the history of
Persia and of Rome, of ancient Greece and of the Byzantine empire. This
port, one of the most commercial of the Asiatic coast, possessed, like
Rhodes, Marseilles, and Carthage, two military arsenals and an immense
granary, each placed under the special superintendence of an architect.
The annals of this town have been enriched by the passage of the
Argonauts and of the Goths, by the siege of Mithridates and by the
assistance received from the Romans under the leadership of Lucullus.

Granted its freedom by the latter as a reward for its fidelity, Cyzicus
was shortly afterward deprived of its privileges for having neglected
the service of the temple of Augustus. Under the Byzantines it became
the capital of the province of Hellespont and the metropolitan see of
Mysia and of all the territory of Troy. On Mount Dyndimos, at the gates
of Cyzicus, arose the temple of the great mother, the goddess Ida, whose
worship had been established by the Argonauts, and who was venerated at
Cyzicus as at Pessinunte, in the form of an aerolite, a sacred stone,
which under the reign of King Attalus was carried to Rome, and installed
in the city by all the matrons, preceded by Scipio the Younger. The
inhabitants of the peninsula adored also Cybele, Proserpine, and
Jupiter, who, according to a fabulous tradition, had given the town of
Cyzicus to the wife of Pluto, as dower. Emperor Hadrian embellished this
town with the largest and the finest of the temples of paganism. The
columns of this edifice, all of one piece, were four ells (fifteen and
one-half feet) in circumference and fifty ells (one hundred and
ninety-five feet) in height.

In 1354 Suleiman, the son of Orkhan, Governor of ancient Mysia, a
province recently conquered by the Turks, was seized with admiration by
the aspect of the majestic ruins of Cyzicus. The broken columns, the
marbles prone on the sward, recalled to him the ruins of the palace of
the Queen of Saba Balkis, erected by the order of Solomon, the remains
of Istakhr (Persepolis), and of Tadmor (Palmyra). One evening when
seated by the sea-shore, he saw, by the light of the moon (Aidindjik,
the crescent moon), the porticoes and peristyles reflected in the waves.
Clouds passed along the surface of the sea, and he imagined that he saw
these ruined palaces and temples arise from the deep, and a fleet
navigate the waters. Around him arose mysterious voices whose sound
mingled with the murmur of the waves, while the moon, which at this
moment shone in the east, seemed to unite Asia and Europe by a silver
ribbon. It was she who, emerging formerly from the bosom of Edebali,[55]
had come to hide herself in that of Osman. The remembrance of the
fantastic vision, which had presaged a universal domination to his
ancestor, inflamed the courage of Suleiman, and made him resolve to
unite Europe and Asia by transporting the Ottoman power from the shores
of Asia Minor to the strands of the Greek empire, and thus to realize
the dream of Osman.

Suleiman consulted immediately with Adjebeg, Ghazi-Fazil, Ewrenos, and
Hadji-Ilbeki, ancient vizier of the Prince of Karasi, who had been his
assistants in the government of Mysia. All confirmed him in his
resolution. Adjebeg and Ghazi-Fazil the same night went to Gouroudjouk
and took ship to make a reconnaissance in the environs of Tzympe,
situated a league and a half from Gallipoli, opposite Gouroudjouk. A
Greek prisoner whom they brought with them to Asia informed Suleiman of
the abandoned and unprepared state of the place, and offered himself as
a guide to surprise the garrison. Suleiman immediately had two rafts
constructed of trees united by thongs of bull skins, and made the
attempt the following night, with thirty-nine of his most intrepid
companions in arms. Arrived before the fortress, they scaled the walls
by mounting on an immense dung-heap, and took possession of it easily,
owing to the inhabitants being all absent in the fields engaged in
harvesting. Suleiman then hastened to send to Asia all the ships which
he found in the port, to transport soldiers to Tzympe; and three days
after, the fortress contained a garrison of three thousand Ottomans.

In the mean while Cantacuzenus, unable to resist any longer the forces
assembled against him by his young rival, John Palaeologus, asked the
assistance of Orkhan. Orkhan sent him the conqueror of Tzympe, an
auxiliary whose support later became more troublesome to the Emperor
than it was useful against his enemy. Ten thousand Turkish cavaliers
disembarked near Ainos, at the _embouchure_ of Maritza (Hebrus),
defeated the auxiliary troops which John Palaeologus had drawn from
Moesia and from the Triballiens, ravaged Bulgaria, and repassed into
Asia, loaded with spoil.

Cantacuzenus, more at his ease after the departure of the conquering
horde, negotiated with Suleiman the ransom of Tzympe. Scarcely had he
sent the ten thousand ducats agreed upon, when a commissary of the
Ottoman Prince arrived bringing him the keys; but at the same time a
terrific earthquake devastated the towns on the Thracian coasts. The
inhabitants who did not find death in the destruction of their dwellings
went with the garrisons to seek refuge against the destroying scourge
and the barbarity of the Turks in the towns and the castles which the
catastrophe had spared. But torrents of rain, snow, and a glacial
temperature killed the women and the children on the road. As to the
men, they fell into the power of Orkhan's soldiers, who were awaiting
their passage. Thus the Ottomans found a powerful auxiliary in the
warring elements. From that time they believed that God himself favored
their projects. Adjebeg and Ghazi-Fazil, whom Suleiman had left in front
of Gallipoli, penetrated into that town by the large breaches that the
earthquake had made in the walls, and took possession of it, owing to
the confusion which reigned among the inhabitants.

Gallipoli, the key of the Hellespont, the commercial _entrepot_ of the
Black Sea and of the Mediterranean, is celebrated in history by the
siege that it sustained against Philip of Macedon, and by the revolt of
the Catalans or Mogabars who, half a century before the disaster, braved
with impunity the power of the Greek Emperor and made it the centre of
their piracies. The tombs of the two Ottoman chiefs are still seen
to-day. These two mausoleums are much visited by Mussulman pilgrims, and
the reason of this pious veneration is due to the fact that here in this
sacred place lie the ashes of the two generations to whom the Ottoman
empire owes the conquest of a town, the possession of which facilitated
the passing of the Turks into Europe. For the same reason all the
surrounding country, which, during the blockade of the town, Adjebeg and
his lieutenant Ghazi-Fazil had put to fire and sword, received the name
of Adje Owa. The two beys, taking advantage of the terror caused by so
many disasters, penetrated into the deserted towns and established
themselves.

On the news of these conquests Suleiman, who then was at Bigha (Pegae),
refused to restore Tzympe, and, far from being contented with the
peaceful possession of the territory invaded by his hordes, dreamed of
extending the boundaries, and for this purpose sent over to Europe
numerous colonies of Turks and Arabs. One of his first cares was to
raise the walls of Gallipoli and other strong places devastated by the
earthquake; among the number were Konour, whose commander, called
Calaconia by the Ottoman historians, was hanged by order of Suleiman at
the doors of the castle; the fort of Boulair, before which Suleiman
received, as a presage of his future glory, the bonnet of a dervish
Mewlewi; Malgara, renowned for its trade in honey; Ipsala (ancient
Cypsella) on the Marizza; and lastly Rodosto, now Tekourtaghi, ancient
residence of Besus, King of Thrace, and the place of exile where died in
modern times the Hungarian Francis Rakoczy, Prince of Transylvania, and
his partisans. All these towns and strong places fell into the power of
the Ottomans in the course of the year 1357; they served them as
starting-bases for their excursions, which they pushed as far as
Hireboli (Chariupolis) and Tschorli (Tzurulum).

Cantacuzenus, too weak to stop the progress of the Turks, complained of
this violation of the peace. Orkhan excused his son, saying that it was
not force of arms which had opened the gates of the towns of the Greek
empire, but the divine will manifested by the earthquake. The Emperor
made representations that he was not agitating to know whether it was by
the gates or by the breaches that Suleiman had penetrated into the
places in question, but whether or not he possessed them legitimately.
Orkhan then asked a delay for reflection, and subsequently promised that
he would request his son to return the towns that he occupied, if
Cantacuzenus, on his side, would engage to pay him a sum of forty
thousand ducats. At the same time he invited him to an interview to meet
Suleiman on the Gulf of Nicomedia. But the Sultan pretending to be ill,
the Emperor returned to Byzantium, without having obtained anything.

Orkhan now found himself in one of the happiest of political situations.
The division of sovereign authority between Cantacuzenus and his pupil
John Palaeologus, and their continual wars, allowed him to address one or
the other according as his interests and the circumstances demanded. It
was thus that John Palaeeologus, ally of the Genoese, undertook to
deliver from captivity to Phoceus, the son of Orkhan, Khalil or Kasim,
whom the governor Calothes surrendered for a ransom of one hundred
thousand pieces of gold and the concession of the glorious title of
Panhypersebastos ("very venerable"). The service that John had rendered
did not prevent Orkhan from sending to Abydos a body of troops to rescue
the son of Cantacuzenus, Mathias, then at war with the Bulgarians.

From the epoch when the Ottomans made durable conquests in the Greek
empire, Asia each spring threw new hordes into Europe, until the time
when the successors of Orkhan had extended their domination from the
shores of the Sea of Marmora to those of the Danube.

The conquest of Gallipoli, which had opened the gate of the Greek empire
and the whole of the European continent to the Ottomans, was announced
by "letters of victory" to the neighboring princes of Orkhan, whose
father had divided with Osman the heritage of the Seljukian sultans. The
use of these "letters of victory" has been preserved to this day in
Turkey, and their style, already so pompous in the days of Orkhan, has
become so proudly emphatic that this kind of document to-day is not the
least curious of those which belong to the annals of the Turkish nation.

Orkhan left to his son, Suleiman Pacha, and Hadji-Ilbeki the charge of
preserving the conquests made in Europe; Suleiman established his
residence at Gallipoli, and Ilbeki at Konour. The first overran the
country as far as Demitoka; the second as far as Tschorli and Hireboli.
Adjebeg received in fief the valley which still bears his name.

But Suleiman enjoyed for only a few years the fruits of his conquests.
One day while hunting wild geese between Boulair and Sidi-Kawak, that is
to say near the palatine of the Cid, and following at a gallop the
flight of his falcon, he fell so violently from his horse (1359) as to
be instantly killed. His body was deposited, not in the mausoleum of
the Osman family at Prusa, where he had caused a mosque to be erected in
the quarter of the confectioners, but near the mosque of Boulair, also
founded by him. Orkhan, to perpetuate the exploits of his son, caused a
tomb to be built to his memory on the shore of the Hellespont, the only
one which, during more than a century, was erected in memory of an
Ottoman prince on Greek soil. Of all the sepulchres of Turkish heroes
which the national historians mention with holy respect, that of the
founder of the Ottoman power in Europe is the most venerated and the
most frequented by pilgrims. It is still to be seen to the north of the
embouchure of the Hellespont.

Tradition attributes yet another victory to Suleiman after his death. At
the head of a troop of celestial heroes, mounted on white horses,
encircled by a brilliant aureole, he is said to have vanquished an army
of infidels. The love of the marvellous, so general among orientals, the
leaning which all people have to make heaven intervene in the deeds
relating to their origin, alone can explain this tradition, for it would
be useless to seek any historic fact which could have given it birth.
According to this tradition, thirty thousand Christians appeared in the
Hellespont on a fleet of sixty-one vessels; one half disembarked at
Touzla and the other at Sidi-Kawak; it was this latter body which was
cut in pieces by the celestial troop led by Suleiman. The Ottoman
historians who relate this miracle have evidently borrowed the
apparition of these vessels from the First or the Second Crusade of the
Europeans against the Turks, and have transported them from the waters
of Smyrna to those of Gallipoli, for the greater glory of Suleiman
Pacha. Neither the history of Byzantium nor that of the crusades offers
the slightest trace of this event.




CONSPIRACY AND DEATH OF MARINO
FALIERI AT VENICE

A.D. 1355

MRS. MARGARET OLIPHANT


  Marino Falieri was born at Venice about 1278, and was
  elected doge in 1354. For many years the government of the
  republic, under an oligarchy, had been arbitrarily dominated
  by the Council of Ten, an assembly that, after serving a
  special purpose for which it was created, was declared
  permanent in 1325 and became a formidable tribunal.
  Professing to guard the republic the Ten in fact destroyed
  its liberties, disposed of its finances, overruled the
  constitutional legislators, suppressed and excluded the
  popular element from all voice in public affairs, and
  finally reduced the nominal prince--the doge--to a mere
  puppet or an ornamental functionary, still called "head of
  the state."

  At the time when Falieri entered upon his dogeship the city
  in all quarters was pervaded by the spies of this great
  oligarchy, which seized and imprisoned citizens, and even
  put them to death, secretly, without itself being answerable
  to any authority. The most notable event in the annals of
  this extraordinary Venetian government is that which forms
  the story of Marino Falieri himself. His conspiracy with the
  plebeians to assassinate the oligarchs and make himself
  actual ruler of the state had the double motive of a
  personal grievance and the sense of a political wrong.

  The fate of this old man has been made the subject of
  tragedies by Byron (1820), Casimir Delavigne (1829), and
  Swinburne (1885). The novel, _Doge und Dogaressa_, by Ernst
  Theodor Hoffmann, was inspired by the same dramatic figure.
  Of historical accounts, the following--in Mrs. Oliphant's
  best manner--is justly regarded as the most impressive which
  has hitherto appeared in English.

Marino Falieri had been an active servant of Venice through a long life.
He had filled almost all the great offices which were intrusted to her
nobles. He had governed her distant colonies, accompanied her armies in
that position of _proveditore_, omnipotent civilian critic of all the
movements of war, which so much disgusted the generals of the republic.
He had been ambassador at the courts of both emperor and pope, and was
serving his country in that capacity at Avignon when the news of his
election reached him.

It is thus evident that Falieri was not a man used to the position of a
lay figure, although at seventy-six the dignified retirement of a
throne, even when so encircled with restrictions, would seem not
inappropriate. That he was of a haughty and hasty temper seems apparent.
It is told of him that, after waiting long for a bishop to head a
procession at Treviso where he was _podesta_ ("chief magistrate"), he
astonished the tardy prelate by a box on the ear when he finally
appeared, a punishment for keeping the authorities waiting.

Old age to a statesman, however, is in many cases an advantage rather
than a defect, and Falieri was young in vigor and character, and still
full of life and strength. He was married a second time to presumably a
beautiful wife much younger than himself, though the chroniclers are not
agreed even on the subject of her name, whether she was a Gradenigo or a
Contarini. The well-known story of young Steno's insult to this lady and
to her old husband has found a place in all subsequent histories, but
there is no trace of it in the unpublished documents of the state.

The story goes that Michel Steno, one of those young and insubordinate
gallants who are a danger to every aristocratic state, having been
turned out of the presence of the Dogaressa for some unseemly freedom of
behavior, wrote upon the chair of the Doge in boyish petulance an
insulting taunt, such as might well rouse a high-tempered old man to
fury. According to Sanudo, the young man, on being brought before the
Forty,[56] confessed that he had thus avenged himself in a fit of
passion; and regard having been had to his age and the "heat of love"
which had been the cause of his original misdemeanor--a reason seldom
taken into account by the tribunals of the state--he was condemned to
prison for two months, and afterward to be banished for a year from
Venice.

The Doge took this light punishment greatly amiss, considering it,
indeed, as a further insult.

Sabellico says not a word of Michel Steno, or of this definite cause of
offence, and Romanin quotes the contemporary records to show that though
_Alcuni zovanelli fioli de gentiluomini di Venetia_ are supposed to have
affronted the Doge, no such story finds a place in any of them. But the
old man thus translated from active life and power, soon became bitterly
sensible in his new position that he was _senza parentado_, with few
relations, and flouted by the _giovinastri_, the dissolute young
gentlemen who swaggered about the Broglio in their finery, strong in the
support of fathers and uncles.

That he found himself, at the same time, shelved in his new rank,
powerless, and regarded as a nobody in the state where hitherto he had
been a potent signior--mastered in every action by the secret tribunal,
and presiding nominally in councils where his opinion was of little
consequence--is evident. And a man so well acquainted, and so long, with
all the proceedings of the state, who had seen consummated the shutting
out of the people, and since had watched through election after election
a gradual tightening of the bonds round the feet of the doge, would
naturally have many thoughts when he found himself the wearer of that
restricted and diminished crown.

He could not be unconscious of how the stream was going, nor unaware of
that gradual sapping of privilege and decreasing of power which even in
his own case had gone further than with his predecessor. Perhaps he had
noted with an indignant mind the new limits of the _promissione_, a
narrower charter than ever, when he was called upon to sign it. He had
no mind, we may well believe, to retire thus from the administration of
affairs. And when these giovinastri, other people's boys, the scum of
the gay world, flung their unsavory jests in the face of the old man who
had no son to come after him, the silly insults so lightly uttered, so
little thought of, the natural scoff of youth at old age, stung him to
the quick.

Old Falieri's heart burned within him at his own injuries and those of
his old comrades. How he was induced to head the conspiracy, and put his
crown, his life, and honor on the cast, there is no further information.
His fierce temper, and the fact that he had no powerful house behind him
to help to support his case, probably made him reckless. In April, 1355,
six months after his arrival in Venice as doge, the smouldering fire
broke out. Two of the conspirators were seized with compunction on the
eve of the catastrophe and betrayed the plot--one with a merciful motive
to serve a patrician he loved, the other with perhaps less noble
intentions--and, without a blow struck, the conspiracy collapsed. There
was no real heart in it, nothing to give it consistence; the hot passion
of a few men insulted, the variable gaseous excitement of wronged
commoners, and the ambition--if it was ambition--of one enraged and
affronted old man, without an heir to follow him or anything that could
make it worth his while to conquer.

An enterprise more wild was never undertaken. It was the passionate
stand of despair against force so overwhelming as to make mad the
helpless, yet not submissive, victims. The Doge, who no doubt in former
days had felt it to be a mere affair of the populace, a thing with which
a noble ambassador and proveditore had nothing to do, a struggle beneath
his notice, found himself at last, with fury and amazement, to be a
fellow-sufferer caught in the same toils. There seems no reason to
believe that Falieri consciously staked the remnant of his life on the
forlorn hope of overcoming that awful and pitiless power, with any real
hope of establishing his own supremacy. His aspect is rather that of a
man betrayed by passion, and wildly forgetful of all possibility in his
fierce attempt to free himself and get the upper hand. One cannot but
feel in that passion of helpless age and unfriendedness, something of
the terrible disappointment of one to whom the real situation of affairs
had never been revealed before; who had come home triumphant to reign
like the doges of old, and, only after the ducal cap was on his head and
the palace of the state had become his home, found out that the
doge--like the unconsidered plebeian--had been reduced to bondage; his
judgment and experience put aside in favor of the deliberations of a
secret tribunal, and the very boys, when they were nobles, at liberty to
jeer at his declining years.

The lesser conspirators, all men of the humbler sort--Calendario, the
architect, who was then at work upon the palace, a number of seamen, and
other little-known persons--were hanged; not like the greater criminals,
beheaded between the columns, but strung up--a horrible fringe--along
the side of the palazzo. The fate of Falieri himself is too generally
known to demand description. Calmed by the tragic touch of fate, the
Doge bore all the humiliations of his doom with dignity, and was
beheaded at the head of the stairs where he had sworn the promissione on
first assuming the office of doge.

What a contrast was this from that triumphant day when probably he felt
that his reward had come to him after the long and faithful service of
years. Death stills disappointment as well as rage, and Falieri is said
to have acknowledged the justice of his sentence. He had never made any
attempt to justify or defend himself, but frankly and at once avowed his
guilt and made no attempt to escape from its penalties. His body was
conveyed privately to the Church of St. Giovanni and St. Paolo, the
great "Zanipolo"--with which all visitors to Venice are familiar--and
was buried in secrecy and silence in the _atrio_ of a little chapel
behind the great church--where no doubt for centuries the pavement was
worn by many feet with little thought of those who lay below. Even from
that refuge his bones have been driven forth, but his name remains in
the corner of the Hall of the Great Council, where--with a certain
dramatic affectation--the painter-historians have painted a black veil
across the vacant place. "This is the place of Marino Falieri, beheaded
for his crimes," is all the record left of the Doge disgraced.

Was it a crime? The question is one which it is difficult to discuss
with any certainty. That Falieri desired to establish--as so many had
done in other cities--an independent despotism in Venice, seems entirely
unproved. It was the prevailing fear; the one suggestion which alarmed
everybody and made sentiment unanimous. But one of the special points
which are recorded by the chroniclers as working in him to madness, was
that he was _senza parentado_--without any backing of relationship or
allies--_i.e._, sonless, with no one to come after him. How little
likely then was an old man to embark on such a desperate venture for
self-aggrandizement merely. He had, indeed, a nephew who was involved in
his fate, but apparently not so deeply as to expose him to the last
penalty of the law.

The incident altogether points more to a sudden outbreak of the rage and
disappointment of an old public servant coming back from his weary
labors for the state in triumph and satisfaction to what seemed the
supreme reward; and finding himself no more than a puppet in the hands
of remorseless masters, subject to the scoffs of the younger generation,
with his eyes opened by his own suffering, perceiving for the first time
what justice there was in the oft-repeated protest of the people, and
how they and he alike were crushed under the iron heel of that oligarchy
to which the power of the people and that of the Prince were equally
obnoxious. The chroniclers of his time were so much at a loss to find
any reason for such an attempt on the part of a man, _non abbiando alcum
propinquo_, that they agree in attributing it to diabolical inspiration.

It was more probably that fury which springs from a sense of wrong,
which the sight of the wrongs of others raised to frenzy, and that
intolerable impatience of the impotent which is more harsh in its
hopelessness than the greatest hardihood. He could not but die for it,
but there seems no more reason to characterize this impossible attempt
as deliberate treason than to give the same name to many an alliance
formed between prince and people in other regions--the king and commons
of the early Stuarts, for example--against the intolerable exactions and
cruelty of an aristocracy too powerful to be faced alone by either.




CHARLES IV OF GERMANY PUBLISHES
HIS GOLDEN BULL

A.D. 1356

SIR ROBERT COMYN


  The Golden Bull of Charles IV of Germany, Emperor of the
  Holy Roman Empire, first published at the Diet of Nuremberg
  in 1356, was a charter--sometimes called the "Magna Charta
  of Germany"--regulating the election of the emperor. It was
  called "golden" because the seal attached to the parchment
  on which it was engrossed was of gold instead of the
  customary lead. In a diet at Metz in the same year six
  additional clauses were promulgated.

  By some historians the origin of the imperial electoral
  college is assigned to the year 1125, when at the election
  of Lothair II certain of the nobles and church dignitaries
  made a selection of candidates to be voted for. But until
  the promulgation of the Golden Bull the constitution and
  prerogatives of the college were never definitely
  ascertained.

  The personal traits and the languid reign of Charles IV have
  been treated by historians with derision. He forgot the
  general welfare of the empire in his eagerness to enrich his
  own house and aggrandize his paternal kingdom of Bohemia.
  The one remarkable law which emanated from him, and whereby
  alone his reign is distinguished in the constitutional
  history of the empire, is that embodied in the Golden Bull.
  By this instrument the dignity of the electors was greatly
  enhanced, and the disputes which had arisen between members
  of the same house as to their right of suffrage were
  terminated. The number of electors was absolutely restricted
  to seven.

After a solemn invocation of the Trinity, a reprobation of the seven
deadly sins, and a pointed allusion to the seven candlesticks and the
seven gifts of the Holy Ghost, the Golden Bull proceeds to the subject
of the imperial election. It provides, in the first place, for the safe
conduct of the seven electors to and from Frankfort-on-the-Main, which
is fixed as the place of election; it directs the archbishop of Mainz to
summon the electors upon the death of the emperor, and regulates the
manner in which their proxies are to be appointed; it enjoins the
citizens of Frankfort to protect the assembled electors; and forbids
them to admit any stranger into the city during the election.

It next prescribes the form of oath to be taken by the electors; and
also forbids them to quit the city before the completion of the
election; and after thirty days restricts their diet to bread and water.
A majority of votes is to decide the election; and in case any elector
obtain three votes, his own vote is to be taken in his favor.

The precedence of the electors is thus settled: First, the archbishops
of Mainz, Cologne, and Treves; then the King of Bohemia, the Count
Palatine, the Duke of Saxony, and the Margrave of Brandenburg. The
Elector of Treves is to vote first; then the Elector of Cologne; then
the secular electors; and the Elector of Mainz is finally to collect the
votes and deliver his own.

The Elector of Cologne is to perform the coronation. At all feasts the
Margrave of Brandenburg, as grand chamberlain, is to present the Emperor
with water to wash; the King of Bohemia, as cup-bearer, is to offer the
goblet of wine; the Count Palatine, as grand steward, is to set the
first dish on the table; and the Duke of Saxony is to officiate as grand
marshal.

The Count Palatine and the Duke of Saxony are declared vicars of the
empire during the vacancy of the throne. An exclusive jurisdiction is
guaranteed to the electors; and their precedence over all other princes
of Germany is enforced.

The right of voting is vested in the eldest son of a deceased elector,
provided he have attained the age of eighteen; and during the minority,
the guardianship and vote are vested in the next kinsman of the
deceased.

If one of the lay electorates become vacant by default of heirs, it
shall revert to the Emperor, and be by him disposed of--Bohemia
excepted, where the vacancy is to be supplied by ancient mode of
election.

The electors are invested with the possession of all mines discovered
within their respective territories. They are authorized to give refuge
to the Jews, and to receive dues payable within their states. They are
also privileged to coin money, and to purchase lands subject to the
feudal rights of the sovereign.

A yearly assembly of the electors, in one of the imperial cities, is
enjoined.

All privileges granted to any city or community prejudicial to the
rights of the electors are revoked. All fraudulent resignations of fiefs
by vassals, with intent to attack their lords, are declared void. All
leagues, associations, and confederacies, not sanctioned by law, are
made punishable by fine; and all burgesses and subjects of princes and
nobles are to adhere to their original subjection, and not to claim any
rights or exemptions as burgesses of any city unless actually domiciled
therein.

Challenges, with design of destroying another's property or committing
any outrage, are prohibited; and all challenges are to be given three
days before the onset.

The forms of summoning electors, and of their delegation of proxies, are
laid down. And the right of voting, as well as all other rights, is
declared inseparably incident to the electoral principality.

On grand occasions the Duke of Saxony is to carry the sword; the Count
Palatine, the globe; the Margrave of Brandenburg, the sceptre. In
celebrating mass before the Emperor, the benedictions are to be
pronounced by the senior spiritual elector present.

All persons conspiring against the lives of the electors are declared
guilty of leze-majesty, and shall forfeit their lives and possessions.
The lives of their sons, though justly forfeited, are spared only by the
particular bounty of the Emperor; but they are declared incapable of
holding any property, honor, or dignity, and doomed to perpetual
poverty. The daughters are permitted to enjoy one-fourth of their
mother's succession.

The secular principalities, Bohemia, the Palatinate, the duchy of
Saxony, and the margravate of Brandenburg, are declared indivisible and
entire, descendible in the male line.

On all the solemn occasions the electors shall attend the Emperor, and
the arch-chancellors shall carry the seals. And the bull then proceeds
minutely to point out the manner in which the electors are to exercise
their ministerial functions at the imperial banquet; and regulates the
order and disposition of the imperial and electoral tables.

Frankfort is again declared as the place of election; Aix-la-Chapelle,
of coronation; and Nuremberg, for holding the first royal court.

The electors are exempted from all payments on receiving their fiefs
from their sovereign. But other princes are to pay certain fees, etc.,
to the imperial officers.

Lastly, the secular electors are enjoined to instruct their sons in the
Latin, Italian, and Slavonic tongues.

At the final promulgation of the bull in the Diet of Metz the Emperor
and Empress feasted, in the presence of the dauphin (Charles V) and the
legate of Pope Innocent VI, with all the pageantry and ceremonies
prescribed by the new ordinances. The imperial tables were spread in the
grand square of the city; Rudolph, Duke of Saxe-Wittenberg, attended
with a silver measure of oats, and marshalled the order of the company;
Louis II, Margrave of Brandenburg, presented to the Emperor the golden
basin, with water and fair napkins; Rupert, Count Palatine, placed the
first dish upon the table; and the Emperor's brother, Wenceslaus,
representing the King of Bohemia, officiated as cup-bearer. Lastly, the
princes of Schwarzburg and the deputy huntsman came with three hounds
amid the loud din of horns, and carried up a stag and a boar to the
table of the Emperor.




INSURRECTION OF THE JACQUERIE IN FRANCE

A.D. 1358

SIR JOHN FROISSART


  The defeat of the French under King John II, at Poitiers, by
  the British forces of Edward, the Black Prince, September
  19, 1356, aroused great indignation among the common people
  of France, with scorn of the nobility; for these leaders,
  with an army of sixty thousand, had fled before an enemy
  whom they outnumbered seven to one. In the next assembly of
  the states-general the bourgeois obtained a preponderance so
  intolerable to the nobles that they withdrew to their homes.
  A little later the deputies of the clergy also retired,
  leaving only the representatives of the cities--among whom
  the supremacy of the members from Paris was generally
  accepted--to deal with the affairs of the kingdom.

  At this point appeared a man who in an age "so uncivilized
  and sombre," says Pierre Robiquet, "by wonderful instinct
  laid down and nearly succeeded in obtaining the adoption of
  the essential principles on which modern society is
  founded--the government of the country by elected
  representatives, taxes voted by representatives of the
  taxpayers, abolition of privileges founded upon right of
  birth, extension of political rights to all citizens, and
  subordination of traditional sovereignty to that of the
  nation." This man was Etienne Marcel, provost of the
  merchants of Paris--that is to say, mayor of the
  municipality, whom eminent historians have called the
  greatest personage of the fourteenth century. During a
  career of three years his name dominates French history--a
  brief ascendency, but of potent influence. His endeavor, in
  Thierry's view, "was, as it were, a premature attempt at the
  grand designs of Providence, and the mirror of the bloody
  changes of fortune through which those designs were destined
  to advance to their accomplishment under the impulse of
  human passions."

  After the disaster of Poitiers, Marcel finished the
  fortifications of Paris and barricaded the streets, and in
  the assembly there he presided over the bourgeois--the Third
  Estate. In the growing conflict between the two other
  estates--nobles and clergy--and the third, Marcel armed the
  bourgeois and began an open revolution, thus organizing the
  commune for carrying out his designs. The nobles were
  meanwhile laying heavier miseries upon the peasantry, and in
  the spring of 1358 occurred the rising of the Jacquerie,
  here described by Froissart, whose brilliant narrative is to
  be read in the light of modern critical judgment, which
  regards it as an exaggeration both of the numbers of the
  insurgents and their atrocities, while Froissart had no
  capacity for understanding the conditions which explain, if
  they do not also justify, the present revolt.

  This outbreak, to which Marcel gave his support, was enough
  to ruin his cause, and he died in a massacre, July 31, 1358,
  having failed "because the time was not yet ripe," and
  because the violence to which he lent his sanction was
  overcome by stronger violence.

A marvellous and great tribulation befell the kingdom of France, in
Beauvoisis, Brie, upon the river Marne, in the Laonnois, and in the
neighborhood of Soissons. Some of the inhabitants of the country towns
assembled together in Beauvoisis, without any leader; they were not at
first more than one hundred men. They said that the nobles of the
kingdom of France, knights and squires, were a disgrace to it, and that
it would be a very meritorious act to destroy them all; to which
proposition everyone assented, and added, shame befall him that should
be the means of preventing the gentlemen from being wholly destroyed.
They then, without further counsel, collected themselves in a body, and
with no other arms than the staves shod with iron which some had, and
others with knives, marched to the house of a knight who lived near,
and, breaking it open, murdered the knight, his lady, and all the
children, both great and small; they then burned the house.

After this, their second expedition was to the strong castle of another
knight, which they took, and, having tied him to a stake, many of them
violated his wife and daughter before his eyes; they then murdered the
lady, her daughter, and the other children, and last of all the knight
himself, with much cruelty. They destroyed and burned his castle. They
did the like to many castles and handsome houses; and their numbers
increased so much that they were in a short time upward of six thousand.
Wherever they went they received additions, for all of their rank in
life followed them, while everyone else fled, carrying off with them
their ladies, damsels, and children ten or twenty leagues distant, where
they thought they could place them in security, leaving their houses,
with all their riches in them.

These wicked people, without leader and without arms, plundered and
burned all the houses they came to, murdered every gentleman, and
violated every lady and damsel they could find. He who committed the
most atrocious actions, and such as no human creature would have
imagined, was the most applauded and considered as the greatest man
among them. I dare not write the horrible and inconceivable atrocities
they committed on the persons of the ladies.

Among other infamous acts they murdered a knight, and, having fastened
him to a spit, roasted him before the eyes of his wife and his children,
and forced her to eat some of her husband's flesh, and then knocked her
brains out. They had chosen a king among them, who came from Clermont in
Beauvoisis. He was elected as the worst of the bad, and they denominated
him "Jacques Bonhomme."[57]

These wretches burned and destroyed in the county of Beauvoisis, and at
Corbie, Amiens, and Montdidier, upward of sixty good houses and strong
castles. By the acts of such traitors in the country of Brie and
thereabout, it behooved every lady, knight, and squire, having the means
of escape, to fly to Meaux, if they wished to preserve themselves from
being insulted and afterward murdered. The Duchess of Normandy, the
Duchess of Orleans, and many other ladies had adopted this course. These
cursed people thus supported themselves in the countries between Paris,
Noyon, and Soissons, and in all the territory of Coucy, in the County of
Valois. In the bishoprics of Noyon, Laon, and Soissons there were upward
of one hundred castles and good houses of knights and squires destroyed.

When the gentlemen of Beauvoisis, Corbie, Vermandois, and of the lands
where these wretches were associated, saw to what lengths their madness
had extended, they sent for succor to their friends in Flanders,
Hainault, and Bohemia; from which places numbers soon came and united
themselves with the gentlemen of the country. They began therefore to
kill and destroy these wretches wherever they met them, and hung them up
by troops on the nearest trees. The King of Navarre even destroyed in
one day, near Clermont in Beauvoisis, upward of three thousand; but
they were by this time so much increased in numbers that, had they been
all together, they would have amounted to more than one hundred
thousand. When they were asked for what reason they acted so wickedly,
they replied, they knew not, but they did so because they saw others do
it, and they thought that by this means they should destroy all the
nobles and gentlemen in the world.

At this period the Duke of Normandy, suspecting the King of Navarre, the
provost of merchants and those of his faction--for they were always
unanimous in their sentiments--set out from Paris, and went to the
bridge at Charenton-upon-Marne, where he issued a special summons for
the attendance of the crown vassals, and sent a defiance to the provost
of merchants and to all those who should support him. The provost, being
fearful he would return in the night-time to Paris--which was then
unenclosed--collected as many workmen as possible from all parts, and
employed them to make ditches all around Paris. He also surrounded it by
a wall with strong gates. For the space of one year there were three
hundred workmen daily employed; the expense of which was equal to
maintaining an army. I must say that to surround with a sufficient
defence such a city as Paris was an act of greater utility than any
provost of merchants had ever done before; for otherwise it would have
been plundered and destroyed several times by the different factions.

At the time these wicked men were overrunning the country, the Earl of
Foix, and his cousin the Captal of Buch were returning from a crusade in
Prussia. They were informed, on their entering France, of the distress
the nobles were in; and they learned at the city of Chalons that the
Duchess of Orleans and three hundred other ladies, under the protection
of the Duke of Orleans, were fled to Meaux on account of these
disturbances. The two knights resolved to go to the assistance of these
ladies, and to reenforce them with all their might, notwithstanding the
Captal was attached to the English; but at that time there was a truce
between the two kings. They might have in their company about sixty
lances.

They were most cheerfully received, on their arrival at Meaux, by the
ladies and damsels; for these Jacks and peasants of Brie had heard what
number of ladies, married and unmarried, and young children of quality
were in Meaux; they had united themselves with those of Valois and were
on their road thither. On the other hand, those of Paris had also been
informed of the treasures Meaux contained, and had set out from that
place in crowds. Having met the others, they amounted together to nine
thousand men. Their forces were augmenting every step they advanced.

They came to the gates of the town, which the inhabitants opened to them
and allowed them to enter; they did so in such numbers that all the
streets were quite filled, as far as the market-place, which is
tolerably strong, but it required to be guarded, though the river Marne
nearly surrounds it. The noble dames who were lodged there, seeing such
multitudes rushing toward them, were exceedingly frightened. On this,
the two lords and their company advanced to the gate of the
market-place, which they had opened, and, marching under the banners of
the Earl of Foix and Duke of Orleans, and the pennon of the Captal of
Buch, posted themselves in front of this peasantry, who were badly
armed.

When these banditti perceived such a troop of gentlemen, so well
equipped, sally forth to guard the market-place, the foremost of them
began to fall back. The gentlemen then followed them, using their lances
and swords. When they felt the weight of their blows, they, through
fear, turned about so fast they fell one over the other. All manner of
armed persons then rushed out of the barriers, drove them before them,
striking them down like beasts, and clearing the town of them; for they
kept neither regularity nor order, slaying so many that they were tired.
They flung them in great heaps into the river. In short, they killed
upward of seven thousand. Not one would have escaped if they had chosen
to pursue them farther.

On the return of the men-at-arms, they set fire to the town of Meaux,
burned it; and all the peasants they could find were shut up in it,
because they had been of the party of the Jacks. Since this discomfiture
which happened to them at Meaux, they never collected again in any great
bodies; for the young Enguerrand de Coucy had plenty of gentlemen under
his orders, who destroyed them, wherever they could be met with, without
mercy.




CONQUESTS OF TIMUR THE TARTAR

A.D. 1370-1405

EDWARD GIBBON


  Timur, better known as Tamerlane ("Timur the Lame"), was
  born in Central Asia--probably in the village of Sebzar,
  near Samarkand, in Transoxiana (Turkestan). He is supposed
  to have been descended from a follower of Genghis Khan,
  founder of the Mongol empire; or, as some say, directly, by
  the mother's side, from Genghis himself. He is the
  Tamerlaine or Tamburlaine of Marlowe and other dramatists.
  Gibbon introduces him in the _Decline and Fall_, apparently
  because fascinated with the subject, although he gives as a
  historical reason the fact that Timur's triumph in Asia
  delayed the final fall of Constantinople--taken by the Turks
  in 1453.

  In early youth the future ruler of so vast an empire was
  engaged in struggles for ascendency with the petty chiefs of
  rival tribes. His boundless ambition early conceived the
  conquest and monarchy of the world; his wish was "to live in
  the memory and esteem of future ages." He was born in a
  period of anarchy, when the crumbling kingdoms of the
  Asiatic dynasties were no longer able to resist the
  adventurous spirit determined to occupy the new field of
  military triumph which opened before him. At the age of
  twenty-five Timur was hailed as the deliverer of his
  country. When he chose Samarkand as the capital of his
  dominion, he declared his purpose to make that dominion
  embrace the whole habitable earth; and at the height of his
  power he ruled from the Great Wall of China to the centre of
  Russia on the north, while his sovereignty extended to the
  Mediterranean and the Nile on the west, and on the east to
  the sources of the Ganges. In his own person he united
  twenty-seven different sovereignties, and nine several
  dynasties of kings gave place to the unparalleled conqueror,
  who won by the sword a larger portion of the globe than
  Cyrus or Alexander, Caesar or Attila, Genghis Khan,
  Charlemagne, or Napoleon.

  It was believed in the family and empire of Timur that he
  himself composed the _Commentaries_ of his life and the
  _Institutions_ of his government, which, however, were
  probably the work of his secretaries. These manuscripts have
  been of great service to historians in their study of
  Timur's career.

At the age of thirty-four, and in a general diet, Timur was invested
with imperial command, but he affected to revere the house of Genghis;
and while the emir Timur reigned over Zagatai and the East, a nominal
khan served as a private officer in the armies of his servant. Without
expatiating on the victories of thirty-five campaigns, without
describing the lines of march which he repeatedly traced over the
continent of Asia, I shall briefly represent Timur's conquests in
Persia, Tartary, and India, and from thence proceed to the more
interesting narrative of his Ottoman war.

No sooner had Timur reunited to the patrimony of Zagatai the dependent
countries of Karizme and Kandahar than he turned his eyes toward the
kingdoms of Iran or Persia. From the Oxus to the Tigris that extensive
country was without a lawful sovereign. Peace and justice had been
banished from the land above forty years; and the Mongol invader might
seem to listen to the cries of an oppressed people. Their petty tyrants
might have opposed him with confederate arms: they separately stood and
successively fell; and the difference of their fate was only marked by
the promptitude of submission or the obstinacy of resistance. Ibrahim,
Prince of Shirwan or Albania, kissed the footstool of the imperial
throne. His peace offerings of silks, horses, and jewels were composed,
according to the Tartar fashion, each article of nine pieces; but a
critical spectator observed that there were only eight slaves. "I myself
am the ninth," replied Ibraham, who was prepared for the remark: and his
flattery was rewarded by the smile of Timur.

Shah Mansur, Prince of Fars, or the proper Persia, was one of the least
powerful, but most dangerous, of his enemies. In a battle under the
walls of Shiraz, he broke, with three or four thousand soldiers, the
_coul_, or main body, of thirty thousand horse, where the Emperor fought
in person. No more than fourteen or fifteen guards remained near the
standard of Timur; he stood firm as a rock, and received on his helmet
two weighty strokes of a cimeter; the Mongols rallied; the head of
Mansur was thrown at his feet; and he declared his esteem of the valor
of a foe by extirpating all the males of so intrepid a race. From Shiraz
his troops advanced to the Persian Gulf; and the richness and weakness
of Ormus were displayed in an annual tribute of six hundred thousand
dinars of gold.

Bagdad was no longer the city of peace, the seat of the caliphs; but the
noblest conquest of Khulagu could not be overlooked by his ambitious
successor. The whole course of the Tigris and Euphrates, from the mouth
to the sources of those rivers, was reduced to his obedience; he entered
Edessa; and the Turcomans of the black sheep were chastised for the
sacrilegious pillage of a caravan of Mecca. In the mountains of Georgia
the native Christians still braved the law and the sword of Mahomet; by
three expeditions he obtained the merit of the _gazie_, or holy war; and
the Prince of Tiflis became his proselyte and friend.

A just retaliation might be urged for the invasion of Turkestan, or the
Eastern Tartary. The dignity of Timur could not endure the impunity of
the Getes: he passed the Sihun, subdued the kingdom of Kashgar, and
marched seven times into the heart of their country. His most distant
camp was two months' journey to the northeast of Samarkand; and his
emirs, who traversed the river Irtysh, engraved in the forests of
Siberia a rude memorial of their exploits. The conquest of Kiptchak, or
the Western Tartary, was founded on the double motive of aiding the
distressed and chastising the ungrateful. Toctamish, a fugitive prince,
was entertained and protected in his court; the ambassadors of Auruss
Khan were dismissed with a haughty denial, and followed on the same day
by the armies of Zagatai; and their success established Toctamish in the
Mongol empire of the North.

But, after a reign of ten years, the new Khan forgot the merits and the
strength of his benefactor--the base usurper, as he deemed him, of the
sacred rights of the house of Genghis. Through the gates of Derbent he
entered Persia at the head of ninety thousand horse: with the
innumerable forces of Kiptchak, Bulgaria, Circassia, and Russia, he
passed the Sihun, burned the palaces of Timur, and compelled him, amid
the winter snows, to contend for Samarkand and his life. After a mild
expostulation and a glorious victory the Emperor resolved on revenge;
and by the east and the west of the Caspian and the Volga he twice
invaded Kiptchak with such mighty powers that thirteen miles were
measured from his right to his left wing. In a march of five months they
rarely beheld the footsteps of man; and their daily subsistence was
often trusted to the fortune of the chase. At length the armies
encountered each other; but the treachery of the standard-bearer, who,
in the heat of action, reversed the imperial standard of Kiptchak,
determined the victory of the Zagatais and Toctamish--I speak the
language of the _Institutions_--gave the tribe of Toushi to the wind of
desolation. He fled to the Christian Duke of Lithuania, again returned
to the banks of the Volga, and, after fifteen battles with a domestic
rival, at last perished in the wilds of Siberia.

The pursuit of a flying enemy carried Timur into the tributary provinces
of Russia; a duke of the reigning family was made prisoner amid the
ruins of his capital; and Yelets, by the pride and ignorance of the
orientals, might easily be confounded with the genuine metropolis of the
nation. Moscow trembled at the approach of the Tartar. Ambition and
prudence recalled him to the south, the desolate country was exhausted,
and the Mongol soldiers were enriched with an immense spoil of precious
furs, of linen of Antioch, and of ingots of gold and silver. On the
banks of the Don, or Tanais, he received a humble deputation from the
consuls and merchants of Egypt, Venice, Genoa, Catalonia, and Biscay,
who occupied the commerce and city of Tana, or Azov, at the mouth of the
river. They offered their gifts, admired his magnificence, and trusted
his royal word. But the peaceful visit of an emir, who explored the
state of the magazines and harbor, was speedily followed by the
destructive presence of the Tartars. The city of Tana was reduced to
ashes; the Moslems were pillaged and dismissed; but all the Christians
who had not fled to their ships were condemned either to death or
slavery. Revenge prompted him to burn the cities of Sarai and Astrakhan,
the monuments of rising civilization; and his vanity proclaimed that he
had penetrated to the region of perpetual daylight, a strange
phenomenon, which authorized his Mahometan doctors to dispense with the
obligation of evening prayer.

When Timur first proposed to his princes and emirs the invasion of India
or Hindustan, he was answered by a murmur of discontent: "The rivers!
and the mountains and deserts! and the soldiers clad in armor! and the
elephants, destroyers of men!" But the displeasure of the Emperor was
more dreadful than all these terrors; and his superior reason was
convinced that an enterprise of such tremendous aspect was safe and easy
in the execution. He was informed by his spies of the weakness and
anarchy of Hindustan: the _subahs_ of the provinces had erected the
standard of rebellion; and the perpetual infancy of Sultan Mahmud was
despised even in the harem of Delhi. The Mongol army moved in three
great divisions, and Timur observes with pleasure that the ninety-two
squadrons of a thousand horse most fortunately corresponded with the
ninety-two names or epithets of the prophet Mahomet.

Between the Jihun and the Indus they crossed one of the ridges of
mountains which are styled by the Arabian geographers the "Stony Girdles
of the Earth." The highland robbers were subdued or extirpated; but
great numbers of men and horses perished in the snow; the Emperor
himself was let down a precipice on a portable scaffold--the ropes were
one hundred and fifty cubits in length--and before he could reach the
bottom, this dangerous operation was five times repeated. Timur crossed
the Indus at the ordinary passage of Attock, and successively traversed,
in the footsteps of Alexander, the Punjab, or five rivers, that fall
into the master stream. From Attock to Delhi the high road measures no
more than six hundred miles; but the two conquerors deviated to the
southeast; and the motive of Timur was to join his grandson, who had
achieved by his command the conquest of Multan. On the eastern bank of
the Hyphasis, on the edge of the desert, the Macedonian hero halted and
wept; the Mongol entered the desert, reduced the fortress of Batnir, and
stood in arms before the gates of Delhi, a great and flourishing city,
which had subsisted three centuries under the dominion of the Mahometan
kings.

The siege, more especially of the castle, might have been a work of
time; but he tempted, by the appearance of weakness, the Sultan Mahmud
and his wazir to descend into the plain, with ten thousand cuirassiers,
forty thousand of his foot-guards, and one hundred and twenty elephants,
whose tusks are said to have been armed with sharp and poisoned daggers.
Against these monsters, or rather against the imagination of his troops,
he condescended to use some extraordinary precautions of fire and a
ditch, of iron spikes and a rampart of bucklers; but the event taught
the Mongols to smile at their own fears; and as soon as these unwieldy
animals were routed, the inferior species (the men of India) disappeared
from the field. Timur made his triumphal entry into the capital of
Hindustan, and admired, with a view to imitate, the architecture of the
stately mosque; but the order or license of a general pillage and
massacre polluted the festival of his victory. He resolved to purify his
soldiers in the blood of the idolaters, or Gentoos, who still surpass,
in the proportion of ten to one, the numbers of the Moslems. In this
pious design he advanced one hundred miles to the northeast of Delhi,
passed the Ganges, fought several battles by land and water, and
penetrated to the famous rock of Cupele, the statue of the cow,[58] that
_seems_ to discharge the mighty river, whose source is far distant among
the mountains of Tibet. His return was along the skirts of the northern
hills; nor could this rapid campaign of one year justify the strange
foresight of his emirs, that their children in a warm climate would
degenerate into a race of Hindus.

It was on the banks of the Ganges that Timur was informed, by his speedy
messengers, of the disturbances which had arisen on the confines of
Georgia and Anatolia, of the revolt of the Christians, and the ambitious
designs of the sultan Bajazet. His vigor of mind and body was not
impaired by sixty-three years and innumerable fatigues; and, after
enjoying some tranquil months in the palace of Samarkand, he proclaimed
a new expedition of seven years into the western countries of Asia. To
the soldiers who had served in the Indian war he granted the choice of
remaining at home or following their prince; but the troops of all the
provinces and kingdoms of Persia were commanded to assemble at Ispahan
and wait the arrival of the imperial standard. It was first directed
against the Christians of Georgia, who were strong only in their rocks,
their castles, and the winter season; but these obstacles were overcome
by the zeal and perseverance of Timur: the rebels submitted to the
tribute or the _Koran_; and if both religions boasted of their martyrs,
that name is more justly due to the Christian prisoners, who were
offered the choice of abjuration or death.

On his descent from the hills the Emperor gave audience to the first
ambassadors of Bajazet, and opened the hostile correspondence of
complaints and menaces, which fermented two years before the final
explosion. Between two jealous and haughty neighbors, the motives of
quarrel will seldom be wanting. The Mongol and Ottoman conquests now
touched each other in the neighborhood of Erzerum and the Euphrates; nor
had the doubtful limit been ascertained by time and treaty. Each of
these ambitious monarchs might accuse his rival of violating his
territory, of threatening his vassals and protecting his rebels; and, by
the name of rebels, each understood the fugitive princes, whose kingdoms
he had usurped and whose life or liberty he implacably pursued. In their
victorious career Timur was impatient of an equal, and Bajazet was
ignorant of a superior.

In his first expedition, Timur was satisfied with the siege and
destruction of Sebaste, a strong city on the borders of Anatolia. He
then turned aside to the invasion of Syria and Egypt, where the military
republic of the mamelukes still reigned. The Syrian emirs were assembled
at Aleppo to repel the invasion; they confided in the fame and
discipline of the mamelukes, in the temper of their swords and lances of
the purest steel of Damascus, in the strength of their walled cities,
and in the populousness of sixty thousand villages; and instead of
sustaining a siege, they threw open their gates and arrayed their forces
in the plain. But these forces were not cemented by virtue and union,
and some powerful emirs had been seduced to desert or betray their more
loyal companions. Timur's front was covered with a line of Indian
elephants, whose turrets were filled with archers and Greek fire; the
rapid evolutions of his cavalry completed the dismay and disorder; the
Syrian crowds fell back on each other; many thousands were stifled or
slaughtered in the entrance of the great street; the Mongols entered
with the fugitives; and after a short defence the impregnable citadel of
Aleppo was surrendered by cowardice or treachery. Among the suppliants
and captives, Timur distinguished the doctors of the law, whom he
invited to the dangerous honor of a personal conference. The Mongol
Prince was a zealous Mussulman; but his Persian schools had taught him
to revere the memory of Ali and Hasan; and he had imbibed a deep
prejudice against the Syrians as the enemies of the son of the daughter
of the apostle of God. To these doctors he proposed a captious question,
which the casuists of Samarkand and Herat were incapable of resolving.
"Who are the true martyrs, of those who are slain on my side or on that
of my enemies?" But he was silenced, or satisfied, by the dexterity of
one of the cadis of Aleppo, who replied, in the words of Mahomet
himself, that the motive, not the ensign, constitutes the martyr; and
that the Moslems of either party who fight only for the glory of God may
deserve that sacred appellation. The true succession of the caliphs was
a controversy of a still more delicate nature; and the frankness of a
doctor, too honest for his situation, provoked the Emperor to exclaim:
"Ye are as false as those of Damascus: Moawiyah was a usurper, Yezid a
tyrant, and Ali alone is the lawful successor of the Prophet." A prudent
explanation restored his tranquillity, and he passed to a more familiar
topic of conversation. "What is your age?" said he to the cadi. "Fifty
years." "It would be the age of my eldest son: you see me here,"
continued Timur, "a poor, lame, decrepit mortal. Yet by my arms has the
Almighty been pleased to subdue the kingdoms of Iran, Turan, and the
Indies. I am not a man of blood; and God is my witness that in all my
wars I have never been the aggressor, and that my enemies have always
been the authors of their own calamity." During this peaceful
conversation the streets of Aleppo streamed with blood and reechoed with
the cries of mothers and children, with the shrieks of violated virgins.
The rich plunder that was abandoned to his soldiers might stimulate
their avarice; but their cruelty was enforced by the peremptory command
of producing an adequate number of heads, which, according to his
custom, were curiously piled in columns and pyramids. The Mongols
celebrated the feast of victory, while the surviving Moslems passed the
night in tears and in chains.

I shall not dwell on the march of the destroyer from Aleppo to Damascus,
where he was rudely encountered, and almost overthrown, by the armies
of Egypt. A retrograde motion was imputed to his distress and despair;
one of his nephews deserted to the enemy; and Syria rejoiced in the tale
of his defeat, when the Sultan was driven, by the revolt of the
mamelukes, to escape with precipitation and shame to his palace of
Cairo. Abandoned by their Prince, the inhabitants of Damascus still
defended their walls; and Timur consented to raise the siege if they
would adorn his retreat with a gift or ransom, each article of nine
pieces. But no sooner had he introduced himself into the city, under
color of a truce, than he perfidiously violated the treaty, imposed a
contribution of ten millions of gold, and animated his troops to
chastise the posterity of those Syrians who had executed, or approved,
the murder of the grandson of Mahomet. After a period of seven centuries
Damascus was reduced to ashes, because a Tartar was moved by religious
zeal to avenge the blood of an Arab.

The losses and fatigues of the campaign obliged Timur to renounce the
conquest of Palestine and Egypt; but in his return to the Euphrates he
delivered Aleppo to the flames and justified his pious motive by the
pardon and reward of two thousand sectaries of Ali, who were desirous to
visit the tomb of his son. I have expatiated on the personal anecdotes
which mark the character of the Mongol hero, but I shall briefly mention
that he erected, on the ruins of Bagdad, a pyramid of ninety thousand
heads; again visited Georgia; encamped on the banks of the Araxes; and
proclaimed his resolution of marching against the Ottoman Emperor.
Conscious of the importance of the war, he collected his forces from
every province; eight hundred thousand men were enrolled on his military
list, but the splendid commands of five and ten thousand horse may be
rather expressive of the rank and pension of the chiefs than of the
genuine number of effective soldiers. In the pillage of Syria the
Mongols had acquired immense riches; but the delivery of their pay and
arrears for seven years more firmly attached them to the imperial
standard.

During this diversion of the Mongol arms, Bajazet had two years to
collect his forces for a more serious encounter. They consisted of four
hundred thousand horse and foot whose merit and fidelity were of an
unequal complexion. We may discriminate the janizaries, who have been
gradually raised to an establishment of forty thousand men; a national
cavalry (the _spahis_ of modern times); twenty thousand cuirassiers of
Europe, clad in black and impenetrable armor; the troops of Anatolia,
whose princes had taken refuge in the camp of Timur: and a colony of
Tartars, whom he had driven from Kiptchak, and to whom Bajazet had
assigned a settlement in the plains of Adrianople. The fearless
confidence of the Sultan urged him to meet his antagonist; and, as if he
had chosen that spot for revenge, he displayed his banner near the ruins
of the unfortunate Sebaste.

In the mean while Timur moved from the Araxes through the countries of
Armenia and Anatolia. His boldness was secured by the wisest
precautions; his speed was guided by order and discipline; and the
woods, the mountains, and the rivers were diligently explored by the
flying squadrons, who marked his road and preceded his standard. Firm in
his plan of fighting in the heart of the Ottoman kingdom, he avoided
their camp, dexterously inclined to the left, occupied Caesarea,
traversed the salt desert and the river Halys, and invested Angora;
while the Sultan, immovable and ignorant in his post, compared the
Tartar swiftness to the crawling of a snail. He returned on the wings of
indignation to the relief of Angora; and as both generals were alike
impatient for action, the plains round that city were the scene of a
memorable battle, which has immortalized the glory of Timur and the
shame of Bajazet.

For this signal victory the Mongol Emperor was indebted to himself, to
the genius of the moment, and the discipline of thirty years. He had
improved the tactics, without violating the manners, of his nation,
whose force still consisted in the missile weapons and rapid evolutions
of a numerous cavalry. From a single troop to a great army, the mode of
attack was the same; a foremost line first advanced to the charge, and
was supported in a just order by the squadrons of the great vanguard.
The general's eye watched over the field, and at his command the front
and rear of the right and left wings successively moved forward in their
several divisions, and in a direct or oblique line; the enemy was
pressed by eighteen or twenty attacks; and each attack afforded a
chance of victory. If they all proved fruitless or unsuccessful, the
occasion was worthy of the Emperor himself, who gave the signal of
advancing to the standard and main body, which he led in person. But in
the battle of Angora, the main body itself was supported, on the flanks
and in the rear, by the bravest squadrons of the reserve, commanded by
the sons and grandsons of Timur. The conqueror of Hindustan
ostentatiously showed a line of elephants, the trophies rather than the
instruments of victory; the use of the Greek fire was familiar to the
Mongols and Ottomans; but had they borrowed from Europe the recent
invention of gunpowder and cannon, the artificial thunder, in the hands
of either nation, must have turned the fortune of the day. In that day
Bajazet displayed the qualities of a soldier and a chief; but his genius
sunk under a stronger ascendant; and, from various motives, the greatest
part of his troops failed him in the decisive moment. His rigor and
avarice had provoked a mutiny among the Turks; and even his son Solyman
too hastily withdrew from the field. The forces of Anatolia, loyal in
their revolt, were drawn away to the banners of their lawful princes.
His Tartar allies had been tempted by the letters and emissaries of
Timur, who reproached their ignoble servitude under the slaves of their
fathers; and offered to their hopes the dominion of their new, or the
liberty of their ancient, country. In the right wing of Bajazet the
cuirassiers of Europe charged with faithful hearts and irresistible
arms; but these men of iron were soon broken by an artful flight and
headlong pursuit; and the janizaries, alone, without cavalry or missile
weapons, were encompassed by the circle of the Mongol hunters. Their
valor was at length oppressed by heat, thirst, and the weight of
numbers; and the unfortunate Sultan, afflicted with the gout in his
hands and feet, was transported from the field on the fleetest of his
horses. He was pursued and taken by the titular Khan of Zagatai; and,
after his capture and the defeat of the Ottoman powers, the kingdom of
Anatolia submitted to the conqueror, who planted his standard at
Kiotahia, and dispersed on all sides the ministers of rapine and
destruction. Mirza Mehemmed Sultan, the eldest and best beloved of his
grandsons, was despatched to Bursa, with thirty thousand horse; and such
was his youthful ardor that he arrived with only four thousand at the
gates of the capital, after performing in five days a march of two
hundred and thirty miles. Yet fear is still more rapid in its course;
and Solyman, the son of Bajazet, had already passed over to Europe with
the royal treasure. The spoil, however, of the palace and city was
immense; the inhabitants had escaped; but the buildings, for the most
part of wood, were reduced to ashes. From Bursa, the grandson of Timur
advanced to Nice, even yet a fair and flourishing city; and the Mongol
squadrons were only stopped by the waves of the Propontis. The same
success attended the other mirzas and emirs in their excursions, and
Smyrna, defended by the zeal and courage of the Rhodian knights, alone
deserved the presence of the Emperor himself. After an obstinate
defence, the place was taken by storm; all that breathed was put to the
sword; and the heads of the Christian heroes were launched from the
engines, on board of two caracks, or great ships of Europe, that rode at
anchor in the harbor. The Moslems of Asia rejoiced in their deliverance
from a dangerous and domestic foe and a parallel was drawn between the
two rivals, by observing that Timur, in fourteen days, had reduced a
fortress which had sustained seven years the siege, or at least the
blockade, of Bajazet.

The "iron cage" in which Bajazet was imprisoned by Timur, so long and so
often repeated as a moral lesson, is now rejected as a fable by the
modern writers, who smile at the vulgar credulity. They appeal with
confidence to the Persian history of Sherefeddin Ali, according to which
has been given to our curiosity in a French version, and from which I
shall collect and abridge, a more specious narrative of this memorable
transaction. No sooner was Timur informed that the captive Ottoman was
at the door of his tent than he graciously stepped forward to receive
him, seated him by his side, and mingled with just reproaches a soothing
pity for his rank and misfortune.

"Alas!" said the Emperor, "the decree of fate is now accomplished by
your own fault; it is the web which you have woven, the thorns of the
tree which yourself have planted. I wished to spare, and even to assist,
the champion of the Moslems. You braved our threats; you despised our
friendship; you forced us to enter your kingdom with our invincible
armies. Behold the event. Had you vanquished, I am not ignorant of the
fate which you reserved for myself and my troops. But I disdain to
retaliate; your life and honor are secure; and I shall express my
gratitude to God by my clemency to man."

The royal captive showed some signs of repentance, accepted the
humiliation of a robe of honor, and embraced with tears his son Musa,
who, at his request, was sought and found among the captives of the
field. The Ottoman princes were lodged in a splendid pavilion; and the
respect of the guards could be surpassed only by their vigilance. On the
arrival of the harem from Bursa, Timur restored the queen Despina and
her daughter to their father and husband; but he piously required that
the Servian princess, who had hitherto been indulged in the profession
of Christianity, should embrace, without delay, the religion of the
Prophet. In the feast of victory, to which Bajazet was invited, the
Mongol Emperor placed a crown on his head and a sceptre in his hand,
with a solemn assurance of restoring him with an increase of glory to
the throne of his ancestors. But the effect of this promise was
disappointed by the Sultan's untimely death. Amid the care of the most
skilful physicians, he expired of an apoplexy, about nine months after
his defeat. The victor dropped a tear over his grave; his body, with
royal pomp, was conveyed to the mausoleum which he had erected at Bursa;
and his son Musa, after receiving a rich present of gold and jewels, of
horses and arms, was invested by a patent in red ink with the kingdom of
Anatolia.

Such is the portrait of a generous conqueror, which has been extracted
from his own memorials and dedicated to his son and grandson, nineteen
years after his decease; and, at a time when the truth was remembered by
thousands, a manifest falsehood would have implied a satire on his real
conduct. Weighty, indeed, is this evidence, adopted by all the Persian
histories; yet flattery, more especially in the East, is base and
audacious; and the harsh and ignominious treatment of Bajazet is
attested by a chain of witnesses.

I am satisfied that Sherefeddin Ali has faithfully described the first
ostentatious interview, in which the conqueror, whose spirits were
harmonized by success, affected the character of generosity. But his
mind was insensibly alienated by the unseasonable arrogance of Bajazet;
and Timur betrayed a design of leading his royal captive in triumph to
Samarkand. An attempt to facilitate his escape, by digging a mine under
the tent, provoked the Mongol Emperor to impose a harsher restraint; and
in his perpetual marches, an iron cage on a wagon might be invented, not
as a wanton insult, but as a rigorous precaution. But the strength of
Bajazet's mind and body fainted under the trial, and his premature death
might, without injustice, be ascribed to the severity of Timur.

From the Irtysh and Volga to the Persian Gulf, and from the Ganges to
Damascus and the Archipelago, Asia was in the hands of Timur; his armies
were invincible, his ambition was boundless, and his zeal might aspire
to conquer and convert the Christian kingdoms of the West, which already
trembled at his name. He touched the utmost verge of the land; but an
insuperable, though narrow, sea rolled between the two continents of
Europe and Asia; and the lord of so many myriads of horse was not master
of a single galley. The two passages of the Bosporus and Hellespont, of
Constantinople and Gallipoli, were possessed, the one by the Christians,
the other by the Turks. On this great occasion they forgot the
difference of religion, to act with union and firmness in the common
cause; the double straits were guarded with ships and fortifications;
and they separately withheld the transports which Timur demanded of
either nation, under the pretence of attacking their enemy. At the same
time they soothed his pride with tributary gifts and suppliant
embassies, and prudently tempted him to retreat with the honors of
victory. Solyman, the son of Bajazet, implored his clemency for his
father and himself; accepted, by a red patent, the investiture of the
kingdom of Romania, which he already held by the sword; and reiterated
his ardent wish of casting himself in person at the feet of the king of
the world. The Greek Emperor--either John or Manuel--submitted to pay
the same tribute which he had stipulated with the Turkish Sultan, and
ratified the treaty by an oath of allegiance, from which he could
absolve his conscience so soon as the Mongol arms had retired from
Anatolia. But the fears and fancy of nations ascribed to the ambitious
Tamerlane a new design of vast and romantic compass; a design of
subduing Egypt and Africa, marching from the Nile to the Atlantic Ocean,
entering Europe by the Straits of Gibraltar, and, after imposing his
yoke on the kingdoms of Christendom, of returning home by the deserts of
Russia and Tartary. This remote, and perhaps imaginary, danger was
averted by the submission of the Sultan of Egypt, the honors of the
prayer and the coin attested at Cairo the supremacy of Timur; and a rare
gift of a giraffe, or camelopard, and nine ostriches, represented at
Samarkand the tribute of the African world. Our imagination is not less
astonished by the portrait of a Mongol, who, in his camp before Smyrna,
meditates, and almost accomplishes, the invasion of the Chinese empire.
Timur was urged to this enterprise by national honor and religious zeal.
He received a perfect map and description of the unknown regions, from
the source of Irtysh to the Wall of China. During the preparations, the
Emperor achieved the final conquest of Georgia; passed the winter on the
banks of the Araxes; appeased the troubles of Persia; and slowly
returned to his capital, after a campaign of four years and nine months.

On the throne of Samarkand he displayed, in a short repose, his
magnificence and power; listened to the complaints of the people;
distributed a just measure of rewards and punishments; employed his
riches in the architecture of palaces and temples; and gave audience to
the ambassadors of Egypt, Arabia, India, Tartary, Russia, and Spain, the
last of whom presented a suit of tapestry which eclipsed the pencil of
the oriental artists. A general indulgence was proclaimed; every law was
relaxed, every pleasure was allowed; the people was free, the sovereign
was idle; and the historian of Timur may remark that, after devoting
fifty years to the attainment of empire, the only happy period of his
life was the two months in which he ceased to exercise his power.

But he soon awakened to the cares of government and war. The standard
was unfurled for the invasion of China; the emirs made their report of
two hundred thousand, the select and veteran soldiers of Iran and Turan;
their baggage and provisions were transported by five hundred great
wagons and an immense train of horses and camels; and the troops might
prepare for a long absence, since more than six months were employed in
the tranquil journey of a caravan from Samarkand to Peking. Neither age
nor the severity of the winter could retard the impatience of Timur; he
mounted on horseback, passed the Sihun on the ice, marched seventy-six
parasangs (three hundred miles) from his capital, and pitched his last
camp in the neighborhood of Otrar, where he was expected by the angel of
death. Fatigue and the indiscreet use of iced water accelerated the
progress of his fever; and the conqueror of Asia expired in the
seventieth year of his age, 1405, thirty-five years after he had
ascended the throne of Zagatai. His designs were lost; his armies were
disbanded; China was saved; and, fourteen years after his decease, the
most powerful of his children sent an embassy of friendship and commerce
to the court of Peking.

The fame of Timur has pervaded the East and West; his posterity is still
invested with the imperial title; and the admiration of his subjects,
who revered him almost as a deity, may be justified in some degree by
the praise or confession of his bitterest enemies. Although he was lame
of a hand and foot, his form and stature were not unworthy of his rank;
and his vigorous health, so essential to himself and to the world, was
corroborated by temperance and exercise. In his familiar discourse he
was grave and modest; and if he was ignorant of the Arabic language, he
spoke with fluency and elegance the Persian and Turkish idioms. It was
his delight to converse with the learned on topics of history and
science; and the amusement of his leisure hours was the game of chess,
which he improved or corrupted with new refinements.

In his religion he was a zealous, though not perhaps an orthodox,
Mussulman; but his sound understanding may tempt us to believe that a
superstitious reverence for omens and prophecies, for saints and
astrologers, was only affected as an instrument of policy. In the
government of a vast empire, he stood alone and absolute, without a
rebel to oppose his power, a favorite to seduce his affections, or a
minister to mislead his judgment.

Timur might boast that at his accession to the throne Asia was the prey
of anarchy and rapine, while under his prosperous monarchy a child,
fearless and unhurt, might carry a purse of gold from the East to the
West. Such was his confidence of merit that from this reformation he
derived an excuse for his victories and a title to universal dominion.
The four following observations will serve to appreciate his claim to
the public gratitude; and perhaps we shall conclude that the Mongol
Emperor was rather the scourge than the benefactor of mankind. If some
partial disorders, some local oppressions, were healed by the sword of
Timur, the remedy was far more pernicious than the disease. By their
rapine, cruelty, and discord the petty tyrants of Persia might afflict
their subjects; but whole nations were crushed under the footsteps of
the reformer. The ground which had been occupied by flourishing cities
was often marked by his abominable trophies--by columns, or pyramids of
human heads. Astrakhan, Karizme, Delhi, Ispahan, Bagdad, Aleppo,
Damascus, Bursa, Smyrna, and a thousand others were sacked or burned or
utterly destroyed in his presence and by his troops; and perhaps his
conscience would have been startled if a priest or philosopher had dared
to number the millions of victims whom he had sacrificed to the
establishment of peace and order. His most destructive wars were rather
inroads than conquests. He invaded Turkestan, Kiptchak, Russia,
Hindustan, Syria, Anatolia, Armenia, and Georgia, without a hope or a
desire of preserving those distant provinces. From thence he departed
laden with spoil; but he left behind him neither troops to awe the
contumacious nor magistrates to protect the obedient natives. When he
had broken the fabric of their ancient government, he abandoned them in
their evils which his invasion had aggravated or caused; nor were these
evils compensated by any present or possible benefits. The kingdoms of
Transoxiana and Persia were the proper field which he labored to
cultivate and adorn as the perpetual inheritance of his family. But his
peaceful labors were often interrupted, and sometimes blasted, by the
absence of the conqueror. While he triumphed on the Volga or the Ganges,
his servants, and even his sons, forgot their master and their duty. The
public and private injuries were poorly redressed by the tardy rigor or
inquiry and punishment; and we must be content to praise the
_Institutions_ of Timur as the specious idea of a perfect monarchy.
Whatsoever might be the blessings of his administration, they evaporated
with his life. To reign, rather than to govern, was the ambition of his
children and grandchildren--the enemies of each other and of the people.
A fragment of the empire was upheld with some glory by Sharokh, his
youngest son; but after his decease the scene was again involved in
darkness and blood; and before the end of a century Transoxiana and
Persia were trampled by the Usbegs from the north, and the Turcomans of
the black and white sheep. The race of Timur would have been extinct if
a hero, his descendant in the fifth degree, had not fled before the
Usbeg arms to the conquest of Hindustan. His successors--the great
Mongols--extended their sway from the mountains of Cashmere to Cape
Comorin, and from Kandahar to the Gulf of Bengal. Since the reign of
Aurungzebe, their empire has been dissolved; their treasures of Delhi
have been rifled by a Persian robber; and the richest of their kingdoms
is now possessed by a company of Christian merchants, of a remote island
in the Northern Ocean.




DANCING MANIA OF THE MIDDLE AGES

A.D. 1374

J. F. C. Hecker[59]


  The black death, which originated in Central China about
  1333, appeared on the Mediterranean littoral in 1347,
  ravaged the island of Cyprus, made the circuit of the
  Mediterranean countries, spread throughout Europe northward
  as far as Iceland, and in 1357 appeared in Russia, where it
  seems to have been checked by the barrier of the Caucasus.

  Scarce had its effects subsided, and the graves of its
  25,000,000 victims were hardly closed, when it was followed
  by an epidemic of the dance of St. John, or St. Vitus, which
  like a demoniacal plague appeared in Germany in 1347, and
  spread over the whole empire and throughout the neighboring
  countries. The dance was characterized by wild leaping,
  furious screaming, and foaming at the mouth, which gave to
  the individuals affected all the appearance of insanity.

  The epidemic was not confined to particular localities, but
  was propagated by the sight of the sufferers, and for over
  two centuries excited the astonishment of contemporaries.
  The Netherlands and France were equally affected; in Italy
  the disease became known as _tarantism_, it being supposed
  to proceed from the bite of the tarantula, a venomous
  spider. Like the St. Vitus' dance in Germany, tarantism
  spread by sympathy, increasing in severity as it took a
  wider range; the chief cure was music, which seemed to
  furnish magical means for exorcising the malady of the
  patients.

  The epidemic subsided in Central Europe in the seventeenth
  century, but diseases approximating to the original dancing
  mania have occurred at various periods in many parts of
  Europe, Africa, and the United States. Nathaniel Pearce, an
  eye-witness, who resided nine years in Abyssinia early in
  the nineteenth century, gives a graphic account of a similar
  epidemic there, called _tigretier_, from the Tigre district,
  in which it was most prevalent. In France, from 1727 to
  1790, an epidemic prevailed among the Convulsionnaires, who
  received relief from brethren in the faith known as
  Secourists, very much after the rough methods administered
  to the St. John's dancers and to the _tarantati_. About the
  same period nervous epidemics of a similar character,
  largely propagated by sympathy, were very prevalent in the
  Shetland Islands and in various parts of Scotland, but were
  for the most part eradicated by cold-water immersion.

  An epidemic of _chorea sancti Viti_, recorded by Felix
  Robertson of Tennessee (Philadelphia, 1805), found vent in
  an unparalleled blaze of enthusiastic religion, which spread
  with lightning-like rapidity in almost every part of
  Tennessee and Kentucky, and in various parts of Virginia, in
  1800, being distinguished by uncontrollable and infectious
  muscular contractions, gesticulations, crying, laughing,
  shouting, and singing. To similar epidemics are attributed
  the uncontrollable acts which, till late in the nineteenth
  century, were a feature of North American camp meetings for
  divine service in the open air, and which exhibited the same
  form of mental disturbance as did the St. Vitus' dance in
  mediaeval Europe.

So early as the year 1374, assemblages of men and women were seen at
Aix-la-Chapelle who had come out of Germany, and who, united by one
common delusion, exhibited to the public both in the streets and in the
churches the following strange spectacle. They formed circles hand in
hand, and, appearing to have lost all control over their senses,
continued dancing, regardless of the bystanders, for hours together in
wild delirium, until at length they fell to the ground in a state of
exhaustion. They then complained of extreme oppression, and groaned as
if in the agonies of death, until they were swathed in cloths bound
tightly round their waists, upon which they again recovered, and
remained free from complaint until the next attack. This practice of
swathing was resorted to on account of the tympany which followed these
spasmodic ravings, but the bystanders frequently relieved patients in a
less artificial manner, by thumping and trampling upon the parts
affected. While dancing they neither saw nor heard, being insensible to
external impressions through the senses, but were haunted by visions,
their fancies conjuring up spirits whose names they shrieked out; and
some of them afterward asserted that they felt as if they had been
immersed in a stream of blood, which obliged them to leap so high.
Others, during the paroxysm, saw the heavens open and the Saviour
enthroned with the Virgin Mary, according as the religious notions of
the age were strangely and variously reflected in their imaginations.

Where the disease was completely developed, the attack commenced with
epileptic convulsions. Those affected fell to the ground senseless,
panting and laboring for breath. They foamed at the mouth, and suddenly
springing up began their dance amid strange contortions. Yet the malady
doubtless made its appearance very variously, and was modified by
temporary or local circumstances, whereof non-medical contemporaries but
imperfectly noted the essential particulars, accustomed as they were to
confound their observation of natural events with their notions of the
world of spirits.

It was but a few months ere this demoniacal disease had spread from
Aix-la-Chapelle, where it appeared in July, over the neighboring
Netherlands. In Liege, Utrecht, Tongres, and many other towns of Belgium
the dancers appeared with garlands in their hair, and their waists girt
with cloths, that they might, as soon as the paroxysm was over, receive
immediate relief on the attack of the tympany. This bandage was, by the
insertion of a stick, easily twisted tight. Many, however, obtained more
relief from kicks and blows, which they found numbers of persons ready
to administer; for, wherever the dancers appeared, the people assembled
in crowds to gratify their curiosity with the frightful spectacle. At
length the increasing number of the affected excited no less anxiety
than the attention that was paid to them. In towns and villages they
took possession of the religious houses; processions were everywhere
instituted on their account and masses were said and hymns were sung,
while the disease itself, of the demoniacal origin of which no one
entertained the least doubt, excited everywhere astonishment and horror.
In Liege the priests had recourse to exorcisms, and endeavored, by every
means in their power, to allay an evil which threatened so much danger
to themselves; for the possessed, assembling in multitudes, frequently
poured forth imprecations against them and menaced their destruction.
They intimidated the people also to such a degree that there was an
express ordinance issued that no one should make any but square-toed
shoes, because these fanatics had manifested a morbid dislike to the
pointed shoes which had come into fashion immediately after the "great
mortality," in 1350. They were still more irritated at the sight of red
colors, the influence of which on the disordered nerves might lead us to
imagine an extraordinary accordance between this spasmodic malady and
the condition of infuriated animals; but in the St. John's dancers this
excitement was probably connected with apparitions consequent upon their
convulsions. There were likewise some of them who were unable to
endure the sight of persons weeping. The clergy seemed to become daily
more and more confirmed in their belief that those who were affected
were a kind of sectarians, and on this account they hastened their
exorcisms as much as possible, in order that the evil might not spread
among the higher classes, for hitherto scarcely any but the poor had
been attacked, and the few people of respectability among the laity and
clergy who were to be found among them were persons whose natural
frivolity was unable to withstand the excitement of novelty, even though
it proceeded from a demoniacal influence. Some of the affected had
indeed themselves declared, when under the influence of priestly forms
of exorcism, that, if the demons had been allowed only a few weeks more
time, they would have entered the bodies of the nobility and princes,
and through these have destroyed the clergy. Assertions of this sort,
which those possessed uttered while in a state which may be compared
with that of magnetic sleep, obtained general belief, and passed from
mouth to mouth with wonderful additions. The priesthood were, on this
account, so much the more zealous in their endeavors to anticipate every
dangerous excitement of the people, as if the existing order of things
could have been seriously threatened by such incoherent ravings. Their
exertions were effectual, for exorcism was a powerful remedy in the
fourteenth century; or it might perhaps be that this wild infatuation
terminated in consequence of the exhaustion which naturally ensued from
it; at all events, in the course of ten or eleven months the St. John's
dancers were no longer to be found in any of the cities of Belgium. The
evil, however, was too deeply rooted to give way altogether to such
feeble attacks.

A few months after this dancing malady had made its appearance at
Aix-la-Chapelle, it broke out at Cologne, where the number of those
possessed amounted to more than five hundred, and about the same time at
Metz, the streets of which place are said to have been filled with
eleven hundred dancers. Peasants left their ploughs, mechanics their
workshops, housewives their domestic duties, to join the wild revels,
and this rich commercial city became the scene of the most ruinous
disorder. Secret desires were excited, and but too often found
opportunities for wild enjoyment; and numerous beggars, stimulated by
vice and misery, availed themselves of this new complaint to gain a
temporary livelihood. Girls and boys quitted their parents, and servants
their masters, to amuse themselves at the dances of those possessed, and
greedily imbibed the poison of mental infection. Gangs of idle
vagabonds, who understood how to imitate to the life the gestures and
convulsions of those really affected, roved from place to place seeking
maintenance and adventures, and thus, wherever they went, spreading this
disgusting spasmodic disease like a plague; for in maladies of this kind
the susceptible are infected as easily by the appearance as by the
reality. At last it was found necessary to drive away these mischievous
guests, who were equally inaccessible to the exorcisms of the priests
and the remedies of the physicians. It was not, however, until after
four months that the Rhenish cities were able to suppress these
impostors, which had so alarmingly increased the original evil. In the
mean time, when once called into existence, the plague crept on, and
found abundant food in the tone of thought which prevailed in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and even, though in a minor degree,
throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth, causing a permanent disorder
of the mind, and exhibiting, in those cities to whose inhabitants it was
a novelty, scenes as strange as they were detestable.

Strasburg was visited by the dancing plague, or St. Vitus' dance,[60] in
the year 1418, and the same infatuation existed among the people there
as in the towns of Belgium and the Lower Rhine. Many who were seized at
the sight of those affected, excited attention at first by their
confused and absurd behavior, and then by their constantly following the
swarms of dancers. These were seen day and night passing through the
streets, accompanied by musicians playing on bagpipes, and by
innumerable spectators attracted by curiosity, to which were added
anxious parents and relations, who came to look after those among the
misguided multitude who belonged to their respective families. Imposture
and profligacy played their part in this city also, but the morbid
delusion itself seems to have predominated. On this account religion
could only bring provisional aid, and therefore the town council
benevolently took an interest in the afflicted. They divided them into
separate parties, to each of which they appointed responsible
superintendents to protect them from harm and perhaps also to restrain
their turbulence. They were thus conducted on foot and in carriages to
the chapels of St. Vitus, near Zabern and Rotestein, where priests were
in attendance to work upon their misguided minds by masses and other
religious ceremonies. After divine worship was completed, they were led
in solemn procession to the altar, where they made some small offering
of alms, and where it is probable that many were, through the influence
of devotion and the sanctity of the place, cured of this lamentable
aberration. It is worthy of observation, at all events, that the dancing
mania did not recommence at the altars of the saint, and that from him
alone assistance was implored, and through his miraculous interposition
a cure was expected, which was beyond the reach of human skill. The
personal history of St. Vitus is by no means unimportant in this matter.
He was a Sicilian youth, who, together with Modestus and Crescentia,
suffered martyrdom at the time of the persecution of the Christians,
under Diocletian, in the year 303. The legends respecting him are
obscure, and he would certainly have been passed over without notice
among the innumerable apocryphal martyrs of the first centuries, had not
the transfer of his body to St. Denis, and thence, in the year 836, to
Corvey, raised him to a higher rank. From this time forth, it may be
supposed that many miracles were manifested at his new sepulchre, which
were of essential service in confirming the Roman faith among the
Germans, and St. Vitus was soon ranked among the fourteen saintly
helpers (_Nothhelfer_ or _Apotheker_). His altars were multiplied, and
the people had recourse to them in all kinds of distresses, and revered
him as a powerful intercessor. As the worship of these saints was,
however, at that time stripped of all historical connections, which were
purposely obliterated by the priesthood, a legend was invented at the
beginning of the fifteenth century, or perhaps even so early as the
fourteenth, that St. Vitus had, just before he bent his neck to the
sword, prayed to God that he might protect from the dancing mania all
those who should solemnize the day of his commemoration, and fast upon
its eve, and that thereupon a voice from heaven was heard, saying,
"Vitus, thy prayer is accepted." Thus St. Vitus became the patron saint
of those afflicted with the dancing plague, as St. Martin of Tours was
at one time the succorer of persons in smallpox.

The connection which John the Baptist had with the dancing mania of the
fourteenth century was of a totally different character. He was
originally far from being a protecting saint to those who were attacked,
or one who would be likely to give them relief from a malady considered
as the work of the devil. On the contrary, the manner in which he was
worshipped afforded an important and very evident cause for its
development. From the remotest period, perhaps even so far back as the
fourth century, St. John's Day was solemnized with all sorts of strange
and rude customs, of which the originally mystical meaning was variously
disfigured among different nations by super-added relics of heathenism.
Thus the Germans transferred to the festival of St. John's Day an
ancient heathen usage, the kindling of the _Nodfyr_, which was forbidden
them by St. Boniface, and the belief subsists even to the present day
that people and animals that have leaped through these flames, or their
smoke, are protected for a whole year from fevers and other diseases, as
if by a kind of baptism by fire. Bacchanalian dances, which have
originated in similar causes among all the rude nations of the earth,
and the wild extravagancies of a heated imagination, were the constant
accompaniments of this half-heathen, half-Christian festival. At the
period of which we are treating, however, the Germans were not the only
people who gave way to the ebullitions of fanaticism in keeping the
festival of St. John the Baptist. Similar customs were also to be found
among the nations of Southern Europe and of Asia,[61] and it is more
than probable that the Greeks transferred to the festival of John the
Baptist, who is also held in high esteem among the Mahometans, a part of
their Bacchanalian mysteries, an absurdity of a kind which it but too
frequently met with in human affairs. How far a remembrance of the
history of St. John's death may have had an influence on this occasion
we would leave learned theologians to decide. It is of importance here
to add only that in Abyssinia, a country entirely separated from Europe,
where Christianity has maintained itself in its primeval simplicity
against Mahometanism, John is to this day worshipped as protecting saint
of those who are attacked with the dancing malady. In these fragments of
the dominion of mysticism and superstition, historical connection is not
to be found.

When we observe, however, that the first dancers in Aix-la-Chapelle
appeared in July with St. John's name in their mouths, the conjecture is
probable that the wild revels of St. John's Day, A.D. 1374, gave rise to
this mental plague, which thenceforth has visited so many thousands with
incurable aberration of mind and disgusting distortions of body.

This is rendered so much the more probable because some months
previously the districts in the neighborhood of the Rhine and the Maine
had met with great disasters. So early as February both these rivers had
overflowed their banks to a great extent; the walls of the town of
Cologne, on the side next the Rhine, had fallen down, and a great many
villages had been reduced to the utmost distress. To this was added the
miserable condition of Western and Southern Germany. Neither law nor
edict could suppress the incessant feuds of the barons, and in Franconia
especially the ancient times of club law appeared to be revived.
Security of property there was none; arbitrary will everywhere
prevailed; corruption of morals and rude power rarely met with even a
feeble opposition; whence it arose that the cruel, but lucrative,
persecutions of the Jews were in many places still practised, through
the whole of this century, with their wonted ferocity. Thus, throughout
the western parts of Germany, and especially in the districts bordering
on the Rhine, there was a wretched and oppressed populace; and if we
take into consideration that among their numerous bands many wandered
about whose consciences were tormented with the recollection of the
crimes which they had committed during the prevalence of the black
plague, we shall comprehend how their despair sought relief in the
intoxication of an artificial delirium. There is hence good ground for
supposing that the frantic celebration of the festival of St. John, A.D.
1374, only served to bring to a crisis a malady which had been long
impending; and if we would further inquire how a hitherto harmless
usage, which like many others had but served to keep up superstition,
could degenerate into so serious a disease, we must take into account
the unusual excitement of men's minds and the consequences of
wretchedness and want. The bowels, which in many were debilitated by
hunger and bad food, were precisely the parts which in most cases were
attacked with excruciating pain, and the tympanitic state of the
intestines points out to the intelligent physician an origin of the
disorder which is well worth consideration.

The dancing mania of the year 1374 was, in fact, no new disease, but a
phenomenon well known in the Middle Ages, of which many wondrous stories
were traditionally current among the people. In the year 1237, upward of
a hundred children were said to have been suddenly seized with this
disease at Erfurt, and to have proceeded dancing and jumping along the
road to Arnstadt. When they arrived at that place they fell exhausted
to the ground, and, according to an account of an old chronicle, many of
them, after they were taken home by their parents, died, and the rest
remained affected to the end of their lives with the permanent tremor.
Another occurrence was related to have taken place on the Mosel bridge
at Utrecht, on June 17, 1278, when two hundred fanatics began to dance,
and would not desist until a priest passed who was carrying the host to
a person that was sick, upon which, as if in punishment of their crime,
the bridge gave way, and they were all drowned. A similar event also
occurred, so early as the year 1027, near the convent church of Kolbig,
not far from Bernburg. According to an oft-repeated tradition, eighteen
peasants, some of whose names are still preserved, are said to have
disturbed divine service on Christmas Eve by dancing and brawling in the
church-yard, whereupon the priest, Ruprecht, inflicted a curse upon
them, that they should dance and scream for a whole year without
ceasing. This curse is stated to have been completely fulfilled, so that
the unfortunate sufferers at length sank knee deep into the earth, and
remained the whole time without nourishment, until they were finally
released by the intercession of two pious bishops. It is said that upon
this they fell into a deep sleep, which lasted three days, and that four
of them died; the rest continuing to suffer all their lives from a
trembling of their limbs.[62] It is not worth while to separate what may
have been true and what the addition of crafty priests in this strangely
distorted story. It is sufficient that it was believed, and related with
astonishment and horror, throughout the Middle Ages, so that, when there
was any exciting cause for this delirious raving, and wild rage for
dancing, it failed not to produce its effects upon men whose thoughts
were given up to a belief in wonders and apparitions.

This disposition of mind, altogether so peculiar to the Middle Ages, and
which, happily for mankind, has yielded to an improved state of
civilization and the diffusion of popular instruction, accounts for the
origin and long duration of this extraordinary mental disorder. The good
sense of the people recoiled with horror and aversion from this heavy
plague, which, whenever malevolent persons wished to curse their
bitterest enemies and adversaries, was long after used as a
malediction.[63] The indignation also that was felt by the people at
large against the immorality of the age was proved by their ascribing
this frightful affliction to the inefficacy of baptism by unchaste
priests, as if innocent children were doomed to atone, in after years,
for this desecration of the sacrament administered by unholy hands. We
have already mentioned what perils the priests in the Netherlands
incurred from this belief. They now, indeed, endeavored to hasten their
reconciliation with the irritated and at that time very degenerate
people by exorcisms, which, with some, procured them greater respect
than ever, because they thus visibly restored thousands of those who
were affected. In general, however, there prevailed a want of confidence
in their efficacy, and then the sacred rites had as little power in
arresting the progress of this deeply rooted malady as the prayers and
holy services subsequently had at the altars of the greatly revered
martyr St. Vitus. We may, therefore, ascribe it to accident merely, and
to a certain aversion to this demoniacal disease, which seemed to lie
beyond the reach of human skill, that we meet with but few and imperfect
notices of the St. Vitus' dance in the second half of the fifteenth
century. The highly colored descriptions of the sixteenth century
contradict the notion that this mental plague had in any degree
diminished in its severity, and not a single fact is to be found which
supports the opinion that any one of the essential symptoms of the
disease, not even excepting the tympany, had disappeared, or that the
disorder itself had become milder in its attacks. The physicians never,
as it seems, throughout the whole of the fifteenth century, undertook
the treatment of the dancing mania, which, according to the prevailing
notions, appertained exclusively to the servants of the Church. Against
demoniacal disorders they had no remedies, and though some at first did
promulgate the opinion that the malady had its origin in natural
circumstances, such as a hot temperament, and other causes named in the
phraseology of the schools, yet these opinions were the less examined,
as it did not appear worth while to divide with a jealous priesthood the
care of a host of fanatical vagabonds and beggars.

It was not until the beginning of the sixteenth century that the St.
Vitus' dance was made the subject of medical research, and stripped of
its unhallowed character as a work of demons. This was effected by
Paracelsus, that mighty, but as yet scarcely comprehended, reformer of
medicine, whose aim it was to withdraw diseases from the pale of
miraculous interpositions and saintly influences, and explain their
causes upon principles deduced from his knowledge of the human frame.
"We will not, however, admit that the saints have power to inflict
diseases, and that these ought to be named after them, although many
there are who in their theology lay great stress on this supposition,
ascribing them rather to God than to nature, which is but idle talk. We
dislike such nonsensical gossip as is not supported by symptoms, but
only by faith, a thing which is not human, whereon the gods themselves
set no value."

Such were the words which Paracelsus addressed to his contemporaries,
who were as yet incapable of appreciating doctrines of this sort; for
the belief in enchantment still remained everywhere unshaken, and faith
in the world of spirits still held men's minds in so close a bondage
that thousands were, according to their own conviction, given up as a
prey to the devil; while, at the command of religion as well as of law,
countless piles were lighted, by the flames of which human society was
to be purified.

Paracelsus divides the St. Vitus' dance into three kinds: First, that
which arises from imagination (_Vitista_, _chorea imaginativa_,
_aestimativa_), by which the original dancing plague is to be understood;
secondly, that which arises from sensual desires, depending on the will
(_chorea lasciva_); thirdly, that which arises from corporeal causes
(_chorea naturalis_, _coacta_), which, according to a strange notion of
his own, he explained by maintaining that in certain vessels which are
susceptible of an internal pruriency, and thence produce laughter, the
blood is set in commotion, in consequence of an alteration in the vital
spirits, whereby involuntary fits of intoxicating joy, and a propensity
to dance, are occasioned. To this notion he was, no doubt, led from
having observed a milder form of St. Vitus' dance, not uncommon in his
time, which was accompanied by involuntary laughter, and which bore a
resemblance to the hysterical laughter of the moderns, except that it
was characterized by more pleasurable sensations, and by an extravagant
propensity to dance. There was no howling, screaming, and jumping, as in
the severer form; neither was the disposition to dance by any means
insuperable. Patients thus affected, although they had not a complete
control over their understandings, yet were sufficiently self-possessed,
during the attack, to obey the directions which they received. There
were even some among them who did not dance at all, but only felt an
involuntary impulse to allay the internal sense of disquietude, which is
the usual forerunner of an attack of this kind, by laughter, and quick
walking carried to the extent of producing fatigue. This disorder, so
different from the original type, evidently approximates to the modern
chorea, or rather is in perfect accordance with it, even to the less
essential symptom of laughter. A mitigation in the form of the dancing
mania had thus clearly taken place at the commencement of the sixteenth
century.

On the communication of the St. Vitus' dance by sympathy, Paracelsus, in
his peculiar language, expresses himself with great spirit, and shows a
profound knowledge of the nature of sensual impressions, which find
their way to the heart--the seat of joys and emotions--which overpower
the opposition of reason; and while "all other qualities and natures"
are subdued, incessantly impel the patient, in consequence of his
original compliance, and his all-conquering imagination, to imitate what
he has seen. On his treatment of the disease we cannot bestow any great
praise, but must be content with the remark that it was in conformity
with the notions of the age in which he lived. For the first kind, which
often originated in passionate excitement, he had a mental remedy, the
efficacy of which is not to be despised, if we estimate its value in
connection with the prevalent opinions of those times. The patient was
to make an image of himself in wax or resin, and by an effort of thought
to concentrate all his blasphemies and sins in it. "Without the
intervention of any other person, to set his whole mind and thoughts
concerning these oaths in the image;" and when he had succeeded in this,
he was to burn the image, so that not a particle of it should
remain.[64] In all this there was no mention made of St. Vitus, or any
of the other mediatory saints, which is accounted for by the
circumstance, that, at this time, an open rebellion against the Romish
Church had begun, and the worship of saints was by many rejected as
idolatrous. For the second kind of St. Vitus' dance, Paracelsus
recommended harsh treatment and strict fasting. He directed that the
patients should be deprived of their liberty, placed in solitary
confinement, and made to sit in an uncomfortable place, until their
misery brought them to their senses and to a feeling of penitence. He
then permitted them gradually to return to their accustomed habits.
Severe corporal chastisement was not omitted; but, on the other hand,
angry resistance on the part of the patient was to be sedulously
avoided, on the ground that it might increase his malady, or even
destroy him; moreover, where it seemed proper, Paracelsus allayed the
excitement of the nerves by immersion in cold water. On the treatment of
the third kind we shall not here enlarge. It was to be effected by all
sorts of wonderful remedies, composed of the quintessences; and it would
require, to render it intelligible, a more extended exposition of
peculiar principles than suits our present purpose.

About this time the St. Vitus' dance began to decline, so that milder
forms of it appeared more frequently, while the severer cases became
more rare; and even in these, some of the important symptoms gradually
disappeared. Paracelsus makes no mention of the tympanites as taking
place after the attacks, although it may occasionally have occurred; and
Schenck von Graffenberg, a celebrated physician of the latter half of
the sixteenth century, speaks of this disease as having been frequent
only in the time of his forefathers.




ELECTION OF ANTIPOPE CLEMENT VII

Beginning of the Great Schism

A.D. 1378

HENRY HART MILMAN


  In 1308 Pope Clement V, a Frenchman, under the influence of
  King Philip the Fair, of France, transferred the papal chair
  from Rome to Avignon, a possession of the holy see beyond
  the Alps, in Philip's dominions. The sojourn there of
  Clement and his successors, which continued until 1376, is
  known as the "Babylonish captivity" of the popes.

  Rome, from the first, was angry at this loss of supremacy,
  and aimed at recovering her prestige; and throughout the
  Christian world--France alone excepted--it was regarded as a
  scandal that the chair of St. Peter should rest on any soil
  but that of the Eternal City; but the French kings, and the
  cardinals of France--outnumbering all others in the sacred
  college--were determined to retain the pontifical seat in
  their own territory.

  During the pontificate of Gregory XI (1371-1378) Italy was
  torn by civil dissensions; the "free companies"--bands of
  organized marauders--ravaged the country with fire and
  sword, plundering Guelf and Ghibelline alike. Gregory's
  legates in the government of the ecclesiastical states
  rendered themselves so odious to the people by their
  immorality and rapacity that a league of the more powerful
  political factions was formed for throwing off the yoke of
  the "absentee" papal rulers. This was the beginning of the
  War of Liberation (1375) that was to shake the papal power
  in Italy to its very foundations.

  Gregory saw that, in order to preserve even a vestige of
  temporal power in the Italian states, he must act with
  crushing vigor. He therefore sent the cardinal legate,
  Robert, of Geneva--afterward Antipope Clement VII--into
  Italy with a company of Breton adventurers dreaded for their
  ferocity, and trained to plunder in the terrible wars of
  France. In spite of the atrocities committed by Robert and
  his hirelings, the revolt continued with unabated fury, and
  at last Gregory was constrained to return in person to Italy
  with the purpose of pacifying the turbulent forces. He
  entered Rome, January 17, 1377; but after a year of futile
  effort he died, leaving the confusion worse than he found
  it.

  Since, according to ecclesiastical law, the election of a
  new pope must be held at the place of the last pontiff's
  decease, great clamor arose among the Romans, whose demands
  were seconded throughout Europe, for the election of a
  Roman pope and the ending of the "Babylonish captivity." The
  history of the Great Schism and election of the rival
  pontiffs is nowhere to be found in better form of narrative
  than that of Milman, which here follows.

Gregory XI had hardly expired when Rome burst out into a furious tumult.
A Roman pope, at least an Italian pope, was the universal outcry. The
conclave must be overawed; the hateful domination of a foreign, a French
pontiff, must be broken up, and forever. This was not unforeseen. Before
his death Gregory XI had issued a bull conferring the amplest powers on
the cardinals to choose, according to their wisdom, the time and the
place for the election. It manifestly contemplated their retreat from
the turbulent streets of Rome to some place where their deliberations
would not be overborne, and the predominant French interest would
maintain its superiority. On the other hand there were serious and not
groundless apprehensions that the fierce Breton and Gascon bands, at the
command of the French cardinals, might dictate to the conclave. The
Romans not only armed their civic troops, but sent to Tivoli, Velletri,
and the neighboring cities; a strong force was mustered to keep the
foreigners in check.

Throughout the interval between the funeral of Gregory and the opening
of the conclave, the cardinals were either too jealously watched, or
thought it imprudent to attempt flight. Sixteen cardinals were present
at Rome, one Spaniard, eleven French, four Italians. The ordinary
measures were taken for opening the conclave in the palace near St.
Peter's. Five Romans, two ecclesiastics and three laymen, and three
Frenchmen were appointed to wait upon and to guard the conclave. The
Bishop of Marseilles represented the great chamberlain, who holds the
supreme authority during the vacancy of the popedom. The chamberlain,
the Archbishop of Arles, brother of the Cardinal of Limoges, had
withdrawn into the castle of St. Angelo, to secure his own person and to
occupy that important fortress.

The nine solemn days fully elapsed, on the 7th of April they assembled
for the conclave. At that instant (inauspicious omen!) a terrible flash
of lightning, followed by a stunning peal of thunder, struck through the
hall, burning and splitting some of the furniture. The hall of conclave
was crowded by a fierce rabble, who refused to retire. After about an
hour's strife, the Bishop of Marseilles, by threats, by persuasion, or
by entreaty, had expelled all but about forty wild men, armed to the
teeth. These ruffians rudely and insolently searched the whole building;
they looked under the beds, they examined the places of retreat. They
would satisfy themselves whether any armed men were concealed, whether
there was any hole, or even drain through which the cardinals could
escape. All the time they shouted: "A Roman pope! we will have a Roman
pope!" Those without echoed back the savage yell. Before long appeared
two ecclesiastics, announcing themselves as delegated by the commonalty
of Rome; they demanded to speak with the cardinals. The cardinals dared
not refuse. The Romans represented, in firm but not disrespectful
language, that for seventy years the holy Roman people had been without
their pastor, the supreme head of Christendom. In Rome were many noble
and wise ecclesiastics equal to govern the Church: if not in Rome, there
were such men in Italy.

They intimated that so great were the fury and determination of the
people that, if the conclave should resist, there might be a general
massacre, in which probably they themselves, assuredly the cardinals,
would perish. The cardinals might hear from every quarter around them
the cry: "A Roman pope! if not a Roman, an Italian!" The cardinals
replied, that such aged and reverend men must know the rules of the
conclave; that no election could be by requisition, favor, fear, or
tumult, but by the interposition of the Holy Ghost. To reiterated
persuasions and menaces they only said: "We are in your power; you may
kill us, but we must act according to God's ordinance. To-morrow we
celebrate the mass for the descent of the Holy Ghost; as the Holy Ghost
directs, so shall we do." Some of the French uttered words which sounded
like defiance. The populace cried: "If ye persist to do despite to
Christ, if we have not a Roman pope, we will hew these cardinals and
Frenchmen in pieces."

At length the Bishop of Marseilles was able to entirely clear the hall.
The cardinals sat down to a plentiful repast; the doors were finally
closed. But all the night through they heard in the streets the
unceasing clamor: "A Roman pope, a Roman pope!" Toward the morning the
tumult became more fierce and dense. Strange men had burst into the
belfry of St. Peter's; the clanging bells tolled as if all Rome was on
fire.

Within the conclave, the tumult, if less loud and clamorous, was hardly
less general. The confusion without and terror within did not allay the
angry rivalry, or suspend that subtle play of policy peculiar to the
form of election. The French interest was divided; within this circle
there was another circle. The single diocese of Limoges, favored as it
had been by more than one pope, had almost strength to dictate to the
conclave. The Limousins put forward the Cardinal de St. Eustache.
Against these the leader was the Cardinal Robert of Geneva, whose fierce
and haughty demeanor and sanguinary acts as legate had brought so much
of its unpopularity on the administration of Gregory XI. With Robert
were the four Italians and three French cardinals. Rather than a
Limousin, Robert would even consent to an Italian. They on the one side,
the Limousins on the other, had met secretly before the conclave: the
eight had sworn not on any account to submit to the election of a
traitorous Limousin.

All the sleepless night the cardinals might hear the din at the gate,
the yells of the people, the tolling of the bells. There was constant
passing and repassing from each other's chamber, intrigues,
altercations, manoeuvres, proposals advanced and rejected, promises of
support given and withdrawn. Many names were put up. Of the Romans
within the conclave two only were named, the old Cardinal of St.
Peter's, the Cardinal Jacobo Orsini. The Limousins advanced in turn
almost every one of their faction; no one but himself thought of Robert
of Geneva.

In the morning the disturbance without waxed more terrible. A vain
attempt was made to address the populace by the three cardinal priors;
they were driven from the windows with loud derisive shouts, "A Roman! A
Roman!" For now the alternative of an Italian had been abandoned; a
Roman, none but a Roman, would content the people. The madness of
intoxication was added to the madness of popular fury. The rabble had
broken open the Pope's cellar and drunk his rich wines. In the conclave
the wildest projects were started. The Cardinal Orsini was to dress up
a Minorite friar (probably a Spiritual) in the papal robes, to show him
to the people, and so for themselves to effect their escape to some safe
place and proceed to a legitimate election. The cardinals, from honor or
from fear, shrunk from this trick.

At length both parties seemed to concur. Each claimed credit for first
advancing the name--which most afterward repudiated--of the Archbishop
of Bari, a man of repute for theologic and legal erudition, an Italian,
but a subject of the Queen of Naples, who was also Countess of Provence.
They came to the nomination. The Cardinal of Florence proposed the
Cardinal of St. Peter's. The Cardinal of Limoges arose: "The Cardinal of
St. Peter's is too old. The Cardinal of Florence is of a city at war
with the holy see. I reject the Cardinal of Milan as the subject of the
Visconti, the most deadly enemy of the Church. The Cardinal Orsini is
too young, and we must not yield to the clamor of the Romans. I vote for
Bartholomew Prignani, Archbishop of Bari." All was acclamation; Orsini
alone stood out; he aspired to be the pope of the Romans.

But it was too late; the mob was thundering at the gates, menacing death
to the cardinals, if they had not immediately a Roman pontiff. The
feeble defences sounded as if they were shattering down; the tramp of
the populace was almost heard within the hall. They forced or persuaded
the aged Cardinal of St. Peter's to make a desperate effort to save
their lives. He appeared at the window, hastily attired in what either
was or seemed to be the papal stole and mitre. There was a jubilant and
triumphant cry: "We have a Roman pope, the Cardinal of St. Peter's. Long
live Rome! Long live St. Peter!" The populace became even more frantic
with joy than before with wrath. One band hastened to the Cardinal's
palace, and, according to the strange usage, broke in, threw the
furniture into the streets, and sacked it from top to bottom. Those
around the hall of conclave, aided by the connivance of some of the
cardinals' servants within, or by more violent efforts of their own,
burst in in all quarters. The supposed pope was surrounded by eager
adorers; they were at his feet; they pressed his swollen, gouty hands
till he shrieked from pain, and began to protest, in the strongest
language, that he was not the pope.

The indignation of the populace at this disappointment was aggravated by
an unlucky confusion of names. The Archbishop was mistaken for John of
Bari, of the bedchamber of the late pope, a man of harsh manners and
dissolute life, an object of general hatred. Five of the cardinals,
Robert of Geneva, Acquasparta, Viviers, Poitou, and De Verny, were
seized in their attempt to steal away, and driven back, amid
contemptuous hootings, by personal violence. Night came on again; the
populace, having pillaged all the provisions in the conclave, grew weary
of their own excesses. The cardinals fled on all sides. Four left the
city; Orsini and St. Eustache escaped to Vicovaro, Robert of Geneva to
Zagarolo, St. Angelo to Guardia; six, Limoges, D'Aigrefeuille, Poitou,
Viviers, Brittany, and Marmoutiers, to the castle of St. Angelo;
Florence, Milan, Montmayeur, Glandeve, and Luna, to their own strong
fortresses.

The Pope lay concealed in the Vatican. In the morning the five cardinals
in Rome were assembled round him. A message was sent to the bannerets of
Rome, announcing his election. The six cardinals in St. Angelo were
summoned; they were hardly persuaded to leave their place of security;
but without their presence the Archbishop would not declare his assent
to his elevation. The Cardinal of Florence, as dean, presented the
Pope-elect to the sacred college, and discoursed on the text, "Such
ought he to be, an undefiled high-priest." The Archbishop began a long
harangue, "Fear and trembling have come upon me, the horror of great
darkness." The Cardinal of Florence cut short the ill-timed sermon,
demanding whether he accepted the pontificate. The Archbishop gave his
assent; he took the name of Urban VI. _Te Deum_ was intoned; he was
lifted to the throne. The fugitives returned to Rome. Urban VI was
crowned on Easter Day, in the Church of St. John Lateran. All the
cardinals were present at the august ceremony. They announced the
election of Urban VI to their brethren who had remained in Avignon.
Urban himself addressed the usual encyclic letters, proclaiming his
elevation, to all the prelates in Christendom.

None could determine how far the nomination of the Archbishop of Bari
was free and uncontrolled by the terrors of the raging populace; but the
acknowledgment of Urban VI by all the cardinals, at his inauguration in
the holy office--their assistance at his coronation without protest,
when some at least might have been safe beyond the walls of Rome--their
acceptance of honors, as by the cardinals of Limoges, Poitou, and
Aigrefeuille--the homage of all--might seem to annul all possible
irregularity in the election, to confirm irrefragably the legitimacy of
his title.

Not many days had passed, when the cardinals began to look with dismay
and bitter repentance on their own work. "In Urban VI," said a writer of
these times (on the side of Urban as rightful pontiff), "was verified
the proverb--None is so insolent as a low man suddenly raised to power."
The high-born, haughty, luxurious prelates, both French and Italian,
found that they had set over themselves a master resolved not only to
redress the flagrant and inveterate abuses of the college and of the
hierarchy, but also to force on his reforms in the most hasty and
insulting way. He did the harshest things in the harshest manner.

The Archbishop of Bari, of mean birth, had risen by the virtues of a
monk. He was studious, austere, humble, a diligent reader of the Bible,
master of the canon law, rigid in his fasts; he wore haircloth next his
skin. His time was divided between study, prayer, and business, for
which he had great aptitude. From the poor bishopric of Acherontia he
had been promoted to the archbishopric of Bari, and had presided over
the papal chancery in Avignon. The monk broke out at once on his
elevation in the utmost rudeness and rigor, but the humility changed to
the most offensive haughtiness. Almost his first act was a public rebuke
in his chapel to all the bishops present for their desertion of their
dioceses. He called them perjured traitors. The Bishop of Pampeluna
boldly repelled the charge; he was at Rome, he said, on the affairs of
his see. In the full consistory Urban preached on the text, "I am the
Good Shepherd," and inveighed in a manner not to be mistaken against the
wealth and luxury of the cardinals. Their voluptuous banquets were
notorious--Petrarch had declaimed against them. The Pope threatened a
sumptuary law that they should have but one dish at their table: it was
the rule of his own order. He was determined to extirpate simony. A
cardinal who should receive presents he menaced with excommunication.
He affected to despise wealth. "Thy money perish with thee!" he said to
a collector of the papal revenue. He disdained to conceal the most
unpopular schemes; he declared his intention not to leave Rome. To the
petition of the bannerets of Rome for a promotion of cardinals, he
openly avowed his design to make so large a nomination that the Italians
should resume their ascendency over the Ultramontanes. The Cardinal of
Geneva turned pale and left the consistory. Urban declared himself
determined to do equal justice between man and man, between the kings of
France and England. The French cardinals, and those in the pay of
France, heard this with great indignation.

The manners of Urban were even more offensive than his acts. "Hold your
tongue!" "You have talked long enough!" were his common phrases to his
mitred counsellors. He called the Cardinal Orsini a fool. He charged the
Cardinal of St. Marcellus of Amiens, on his return from his legation in
Tuscany, with having robbed the treasures of the Church. The charge was
not less insulting for its justice. The Cardinal of Amiens, instead of
allaying the feuds of France and England, which it was his holy mission
to allay, had inflamed them in order to glut his own insatiable avarice
by draining the wealth of both countries in the Pope's name. "As
Archbishop of Bari, you lie," was the reply of the high-born Frenchman.
On one occasion such high words passed with the Cardinal of Limoges that
but for the interposition of another cardinal the Pope would have rushed
on him, and there had been a personal conflict.

Such were among the stories of the time. Friends and foes agree in
attributing the schism, at least the immediate schism, to the imprudent
zeal, the imperiousness, the ungovernable temper of Pope Urban. The
cardinals among themselves talked of him as mad; they began to murmur
that it was a compulsory, therefore invalid, election.

The French cardinals were now at Anagni: they were joined by the
Cardinal of Amiens, who had taken no part in the election, but who was
burning under the insulting words of the Pope, perhaps not too eager to
render an account of his legation. The Pope retired to Tivoli; he
summoned the cardinals to that city. They answered that they had gone
to large expenses in laying in provisions and making preparations for
their residence in Anagni; they had no means to supply a second sojourn
in Tivoli. The Pope, with his four Italian cardinals, passed two
important acts as sovereign pontiff. He confirmed the election of
Wenceslaus, son of Charles IV, to the empire; he completed the treaty
with Florence by which the republic paid a large sum to the see of Rome.
The amount was seventy thousand florins in the course of the year, one
hundred and eighty thousand in four years, for the expenses of the war.
They were relieved from ecclesiastical censures, under which this
enlightened republic, though Italian, trembled, even from a pope of
doubtful title. Their awe showed perhaps the weakness and dissensions in
Florence rather than the papal power.

The cardinals at Anagni sent a summons to their brethren inviting them
to share in their counsels concerning the compulsory election of the
successor to Gregory XI. Already the opinions of great legists had been
taken; some of them, that of the famous Baldus, may still be read. He
was in favor of the validity of the election.

But grave legal arguments and ecclesiastical logic were not to decide a
contest which had stirred so deeply the passions and interests of two
great factions. France and Italy were at strife for the popedom. The
Ultramontane cardinals would not tamely abandon a power which had given
them rank, wealth, luxury, virtually the spiritual supremacy of the
world, for seventy years. Italy, Rome, would not forego the golden
opportunity of resuming the long-lost authority. On the 9th of August
the cardinals at Anagni publicly declared, they announced in encyclic
letters addressed to the faithful in all Christendom, that the election
of Urban VI was carried by force and the fear of death; that through the
same force and fear he had been inaugurated, enthroned, and crowned;
that he was an apostate, an accursed antichrist. They pronounced him a
tyrannical usurper of the popedom, a wolf that had stolen into the fold.
They called upon him to descend at once from the throne which he
occupied without canonical title; if repentant, he might find mercy; if
he persisted he would provoke the indignation of God, of the apostles
St. Peter and St. Paul, and all of the saints, for his violation of the
Spouse of Christ, the common Mother of the Faithful. It was signed by
thirteen cardinals. The more pious and devout were shocked at this
avowal of cowardice; cardinals who would not be martyrs in the cause of
truth and of spiritual freedom condemned themselves.

But letters and appeals to the judgment of the world, and awful
maledictions, were not their only resources. The fierce Breton bands
were used to march and to be indulged in their worst excesses under the
banner of the Cardinal of Geneva. As Ultramontanists it was their
interest, their inclination, to espouse the Ultramontane cause. They
arrayed themselves to advance and join the cardinals at Anagni. The
Romans rose to oppose them; a fight took place near the Ponte Salario,
three hundred Romans lay dead on the field.

Urban VI was as blind to cautious temporal as to cautious ecclesiastical
policy. Every act of the Pope raised him up new enemies. Joanna, Queen
of Naples, had hailed the elevation of her subject the Archbishop of
Bari. Naples had been brilliantly illuminated. Shiploads of fruit and
wines, and the more solid gift of twenty thousand florins, had been her
oblations to the Pope. Her husband, Otho of Brunswick, had gone to Rome
to pay his personal homage. His object was to determine in his own favor
the succession to the realm. The reception of Otho was cold and
repulsive; he returned in disgust. The Queen eagerly listened to
suspicions, skilfully awakened, that Urban meditated the resumption of
the fief of Naples, and its grant to the rival house of Hungary. She
became the sworn ally of the cardinals at Anagni. Honorato Gaetani,
Count of Fondi, one of the most turbulent barons of the land, demanded
of the Pontiff twenty thousand florins advanced on loan to Gregory XI.
Urban not only rejected the claim, declaring it a personal debt of the
late Pope, not of the holy see, he also deprived Gaetani of his fief,
and granted it to his mortal enemy, the Count San Severino. Gaetani
began immediately to seize the adjacent castles in Campania, and invited
the cardinals to his stronghold at Fondi. The Archbishop of Arles,
chamberlain of the late Pope, leaving the castle of St. Angelo under the
guard of a commander who long refused all orders from Pope Urban,
brought to Anagni the jewels and ornaments of the papacy, which had been
carried for security to St. Angelo. The prefect of the city, De Vico,
Lord of Viterbo, had been won over by the Cardinal of Amiens.

The four Italian cardinals still adhered to Pope Urban. They labored
hard to mediate between the conflicting parties. Conferences were held
at Zagarolo and other places; when the French cardinals had retired to
Fondi, the Italians took up their quarters at Subiaco. The Cardinal of
St. Peter's, worn out with age and trouble, withdrew to Rome, and soon
after died. He left a testamentary document declaring the validity of
the election of Urban. The French cardinals had declared the election
void; they were debating the next step. Some suggested the appointment
of a coadjutor. They were now sure of the support of the King of France,
who would not easily surrender his influence over a pope at Avignon, and
of the Queen of Naples, estranged by the pride of Urban, and secretly
stimulated by the Cardinal Orsini, who had not forgiven his own loss of
the tiara. Yet even now they seemed to shrink from the creation of an
antipope. Urban precipitated and made inevitable this disastrous event.
He was now alone; the Cardinal of St. Peter's was dead; Florence, Milan,
and the Orsini stood aloof; they seemed only to wait to be thrown off by
Urban, to join the adverse faction. Urban at first declared his
intention to create nine cardinals; he proceeded at once, and without
warning, to create twenty-six.[65] By this step the French and Italian
cardinals together were now but an insignificant minority. They were
instantly one. All must be risked or all lost.

On September 20th, at Fondi, Robert of Geneva was elected pope in the
presence of all the cardinals (except St. Peter's) who had chosen,
inaugurated, enthroned, and for a time obeyed Urban VI. The Italians
refused to give their suffrages, but entered no protest. They retired
into their castles and remained aloof from the schism. Orsini died
before long at Tagliacozzo. The qualifications which, according to his
partial biographer, recommended the Cardinal of Geneva, were rather
those of a successor to John Hawkwood or to a duke of Milan, than of the
apostles. Extraordinary activity of body and endurance of fatigue,
courage which would hazard his life to put down the intrusive pope,
sagacity and experience in the temporal affairs of the Church; high
birth, through which he was allied with most of the royal and princely
houses of Europe; of austerity, devotion, learning, holiness, charity,
not a word. He took the name of Clement VII; the Italians bitterly
taunted the mockery of this name, assumed by the captain of the Breton
Free Companies--by the author, it was believed, of the massacre at
Cesena.

So began the schism which divided Western Christendom for thirty-eight
years. Italy, excepting the kingdom of Joanna of Naples, adhered to her
native pontiff; Germany and Bohemia to the pontiff who had recognized
King Wenceslaus as emperor; England to the pontiff hostile to
France;[66] Hungary to the pontiff who might support her pretentions to
Naples; Poland and the Northern kingdoms, with Portugal, espoused the
same cause. France at first stood almost alone in support of her
subject, of a pope at Avignon instead of at Rome. Scotland only was with
Clement, because England was with Urban. So Flanders was with Urban
because France was with Clement. The uncommon abilities of Peter di
Luna, the Spanish cardinal (afterward better known under a higher
title), detached successively the Spanish kingdoms, Castile, Aragon, and
Navarre, from allegiance to Pope Urban.




GENOESE SURRENDER TO VENETIANS

A.D. 1380

HENRY HALLAM


  Prolonged commercial rivalry between Genoa and Venice
  brought them to a state of bitter jealousy which led to
  furious wars. In the second half of the twelfth century
  Genoa established her power on the Black Sea, and aimed at a
  commercial monopoly in that region. This aroused the
  Venetians to anger and led to open hostilities. The first
  war growing out of these antagonisms between the two
  republics began in 1257, and throughout the rest of the
  thirteenth century hostilities were almost continuous.

  In 1351 the Venetians formed an alliance against Genoa with
  the Greeks and Aragonese, and, in the ensuing war, the
  advantage gained by Genoa was confirmed by a treaty of peace
  in 1355. But this peace lasted only until 1378, when a
  dispute arose between Genoa and Venice in relation to the
  island of Tenedos, in the AEgean Sea, of which the Venetians
  had taken possession.

  The Venetians, having denounced Genoa as false to all its
  oaths and obligations, formally declared war in April, after
  several acts of hostility had occurred in the Levant. Of all
  the wars between the rival states, this was the most
  remarkable and led to the most important consequences.

Genoa did not stand alone in this war. A formidable confederacy was
raised against Venice, which had given provocation to many enemies. Of
this Francis Carrara, seignior of Padua, and the King of Hungary were
the leaders. But the principal struggle was, as usual, upon the waves.
During the winter of 1378 a Genoese fleet kept the sea, and ravaged the
shores of Dalmatia. The Venetian armament had been weakened by an
epidemic disease, and when Vittor Pisani, their admiral, gave battle to
the enemy, he was compelled to fight with a hasty conscription of
landsmen against the best sailors in the world.

Entirely defeated, and taking refuge at Venice with only seven galleys,
Pisani was cast into prison, as if his ill-fortune had been his crime.
Meanwhile the Genoese fleet, augmented by a strong reenforcement, rode
before the long natural ramparts that separate the lagunes of Venice
from the Adriatic. Six passages intersect the islands which constitute
this barrier, besides the broader outlets of Brondolo and Fossone,
through which the waters of the Brenta and the Adige are discharged. The
Lagoon itself, as is well known, consists of extremely shallow water,
unnavigable for any vessel except along the course of artificial and
intricate passages.

Notwithstanding the apparent difficulties of such an enterprise, Pietro
Doria, the Genoese admiral, determined to reduce the city. His first
successes gave him reason to hope. He forced the passage, and stormed
the little town of Chioggia, built upon the inside of the isle bearing
that name, about twenty-five miles south of Venice. Nearly four thousand
prisoners fell here into his hands--an augury, as it seemed, of a more
splendid triumph.

In the consternation this misfortune inspired at Venice, the first
impulse was to ask for peace. The ambassadors carried with them seven
Genoese prisoners, as a sort of peace-offering to the admiral, and were
empowered to make large and humiliating concessions, reserving nothing
but the liberty of Venice. Francis Carrara strongly urged his allies to
treat for peace. But the Genoese were stimulated by long hatred, and
intoxicated by this unexpected opportunity of revenge. Doria, calling
the ambassadors into council, thus addressed them: "Ye shall obtain no
peace from us, I swear to you, nor from the lord of Padua, till first we
have put a curb in the mouths of those wild horses that stand upon the
place of St. Mark. When they are bridled you shall have enough of peace.
Take back with you your Genoese captives, for I am coming within a few
days to release both them and their companions from your prisons."

When this answer was reported to the senate, they prepared to defend
themselves with the characteristic firmness of their government. Every
eye was turned toward a great man unjustly punished, their admiral,
Vittor Pisani. He was called out of prison to defend his country amid
general acclamations. Under his vigorous command the canals were
fortified or occupied by large vessels armed with artillery; thirty-four
galleys were equipped; every citizen contributed according to his power;
in the entire want of commercial resources--for Venice had not a
merchant-ship during this war--private plate was melted; and the senate
held out the promise of ennobling thirty families who should be most
forward in this strife of patriotism.

The new fleet was so ill-provided with seamen that for some months the
admiral employed them only in manoeuvring along the canals. From some
unaccountable supineness, or more probably from the insuperable
difficulties of the undertaking, the Genoese made no assault upon the
city. They had, indeed, fair grounds to hope its reduction by famine or
despair. Every access to the Continent was cut off by the troops of
Padua; and the King of Hungary had mastered almost all the Venetian
towns in Istria and along the Dalmatian coast. The doge Contarini,
taking the chief command, appeared at length with his fleet near
Chioggia, before the Genoese were aware. They were still less aware of
his secret design. He pushed one of the large round vessels, then called
_cocche_, into the narrow passage of Chioggia which connects the Lagoon
with the sea, and, mooring her athwart the channel, interrupted that
communication. Attacked with fury by the enemy, this vessel went down on
the spot, and the Doge improved his advantage by sinking loads of stones
until the passage became absolutely unnavigable.

It was still possible for the Genoese fleet to follow the principal
canal of the Lagoon toward Venice and the northern passages, or to sail
out of it by the harbor of Brondolo; but, whether from confusion or from
miscalculating the dangers of their position, they suffered the
Venetians to close the canal upon them by the same means they had used
at Chioggia, and even to place their fleet in the entrance of Brondolo
so near to the Lagoon that the Genoese could not form their ships in
line of battle. The circumstances of the two combatants were thus
entirely changed. But the Genoese fleet, though besieged in Chioggia,
was impregnable, and their command of the land secured them from famine.

Venice, notwithstanding her unexpected success, was still very far from
secure; it was difficult for the Doge to keep his position through the
winter; and if the enemy could appear in open sea, the risks of combat
were extremely hazardous. It is said that the senate deliberated upon
transporting the seat of their liberty to Candia, and that the Doge had
announced his intention to raise the siege of Chioggia, if expected
succors did not arrive by January 1, 1380. On that very day Carlo Zeno,
an admiral who, ignorant of the dangers of his country, had been
supporting the honor of her flag in the Levant and on the coast of
Liguria, appeared with a reenforcement of eighteen galleys and a store
of provisions.

From that moment the confidence of Venice revived. The fleet, now
superior in strength to the enemy, began to attack them with vivacity.
After several months of obstinate resistance, the Genoese--whom their
republic had ineffectually attempted to relieve by a fresh
armament--blocked up in the town of Chioggia, and pressed by hunger,
were obliged to surrender. Nineteen galleys only, out of forty-eight,
were in good condition; and the crews were equally diminished in the ten
months of their occupation of Chioggia. The pride of Genoa was deemed to
be justly humbled; and even her own historian confesses that God would
not suffer so noble a city as Venice to become the spoil of a conqueror.

Though the capture of Chioggia did not terminate the war, both parties
were exhausted, and willing, next year, to accept the mediation of the
Duke of Savoy. By the peace of Turin, Venice surrendered most of her
territorial possessions to the King of Hungary. That Prince and Francis
Carrara were the only gainers. Genoa obtained the isle of Tenedos, one
of the original subjects of dispute--a poor indemnity for her losses.
Though, upon a hasty view, the result of this war appears more
unfavorable to Venice, yet in fact it is the epoch of the decline of
Genoa. From this time she never commanded the ocean with such navies as
before; her commerce gradually went into decay; and the fifteenth
century--the most splendid in the annals of Venice--is, till recent
times, the most ignominious in those of Genoa. But this was partly owing
to internal dissensions, by which her liberty, as well as glory, was for
a while suspended.




REBELLION OF WAT TYLER

A.D. 1381

JOHN LINGARD


  Richard II, of England, at eleven years of age, succeeded to
  a heritage of foreign complications and wars, which were a
  legacy from the reign of his grandfather, Edward III.

  At the request of the commons, the lords, in the King's
  name, appointed nine persons to be a permanent council, and
  it was resolved that during the King's minority the
  appointment of all the chief officers of the crown should be
  with the parliament. The administration was conducted in the
  King's name, and the whole system was for some years kept
  together by the secret authority of the King's uncles,
  especially of the Duke of Lancaster, who was in reality the
  regent.

  France, Scotland, and Castile continued their hostilities
  against England, and during the first two years of Richard's
  reign the ministers had no difficulty in obtaining ample
  grants of money to carry on the wars. In the third year the
  expense of the campaign in Brittany compelled them to
  solicit yet additional aid.

  Various methods of taxation failing to raise the amount
  required, the commons, in great discontent, demanded
  alterations in the council, and after long debate
  reluctantly consented to the imposition of a new and unusual
  tax of three groats[67] on every person, male and female,
  above fifteen years of age. For the relief of the poor it
  was provided that in the cities and towns the aggregate
  amount should be divided among the inhabitants according to
  their abilities, so that no individual should pay less than
  one groat, or more than sixty groats for himself and his
  wife. Parliament thereupon was dismissed; but the collection
  of the tax gave rise to an insurrection which threatened the
  life of the King and the existence of the government.

At this period [1381] a secret ferment seems to have pervaded the mass
of the people in many nations of Europe. Men were no longer willing to
submit to the impositions of their rulers, or to wear the chains which
had been thrown round the necks of their fathers by a warlike and
haughty aristocracy. We may trace this awakening spirit of independence
to a variety of causes, operating in the same direction; to the
progressive improvement of society, the gradual diffusion of knowledge,
the increasing pressure of taxation, and above all to the numerous and
lasting wars by which Europe had lately been convulsed. Necessity had
often compelled both the sovereigns and nobles to court the good-will of
the people; the burghers in the towns and inferior tenants in the
country had learned, from the repeated demands made upon them, to form
notions of their own importance; and the archers and foot-soldiers, who
had served for years in the wars, were, at their return home, unwilling
to sit down in the humble station of bondmen to their former lords. In
Flanders the commons had risen against their Count Louis, and had driven
him out of his dominions; in France the populace had taken possession of
Paris and Rouen, and massacred the collectors of the revenue. In England
a spirit of discontent agitated the whole body of the villeins, who
remained in almost the same situation in which we left them at the
Norman Conquest. They were still attached to the soil, talliable at the
will of the lord, and bound to pay the fines for the marriage of their
females, to perform customary labor, and to render the other servile
prestations incident to their condition. It is true that in the course
of time many had obtained the rights of freemen. Occasionally the king
or the lord would liberate at once all the bondmen on some particular
domain, in return for a fixed rent to be yearly assessed on the
inhabitants.

But the progress of emancipation was slow; the improved condition of
their former fellows served only to embitter the discontent of those who
still wore the fetters of servitude; and in many places the villeins
formed associations for their mutual support, and availed themselves of
every expedient in their power to free themselves from the control of
their lords. In the first year of Richard's reign a complaint was laid
before parliament that in many districts they had purchased
exemplifications out of the _Domesday Book_ in the king's court, and
under a false interpretation of that record had pretended to be
discharged of all manner of servitude both as to their bodies and their
tenures, and would not suffer the officers of their lords either to levy
distress or to do justice upon them. It was in vain that such
exemplifications were declared of no force, and that commissions were
ordered for the punishment of the rebellious. The villeins, by their
union and perseverance, contrived to intimidate their lords, and set at
defiance the severity of the law. To this resistance they were
encouraged by the diffusion of the doctrines so recently taught by
Wycliffe, that the right of property was founded in grace, and that no
man, who was by sin a traitor to God, could be entitled to the services
of others; at the same time itinerant preachers sedulously inculcated
the natural equality of mankind, and the tyranny of artificial
distinctions; and the poorer classes, still smarting under the exactions
of the late reign, were by the impositions of the new tax wound up to a
pitch of madness. Thus the materials had been prepared; it required but
a spark to set the whole country in a blaze.

It was soon discovered that the receipts of the treasury would fall
short of the expected amount; and commissions were issued to different
persons to inquire into the conduct of the collectors, and to compel
payment from those who had been favored or overlooked. One of these
commissioners, Thomas de Bampton, sat at Brentwood in Essex; but the men
of Fobbings refused to answer before him; and when the chief justice of
the common pleas attempted to punish their contumacy, they compelled him
to flee, murdered the jurors and clerks of the commission, and, carrying
their heads upon poles, claimed the support of the nearest townships. In
a few days all the commons of Essex were in a state of insurrection,
under the command of a profligate priest, who had assumed the name of
Jack Straw.

The men of Kent were not long behind their neighbors in Essex. At
Dartford one of the collectors had demanded the tax for a young girl,
the daughter of a tyler. Her mother maintained that she was under the
age required by the statute; and the officer was proceeding to ascertain
the fact by an indecent exposure of her person, when her father, who had
just returned from work, with a stroke of his hammer beat out the
offender's brains. His courage was applauded by his neighbors. They
swore that they would protect him from punishment, and by threats and
promises secured the cooperation of all the villages in the western
division of Kent.

A third party of insurgents was formed by the men of Gravesend,
irritated at the conduct of Sir Simon Burley. He had claimed one of the
burghers as his bondman, refused to grant him his freedom at a less
price than three hundred pounds, and sent him a prisoner to the castle
of Rochester. With the aid of a body of insurgents from Essex, the
castle was taken and the captive liberated. At Maidstone they appointed
Wat the tyler, of that town, leader of the commons of Kent, and took
with them an itinerant preacher of the name of John Ball, who for his
seditious and heterodox harangues had been confined by order of the
archbishop. The mayor and aldermen of Canterbury were compelled to swear
fidelity to the good cause; several of the citizens were slain; and five
hundred joined them in their intended march toward London. When they
reached Blackheath their numbers are said to have amounted to one
hundred thousand men. To this lawless and tumultuous multitude Ball was
appointed preacher, and assumed for the text of his first sermon the
following lines:

  "When Adam delved and Eve span,
   Who was then the gentleman?"

He told them that by nature all men were born equal; that the
distinction of bondage and freedom was the invention of their
oppressors, and contrary to the views of their Creator; that God now
offered them the means of recovering their liberty, and that, if they
continued slaves, the blame must rest with themselves; that it was
necessary to dispose of the archbishop, the earls and barons, the
judges, lawyers, and questmongers; and that when the distinction of
ranks was abolished, all would be free, because all would be of the same
nobility and of equal authority. His discourse was received with shouts
of applause by his infatuated hearers, who promised to make him, in
defiance of his own doctrines, archbishop of Canterbury and chancellor
of the realm.

By letters and messengers the knowledge of these proceedings was
carefully propagated through the neighboring counties. Everywhere the
people had been prepared; and in a few days the flame spread from the
southern coast of Kent to the right bank of the Humber. In all places
the insurgents regularly pursued the same course. They pillaged the
manors of their lords, demolished the houses, and burned the court
rolls; cut off the heads of every justice and lawyer and juror who fell
into their hands; and swore all others to be true to King Richard and
the commons; to admit of no king of the name of John; and to oppose all
taxes but fifteenths, the ancient tallage paid by their fathers. The
members of the council saw, with astonishment, the sudden rise and rapid
spread of the insurrection; and, bewildered by their fears and
ignorance, knew not whom to trust or what measures to pursue.

The first who encountered the rabble on Blackheath was the Princess of
Wales, the King's mother, on her return from a pilgrimage to Canterbury.
She liberated herself from danger by her own address; and a few kisses
from "the fair maid of Kent" purchased the protection of the leaders,
and secured the respect of their followers. She was permitted to join
her son, who, with his cousin Henry, Earl of Derby, Simon, Archbishop of
Canterbury and Chancellor, Sir Robert Hales, master of the Knights of
St. John and treasurer, and about one hundred sergeants and knights had
left the castle of Windsor, and repaired for greater security to the
Tower of London. The next morning the King in his barge descended the
river to receive the petitions of the insurgents. To the number of ten
thousand, with two banners of St. George, and sixty pennons, they waited
his arrival at Rotherhithe; but their horrid yells and uncouth
appearance so intimidated his attendants, that instead of permitting him
to land, they took advantage of the tide, and returned with
precipitation. Tyler and Straw, irritated by this disappointment, led
their men into Southwark, where they demolished the houses belonging to
the Marshalsea and the king's bench, while another party forced their
way into the palace of the Archbishop at Lambeth, and burned the
furniture with the records belonging to the chancery.

The next morning they were allowed to pass in small companies, according
to their different townships, over the bridge into the city. The
populace joined them; and as soon as they had regaled themselves at the
cost of the richer inhabitants, the work of devastation commenced. They
demolished Newgate, and liberated the prisoners; plundered and destroyed
the magnificent palace of the Savoy, belonging to the Duke of Lancaster;
burned the temple with the books and records; and despatched a party to
set fire to the house of the Knights Hospitallers at Clerkenwell,
which had been lately built by Sir Robert Hales. To prove, however, that
they had no views of private emolument, a proclamation was issued
forbidding any one to secrete part of the plunder; and so severely was
the prohibition enforced that the plate was hammered and cut into small
pieces, the precious stones were beaten to powder, and one of the
rioters, who had concealed a silver cup in his bosom, was immediately
thrown, with his prize, into the river. To every man whom they met they
put the question, "With whom holdest thou?" and unless he gave the
proper answer, "With King Richard and the commons," he was instantly
beheaded. But the principal objects of their cruelty were the natives of
Flanders. They dragged thirteen Flemings out of one church, seventeen
out of another, and thirty-two out of the Vintry, and struck off their
heads with shouts of triumph and exultation. In the evening, wearied
with the labor of the day, they dispersed through the streets, and
indulged in every kind of debauchery.

During this night of suspense and terror, the Princess of Wales held a
council with the ministers in the Tower. The King's uncles were absent;
the garrison, though perhaps able to defend the place, was too weak to
put down the insurgents; and a resolution was taken to try the influence
of promises and concession. In the morning the Tower Hill was seen
covered with an immense multitude, who prohibited the introduction of
provisions, and with loud cries demanded the heads of the chancellor and
treasurer. In return, a herald ordered them, by proclamation, to retire
to Mile End, where the King would assent to all their demands.
Immediately the gates were thrown open. Richard with a few unarmed
attendants rode forward; the best intentioned of the crowd followed him,
and at Mile End he saw himself surrounded with sixty thousand
petitioners. Their demands were reduced to four: the abolition of
slavery; the reduction of the rent of land to fourpence the acre; the
free liberty of buying and selling in all fairs and markets; and a
general pardon for past offences. A charter to that effect was engrossed
for each parish and township; during the night thirty clerks were
employed in transcribing a sufficient number of copies; they were sealed
and delivered in the morning; and the whole body, consisting chiefly of
the men of Essex and Hertfordshire, retired, bearing the King's banner
as a token that they were under his protection.

But Tyler and Straw had formed other and more ambitious designs. The
moment the King was gone, they rushed, at the head of four hundred men,
into the Tower. The Archbishop, who had just celebrated mass, Sir Robert
Hales, William Apuldore, the King's confessor, Legge, the farmer of the
tax, and three of his associates, were seized, and led to immediate
execution.[68] As no opposition was offered, they searched every part of
the Tower, burst into the private apartment of the Princess, and probed
her bed with their swords. She fainted, and was carried by her ladies to
the river, which she crossed in a covered barge. The royal wardrobe, a
house in Carter Lane, was selected for her residence.

The King joined his mother at the wardrobe; and the next morning, as he
rode through Smithfield with sixty horsemen, encountered Tyler at the
head of twenty thousand insurgents. Three different charters had been
sent to that demagogue, who contemptuously refused them all. As soon as
he saw Richard, he made a sign to his followers to halt, and boldly rode
up to the King. A conversation immediately began. Tyler, as he talked,
affected to play with his dagger; at last he laid his hand on the bridle
of his sovereign; but at the instant Walworth, the Lord Mayor, jealous
of his design, plunged a short sword into his throat. He spurred his
horse, rode about a dozen yards, fell to the ground, and was despatched
by Robert Standish, one of the King's esquires. The insurgents, who
witnessed the transaction, drew their bows to revenge the fall of their
leader, and Richard would inevitably have lost his life had he not been
saved by his own intrepidity. Galloping up to the archers he exclaimed:
"What are ye doing, my lieges? Tyler was a traitor. Come with me, and I
will be your leader." Wavering and disconcerted, they followed him into
the fields of Islington, whither a force of one thousand men-at-arms,
which had been collected by the Lord Mayor and Sir Robert Knowles,
hastened to protect the young King; and the insurgents, falling on their
knees, begged for mercy. Many of the royalists demanded permission to
punish them for their past excesses; but Richard firmly refused, ordered
the suppliants to return to their homes, and by proclamation forbade,
under pain of death, any stranger to pass the night in the city.

On the southern coast the excesses of the insurgents reached as far as
Winchester; on the eastern, to Beverley and Scarborough; and, if we
reflect that in every place they rose about the same time, and uniformly
pursued the same system, we may discover reason to suspect that they
acted under the direction of some acknowledged though invisible leader.
The nobility and gentry, intimidated by the hostility of their tenants,
and distressed by contradictory reports, sought security within the
fortifications of their castles. The only man who behaved with
promptitude and resolution was Henry Spenser, the young and warlike
Bishop of Norwich. In the counties of Norfolk, Cambridge, and Huntington
tranquillity was restored and preserved by this singular prelate, who
successively exercised the offices of general, judge, and priest. In
complete armor he always led his followers to the attack; after the
battle he sat in judgment on his prisoners; and before execution he
administered to them the aids of religion. But as soon as the death of
Tyler and the dispersion of the men of Kent and Essex were known,
thousands became eager to display their loyalty; and knights and
esquires from every quarter poured into London to offer their services
to the King. At the head of forty thousand horse he published
proclamations, revoking the charters of manumission which he had
granted, commanding the villeins to perform their usual services, and
prohibiting illegal assemblies and associations. In several parts the
commons threatened to renew the horrors of the late tumult in defence of
their liberties; but the approach of the royal army dismayed the
disaffected in Kent; the loss of five hundred men induced the insurgents
of Essex to sue for pardon; and numerous executions in different
counties effectually crushed the spirit of resistance. Among the
sufferers were Lister and Westbroom, who had assumed the title and
authority of kings in Norfolk and Suffolk; and Straw and Ball, the
itinerant preachers, who have been already mentioned, and whose sermons
were supposed to have kindled and nourished the insurrection.[69]

When the parliament met, the two houses were informed by the Chancellor,
that the King had revoked the charters of emancipation, which he had
been compelled to grant to the villeins, but at the same time wished to
submit to their consideration whether it might not be wise to abolish
the state of bondage altogether. The minds of the great proprietors were
not, however, prepared for the adoption of so liberal a measure; and
both lords and commons unanimously replied that no man could deprive
them of the services of their villeins without their consent; that they
had never given that consent, and never would be induced to give it,
either through persuasion or violence. The King yielded to their
obstinacy; and the charters were repealed by authority of parliament.
The commons next deliberated, and presented their petitions. They
attributed the insurrection to the grievances suffered by the people
from: 1. The purveyors, who were said to have exceeded all their
predecessors in insolence and extortion; 2. From the rapacity of the
royal officers in the chancery and exchequer, and the courts of king's
bench and common pleas; 3. From the banditti, called maintainers, who,
in different counties, supported themselves by plunder, and, arming in
defence of each other, set at defiance all the provisions of the law;
and 4. From the repeated aids and taxes, which had impoverished the
people and proved of no service to the nation. To silence these
complaints, a commission of inquiry was appointed; the courts of law
and the King's household were subjected to regulations of reform, and
severe orders were published for the immediate suppression of illegal
associations. But the demand of a supply produced a very interesting
altercation. The commons refused, on the ground that the imposition of a
new tax would goad the people to a second insurrection. They found it,
however, necessary to request of the King a general pardon for all
illegal acts committed in the suppression of the insurgents, and
received for answer that it was customary for the commons to make their
grants before the King bestowed his favors. When the subsidy was again
pressed on their attention they replied that they should take time to
consider it, but were told that the King would also take time to
consider of their petition. At last they yielded; the tax upon wool,
wool-fells, and leather was continued for five years, and in return a
general pardon was granted for all loyal subjects, who had acted
illegally in opposing the rebels, and for the great body of the
insurgents, who had been misled by the declamations of the demagogues.




WYCLIFFE TRANSLATES THE BIBLE INTO
ENGLISH

A.D. 1382

J. PATERSON SMYTH


  It may safely be said that no greater service has been
  rendered at once to religion and to literature than the
  translation of the Bible into the English tongue. This
  achievement did not indeed, like that of Luther's German
  translation, come as it were by a single stroke. Luther's
  Bible caused him to be regarded as the founder of the
  present literary language of Germany--New High German--which
  his translation permanently established. The English Bible,
  on the other hand, was the growth of centuries. But to the
  contributions of able hands through many generations, during
  which the English language itself passed through a wonderful
  formative development, the incomparable beauty of King
  James' version owes its existence, and our literature its
  greatest ornaments.

  It is impossible to say when the first translation of any
  part of the Bible into English was made. No English Bible of
  earlier date than the fourteenth century has ever been
  found. But translations, even of the whole Bible, older than
  Wcyliffe's are, by at least two eminent witnesses, said to
  have existed. "As for olde translacions, before Wycliffe's
  time," says Sir Thomas More, "they remain lawful and be in
  some folkes handes." "The hole byble," he declares
  (_Dyalogues_, p. 138, ed. 1530), "was long before Wycliffe's
  days, by vertuous and well learned men, translated into the
  English tong." And Cranmer, in his prologue to the second
  edition of the "Great Bible," bears testimony equally
  explicit to the translation of Scripture "in the Saxons
  tongue." And when that language "waxed olde and out of
  common usage," he says, the Bible "was again translated into
  the newer language." There has never been any means of
  testing these statements, which were probably due to some
  inexplicable error. Abundant evidence exists relating to
  many Saxon and later translations of various parts of the
  Bible before the time of Wycliffe. Among the most notable of
  the early translators were the Venerable Bede and Alfred the
  Great. Some portions of Scripture were likewise translated
  into Anglo-Norman in the thirteenth century. Some of the
  early fragments are still preserved in English libraries.

  Three versions of the Psalter in English, from the early
  years of the fourteenth century, still exist, one of which
  was by Richard Rolle, the Yorkshire hermit, who also
  translated the New Testament.

  But so far as known, the first complete Bible in English was
  the work of John Wycliffe, assisted by Nicholas de
  Hereford--whom some would name first in this partnership,
  though the product of their joint labors is known as
  "Wycliffe's Bible."

  John Wycliffe, the "Morning Star of the Reformation," was
  born near Richmond, Yorkshire, about 1324. He became a
  fellow, and later master of Balliol College, Oxford,
  afterward held several rectorships--the last being that of
  Lutterworth, upon which he entered in 1374. For opposing the
  papacy and certain church doctrines and practices, he was
  condemned by the university, and his followers--known as
  Lollards--were persecuted. Something of his life in
  connection with these matters is fitly dealt with by Smyth
  in connection with his account of the famous translation.

After the early Anglo-Saxon versions comes a long pause in the history
of Bible translation. Amid the disturbance resulting from the Danish
invasion there was little time for thinking of translations and
manuscripts; and before the land had fully regained its quiet the fatal
battle of Hastings had been fought, and England lay helpless at the
Normans' feet. The higher Saxon clergy were replaced by the priests of
Normandy, who had little sympathy with the people over whom they came,
and the Saxon manuscripts were contemptuously flung aside as relics of a
rude barbarism. The contempt shown to the language of the defeated race
quite destroyed the impulse to English translation, and the Norman
clergy had no sympathy with the desire for spreading the knowledge of
the Scriptures among the people, so that for centuries those Scriptures
remained in England a "spring shut up, a fountain sealed."

Yet this time must not be considered altogether lost, for during those
centuries England was becoming fitted for an English Bible. The future
language of the nation was being formed; the Saxon and Norman French
were struggling side by side; gradually the old Saxon grew
unintelligible to the people; gradually the French became a foreign
tongue, and with the fusion of the two races a language grew up which
was the language of united England.

Passing, then, from the quiet death-beds of Alfred and of Bede, we
transfer ourselves to the great hall of the Blackfriars' monastery,
London, on a dull, warm May day in 1378, amid purple robes and gowns of
satin and damask, amid monks and abbots, and bishops and doctors of the
Church, assembled for the trial of John Wycliffe, the parish priest of
Lutterworth.

The great hall, crowded to its heavy oaken doors, witnesses to the
interest that is centred in the trial, and all eyes are fixed on the
pale, stern old man who stands before the dais silently facing his
judges. He is quite alone, and his thoughts go back, with some
bitterness, to his previous trial, when the people crowded the doors
shouting for their favorite, and John of Gaunt and the Lord Marshal of
England were standing by his side. He has learned since then not to put
his trust in princes. The power of his enemies has rapidly grown; even
the young King (Richard II) has been won over to their cause, and
patrons and friends have drawn back from his side, whom the Church has
resolved to crush.

The judges have taken their seats, and the accused stands awaiting the
charges to be read, when suddenly there is a quick cry of terror. A
strange rumbling sound fills the air, and the walls of the judgment hall
are trembling to their base--the monastery and the city of London are
being shaken by an earthquake! Friar and prelate grow pale with
superstitious awe. Twice already has this arraignment of Wycliffe been
strangely interrupted. Are the elements in league with this enemy of the
Church? Shall they give up the trial?

"No!" thunders Archbishop Courtenay, rising in his place. "We shall not
give up the trial. This earthquake but portends the purging of the
kingdom; for as there are in the bowels of the earth noxious vapors
which only by a violent earthquake can be purged away, so are these
evils brought by such men upon this land which only by a very earthquake
can ever be removed. Let the trial go forward!"

What think you, reader, were the evils which this pale ascetic had
wrought, needing a very earthquake to cleanse them from the land? Had he
falsified the divine message to the people in his charge? Was he turning
men's hearts from the worship of God? Was his priestly office disgraced
by carelessness or drunkenness or impurity of life?

Oh, no. Such faults could be gently judged at the tribunal in the
Blackfriars' hall. Wycliffe's was a far more serious crime. He had dared
to attack the corruptions of the Church, and especially the enormities
of the begging friars; he had indignantly denounced pardons and
indulgences and masses for the soul as part of a system of gigantic
fraud; and worst of all, he had filled up the cup of his iniquity by
translating the Scriptures into the English tongue; "making it," as one
of the chroniclers angrily complains, "common and more open to laymen
and to women than it was wont to be to clerks well learned and of good
understanding. So that the pearl of the Gospel is trodden under foot of
swine."

The feeling of his opponents will be better understood if we notice the
position of the Church in England at the time. The meridian of her power
had been already passed. Her clergy as a class were ignorant and
corrupt. Her people were neglected, except for the money to be extorted
by masses and pardons, "as if," to quote the words of an old writer,
"God had given his sheep, not to be pastured, but to be shaven and
shorn." This state of things had gone on for centuries, and the people
like dumb, driven cattle had submitted. But those who could discern the
signs of the times must have seen now that it could not go on much
longer. The spread of education was rapidly increasing, several new
colleges having been founded in Oxford during Wycliffe's lifetime. A
strong spirit of independence, too, was rising among the people. Already
Edward III and his parliament had indignantly refused the Pope's demand
for the annual tribute to be sent to Rome. It was evident that a crisis
was near. And, as if to hasten the crisis, the famous schism of the
papacy had placed two popes at the head of the Church, and all
Christendom was scandalized by the sight of the rival "vicars of Jesus
Christ" anathematizing each other from Rome and Avignon, raising armies
and slaughtering helpless women and children, each for the aggrandizing
of himself.

The minds of men in England were greatly agitated, and Wycliffe felt
that at such a time the firmest charter of the Church would be the open
Bible in her children's hands; the best exposure of the selfish policy
of her rulers, the exhibiting to the people the beautiful,
self-forgetting life of Jesus Christ as recorded in the Gospels. "The
sacred Scriptures," he said, "are the property of the people, and one
which no one should be allowed to wrest from them. Christ and his
apostles converted the world by making known the Scriptures to men in a
form familiar to them, and I pray with all my heart that through doing
the things contained in this book we may all together come to the
everlasting life." This Bible translation he placed far the first in
importance of all his attempts to reform the English Church, and he
pursued his object with a vigor and against an opposition that remind
one of the old monk of Bethlehem and his Bible a thousand years before.

The result of the Blackfriars' synod was that after three days'
deliberation Wycliffe's teaching was condemned, and at a subsequent
meeting he himself was excommunicated. He returned to his quiet
parsonage at Lutterworth--for his enemies dared not yet proceed to
extremities--and there, with his pile of old Latin manuscripts and
commentaries, he labored on at the great work of his life, till the
whole Bible was translated into the "modir tongue," and England received
for the first time in her history a complete version of the Scriptures
in the language of the people.

And scarce was his task well finished when, like his great predecessor
Bede, the brave old priest laid down his life. He himself had expected
that a violent death would have finished his course. His enemies were
many and powerful; the Primate, the King, and the Pope were against
him--with the friars, whom he had so often and so fiercely defied; so
that his destruction seemed but a mere question of time. But while his
enemies were preparing to strike, the old man "was not, for God took
him."

It was the close of the old year, the last Sunday of 1384, and his
little flock at Lutterworth were kneeling in hushed reverence before the
altar, when suddenly, at the time of the elevation of the sacrament, he
fell to the ground in a violent fit of the palsy, and never spoke again
until his death on the last day of the year.

In him England lost one of her best and greatest sons, a patriot sternly
resenting all dishonor to his country, a reformer who ventured his life
for the purity of the Church and the freedom of the Bible--an earnest,
faithful "parson of a country town," standing out conspicuously among
the clergy of the time.

  "For Criste's lore and his apostles twelve
   He taughte--and first he folwede it himselve."

Here is a choice specimen from one of the monkish writers of the time
describing his death: "On the feast of the passion of St. Thomas of
Canterbury, John Wycliffe, the organ of the devil, the enemy of the
Church, the idol of heretics, the image of hypocrites, the restorer of
schism, the storehouse of lies, the sink of flattery, being struck by
the horrible judgment of God, was seized with the palsy throughout his
whole body, and that mouth which was to have spoken huge things against
God and his saints, and holy Church, was miserably drawn aside, and
afforded a frightful spectacle to beholders; his tongue was speechless
and his head shook, showing painfully plainly that the curse which God
had thundered forth against Cain was also inflicted on him."

Some time after his death a petition was presented to the Pope, which to
his honor he rejected, praying him to order Wycliffe's body to be taken
out of consecrated ground and buried in a dunghill. But forty years
after, by a decree of the Council of Constance, the old reformer's bones
were dug up and burned, and the ashes flung into the little river Swift
which "runneth hard by his church at Lutterworth." And so, in the
often-quoted words of old Fuller, "as the Swift bear them into the
Severn, and the Severn into the narrow seas, and they again into the
ocean, thus the ashes of Wycliffe is an emblem of his doctrine, which is
now dispersed all over the world."

But it is with his Bible translation that we are specially concerned. As
far as we can learn, the whole Bible was not translated by the reformer.
About half the Old Testament is ascribed to Nicholas de Hereford, one of
the Oxford leaders of the Lollards; the remainder, with the whole of the
New Testament, being done by Wycliffe himself. About eight years after
its completion the whole was revised by Richard Purvey, his curate and
intimate friend, whose manuscript is still in the library of Trinity
College, Dublin. Purvey's preface is a most interesting old document,
and shows not only that he was deeply in earnest about his work, but
that he thoroughly understood the intellectual and moral conditions
necessary for its success.

"A simpel creature," he says, "hath translated the Scripture out of
Latin into Englische. First, this simpel creature had much travayle
with divers fellows and helpers to gather many old Bibles and other
doctors and glosses to make one Latin Bible. Some deal true and then to
study it anew the texte and any other help he might get, especially Lyra
on the Old Testament, which helped him much with this work. The third
time to counsel with olde grammarians and old divines of hard words and
hard sentences how they might best be understood and translated, the
fourth time to translate as clearly as he could to the sense, and to
have many good fellows and cunnying at the correcting of the
translacioun. A translator hath great nede to studie well the sense both
before and after, and then also he hath nede to live a clene life and be
full devout in preiers, and have not his wit occupied about worldli
things that the Holy Spyrit author of all wisdom and cunnynge and truthe
dresse him for his work and suffer him not to err." And he concludes
with the prayer, "God grant to us all grace to ken well and to kepe well
Holie Writ, and to suffer joiefulli some paine for it at the laste."

Like all the earlier English translations, Wycliffe's Bible was based on
the Latin Vulgate of St. Jerome; and this is the great defect in his
work, as compared with the versions that followed. He was not capable of
consulting the original Greek and Hebrew even if he had access to
them--in fact, there was probably no man in England at the time capable
of doing so; and therefore, though he represents the Latin faithfully
and well, he of course handed on its errors as faithfully as its
perfections. But, such as it is, it is a fine specimen of
fourteenth-century English. He translated not for scholars or for
nobles, but for the plain people, and his style was such as suited those
for whom he wrote--plain, vigorous, homely, and yet with all its
homeliness full of a solemn grace and dignity, which made men feel that
they were reading no ordinary book. He uses many striking expressions,
such as (II Tim. ii. 4): "No man holding knighthood to God, wlappith
himself with worldli nedes;" and many of the best-known phrases in our
present Bible originated with him; _e.g._, "the beame and the mote,"
"the depe thingis of God," "strait is the gate and narewe is the waye,"
"no but a man schall be born againe," "the cuppe of blessing which we
blessen," etc.

Here is a specimen from Wycliffe's Gospels:

  In thilke dayes came Joon Baptist prechynge in the
  desert of Jude, saying, Do ye penaunce: for the kyngdom
  of heuens shall neigh. Forsothe this is he of whom
  it is said by Ysaye the prophete, A voice of a cryinge in
  desert, make ye redy the wayes of the Lord, make ye
  rightful the pathes of hym. Forsothe that like Joon hadde
  cloth of the beeris of cameylis and a girdil of skyn about
  his leendis; sothely his mete weren locustis and hony of
  the wode. Thanne Jerusalem wente out to hym, and al
  Jude, and al the cuntre aboute Jordan, and thei weren
  crystened of hym in in Jordon, knowlechynge there synnes.

It is somewhere recorded that at a meeting in Yorkshire recently a long
passage of Wycliffe's Bible was read, which was quite intelligible
throughout to those who heard.

It will be seen that this specimen (Matt. iii. 1-6) is not divided into
verses. Verse division belongs to a much later period, and, though
convenient for reference, it sometimes a good deal spoils the sense. The
division into chapters appears in Wycliffe's as in our own Bibles. This
chapter division had shortly before been made by a cardinal Hugo, for
the purpose of a Latin concordance, and its convenience brought it
quickly into use. But, like the verse division, it is often very badly
done, the object aimed at seeming to be uniformity of length rather than
any natural division of the subject. Sometimes a chapter breaks off in
the middle of a narrative or an argument, and, especially in St. Paul's
epistles, the incorrect division often becomes misleading. The removal
as far as possible of these divisions is one of the advantages of the
Revised Version to be noticed later on.

The book had a very wide circulation. While the Anglo-Saxon versions
were confined for the most part to the few religious houses where they
were written, Wycliffe's Bible, in spite of its disadvantage of being
only manuscript, was circulated largely through the kingdom; and, though
the cost a good deal restricted its possession to the wealthier classes,
those who could not hope to possess it gained access to it too, as well
through their own efforts as through the ministrations of Wycliffe's
"pore priestes." A considerable sum was paid for even a few sheets of
the manuscript, a load of hay was given for permission to read it for a
certain period one hour a day,[70] and those who could not afford even
such expenses adopted what means they could. It is touching to read such
incidents as that of one Alice Collins, sent for to the little
gatherings "to recite the Ten Commandments and parts of the epistles of
SS. Paul and Peter, which she knew by heart." "Certes," says old John
Foxe in his _Book of Martyrs_, "the zeal of those Christian days seems
much superior to this of our day, and to see the travail of them may
well shame our careless times."

But it was at a terrible risk such study was carried on. The appearance
of Wycliffe's Bible aroused at once fierce opposition. A bill was
brought into parliament to forbid the circulation of the Scriptures in
English; but the sturdy John of Gaunt vigorously asserted the right of
the people to have the Word of God in their own tongue; "for why," said
he, "are we to be the dross of the nations?" However, the rulers of the
Church grew more and more alarmed at the circulation of the book. At
length Archbishop Arundel, a zealous but not very learned prelate,
complained to the Pope of "that pestilent wretch, John Wycliffe, the son
of the old Serpent, the forerunner of Antichrist, who had completed his
iniquity by inventing a new translation of the Scriptures"; and, shortly
after, the Convocation of Canterbury forbade such translations, under
penalty of the major excommunication.

"God grant us," runs the prayer in the old Bible preface, "to ken and to
kepe well Holie Writ, and to suffer joiefulli some paine for it at the
laste." What a meaning that prayer must have gained when the readers of
the book were burned with the copies round their necks, when men and
women were executed for teaching their children the Lord's Prayer and
Ten Commandments in English, when husbands were made to witness against
their wives, and children forced to light the death-fires of their
parents, and possessors of the banned Wycliffe Bible were hunted down as
if they were wild beasts!

Thus did Wycliffe, in his effort for the spread of the Gospel of Peace,
bring, like his Master fourteen centuries before, "not peace, but a
sword." Every bold attempt to let in the light on long-standing darkness
seems to result first in a fierce opposition from the evil creatures
that delight in the darkness, and the weak creatures weakened by
dwelling in it so long. It is not till the driving back of the evil and
the strengthening of the weak, as the light gradually wins its way, that
the true results can be seen. It is, to use a simile of a graceful
modern writer,[71] "As when you raise with your staff an old flat stone,
with the grass forming a little hedge, as it were, around it as it lies.
Beneath it, what a revelation! Blades of grass flattened down,
colorless, matted together, as if they had been bleached and ironed;
hideous crawling things; black crickets with their long filaments
sticking out on all sides; motionless, slug-like creatures; young larvae,
perhaps more horrible in their pulpy stillness than in the infernal
wriggle of maturity. But no sooner is the stone turned and the wholesome
light of day let in on this compressed and blinded community of creeping
things than all of them that have legs rush blindly about, butting
against each other and everything else in their way, and end in a
general stampede to underground retreats from the region poisoned by
sunshine. Next year you will find the grass growing fresh and green
where the stone lay--the ground-bird builds her nest where the beetle
had his hole--the dandelion and the buttercup are growing there, and the
broad fans of insect-angels open and shut over their golden disks as the
rhythmic waves of blissful consciousness pulsate through their glorified
being.

"The stone is ancient error, the grass is human nature borne down and
bleached of all its color by it, the shapes that are found beneath are
the crafty beings that thrive in the darkness, and the weak
organizations kept helpless by it. He who turns the stone is whosoever
puts the staff of truth to the old lying incubus, whether he do it with
a serious face or a laughing one. The next year stands for the coming
time. Then shall the nature which had lain blanched and broken rise in
its full stature and native lines in the sunshine. Then shall God's
minstrels build their nests in the hearts of a new-born humanity. Then
shall beauty--divinity taking outline and color--light upon the souls of
men as the butterfly, image of the beatified spirit rising from the
dust, soars from the shell that held a poor grub, which would never have
found wings unless that stone had been lifted."




THE SWISS WIN THEIR INDEPENDENCE

BATTLE OF SEMPACH

A.D. 1386-1389

F. Grenfell Baker


  For two generations after the victory of the Swiss over the
  Austrians at Morgarten (1315), which was followed by the
  renewal of the Swiss Confederation of 1291, the leagued
  cantons were favored with growth and internal development.
  To the original cantons--Uri, Schwyz, and Unterwalden--were
  added (1332-1353) Lucerne, Zurich, Glarus, Zug, and Bern.
  The Confederation acknowledged no superior but the Emperor
  of Germany.

  In 1375 there was an irruption into Switzerland of a horde
  of irregular soldiers under Enguerrand de Courcy, son-in-law
  of Edward III of England. The mother of De Courcy was a
  daughter of Leopold I, Duke of Austria, and through her De
  Courcy claimed several Swiss towns. As the present Austrian
  Duke, Leopold II, who held nominal suzerainty over
  Switzerland, refused to give them up, De Courcy invaded
  Swiss territory with a large force and a fury which at first
  threw the country into panic. But at last the Swiss
  recovered their old spirit of bravery, and in many severe
  encounters they either killed or chased out of the country
  the whole ruthless host of invaders.

  This war is known in Swiss chronicles as the _Guglerkrieg_,
  either from the pointed spikes on the helmets of the Swiss
  soldiers or from the cowls which many of them wore. It is
  also called the "English War," although De Courcy's men were
  nearly all from the Continent and Wales.

  The Swiss soon had need of their old military prowess, which
  this defence of their country against foreign invaders had
  freshly put to the proof. By the victory of Sempach, July 9,
  1386, their independence was practically won, and by later
  acts of valor and statesmanship they made it secure for many
  years.

Austria's conduct soon began once more to disturb the Swiss, and to
threaten a renewal of hostilities. Her first act of importance was the
conquest of the Tyrol, after which, under pretence of benefiting the
pilgrims to Einsiedeln,[72] but in reality to separate Glarus from
Zurich, she built a bridge across the lake at Rapperschwyl. The
possession of this bridge by Austria acted as a perpetual hinderance to
Zurich's trade with the South, and was accordingly greatly resented by
the city. Austria's position, as ruler in so many burghs that, from
their situation and the nationality of their inhabitants, were
essentially Swiss, also acted as a never-ending source of trouble. Her
rule was both harsh and unjust, and, as a result, her local governors
were extremely unpopular. In 1386 the anti-Austrian feeling in
Switzerland had grown to such a pitch that popular outbreaks against her
authority were, in many centres, of frequent occurrence, and war
appeared inevitable.

From Lucerne came the final troubles that precipitated the country again
into a conflict with Austria. Previous to the actual declaration of war,
constant collisions in the neighborhood of Lucerne had for some time
past taken place, with all the horrors and savagery of war. In 1385 a
body of men from Lucerne attacked and demolished the castle town of
Rothenburg, the residence of an Austrian bailie. Next, both Entlibuch
and Sempach, at the instigation of Lucerne, revolted against her
Austrian rulers, expelled the bailies, and entered into alliances with
the city. Lucerne herself commenced extending her territories by the
purchase of Wiggis, and--contrary to her treaty stipulations--admitted a
number of Austrian subjects into the privileges of citizenship. Austria
retaliated by attacking Richensee, a small Lucerne town containing a
garrison of some two hundred soldiers. This she carried by assault and
destroyed, massacring the inhabitants of all ages and of both sexes.

Other reprisals on both sides followed in quick succession, in which
immense numbers of victims perished. Soon both the Duke, Leopold II, and
the Confederates were fully prepared, and the former took the field with
a large army. After menacing Zurich, the Duke, accompanied by many
nobles from Germany, France, and North Italy, headed some six thousand
picked men, and marched upon Lucerne. On his way he burned Willisau and
several smaller towns, where his troops committed every form of excess.
On July 9th a portion of his forces appeared before the walls of
Sempach, while another division menaced Zurich. At Sempach the
Confederates mustered to the help of Lucerne, but were only able to
bring about sixteen hundred men, taken chiefly from the Forest States.
In spite of their disparity in numbers, the Confederates determined to
risk an encounter.

The decisive and brilliant battle of Sempach, the second of the long
roll of victories that mark the prowess of the Swiss, is thus described
by an old writer: "The Swiss order of battle was angular, one soldier
followed by two, these by four, and so on. The Swiss were all on foot,
badly armed, having only their long swords and their halberds, and
boards on their left arms with which to parry the blows of their
adversaries, and they could at first make no impression on the close
ranks of the Austrians, all bristling with spears. But Anthony zer Pot,
of Uri, cried to his men to strike with their halberds on the shafts of
the spears, which he knew were made hollow to render them lighter, and,
at the same time, Arnold von Winkelried, a knight from Unterwalden,
devoting himself for his country, cried out: 'I'll open a way for you,
Confederates!' and, seizing as many spears as he could grasp in his
arms, dragged them down with his whole weight and strength upon his own
bosom, and thus made an opening for his countrymen to penetrate the
Austrian ranks.

"This act of heroism decided the victory. The Swiss rushed into the gap
made by Winkelried, and, having now come to close quarters with their
enemies, their bodily strength and the lightness of their equipment gave
them a great advantage over the heavily armed Austrians, who were
already fainting under the heat of a July sun. The very closeness of the
array of the Austrian men-at-arms rendered them incapable either of
advancing or falling back, and, the grooms who held their horses having
taken flight, panic seized them, they broke their ranks, and were hewed
down by the Swiss halberds in frightful numbers. Duke Leopold was urged
by those around him to save his life, but he scorned the advice, and,
seeing the banner of Austria in danger, rushed to save it, and was
killed in the attempt. The rout then became general, but the Swiss had
the humanity, or the policy, not to pursue their enemies, of whom
otherwise not one, perhaps, would have escaped. The loss of the
Austrians amounted to two thousand men, including six hundred and
seventy-six noblemen, three hundred and fifty of whom wore coroneted
helmets. Most of them were buried at Koenigsfelden, with their leader
Leopold. The Swiss lost two hundred men in this memorable battle, the
second in which they had defeated a duke of Austria at the head of his
chivalry."

After Sempach the men of Glarus set about making themselves a free
people. One of their first acts was the capture of Wesen and the
expulsion of its Austrian soldiers. This was followed by a truce, which
lasted till 1388, when Leopold's sons recommenced the war with fresh
fury. Wesen was recaptured by the admission of a number of soldiers in
disguise, who opened the gates to their comrades without and massacred
all the chief Swiss leaders. Some months later the men of Glarus
inflicted a severe defeat on the Austrians at the little town of
Naefels, within their state. In this important combat three hundred and
fifty men of Glarus, together with fifty from Schwyz, posted themselves
on the heights above the town, and, as the Austrians advanced, suddenly
hurled down masses of stones that soon caused a panic. Then, following
the successful tactics employed at Morgarten, the Swiss rushed down on
the disordered mass--said to consist of fifteen thousand soldiers, but
probably about half that number--and dealt death on every side. A
precipitate flight of the invaders followed, but they were met near
Wesen by a fresh body of seven hundred Glarus peasants, who completed
the victory.

Though Bern took no part in the battle of Sempach, after that victory
she entered actively into the war, and overran the Austrian dependencies
in Freiburg and Valengrin. She drove the Duke's followers out of
Rapperschwyl, annexed Nidau and Bueren, and conquered the upper
Simmenthal.

At length, both sides being weary of war and carnage, a peace was signed
for seven years in 1389, with the condition that Bern should restore
Nidau and Bueren. This peace was in 1394 further prolonged for twenty
years. These treaties brought great benefits to Switzerland in many
ways. Glarus and Zug obtained their formal freedom from Austrian rule in
payment of a moderate sum of money; Schwyz received the town and abbey
of Einsiedeln (1397); Lucerne purchased Sempach and Entlibuch from the
Duke, as also other towns; but chief of all, the political power of the
Hapsburgs came to an end in Switzerland.

An important feature of this period was the lessened influence of the
Emperor of Germany in Swiss affairs, and the gradual withdrawal of the
Swiss from the position they so long occupied as subject-vassals of the
empire. This was especially seen toward the close of the fourteenth
century, when the Emperor, being pressed for money, sold his rights over
several important Swiss districts to their inhabitants, and thus
forfeited all authority over them.

But chief of all the memorable events of this time was the close it
brought to the long and bloody struggle between Austria and Switzerland.
At length the heroism and persevering patriotism of the Swiss effected
the liberation of their country from Austrian rule, and henceforth the
dukes ceased to attempt to enforce their claims, and tacitly
acknowledged their defeat. The Swiss states from this period, moreover,
began to be known, not as an unimportant portion of the German empire,
but as a separate country, Die Schweiz, from the prominent part taken by
Schwyz in initiating the freedom of the land.




UNION OF DENMARK, SWEDEN, AND NORWAY

A.D. 1397

PAUL C. SINDING


  Canute the Great, King of England and Denmark, by successful
  wars added almost the whole of Norway to his dominions. At
  his death in 1035 his kingdoms were divided, and fell into
  anarchy and discord for two centuries, until the tyrant
  Black Geert, who had driven out Christopher II, and been for
  fourteen years the virtual sovereign of Denmark, was
  assassinated by the Danish patriot Niels Ebbeson.

  Christopher's third son, Waldemar, surnamed Atterdag,
  because he used to say when a misfortune happened,
  "To-morrow it is again day," was recalled from Bavaria and
  crowned king as Waldemar IV. He commenced at once with vigor
  and marked success the improvement of the internal
  conditions of the country, and strove to encompass his chief
  ambition, the reunion of the ancient Danish possessions.

  By marrying his daughter Margaret to Hakon VI, King of
  Norway and son of Magnus Smek, King of Sweden, Waldemar laid
  a basis for a junction of the three great Scandinavian
  kingdoms. The union was realized under the administration of
  his illustrious and sagacious daughter, Margaret, known as
  the "Semiramis of the North."

Waldemar Atterdag left no direct male issue. But his two grandsons,
Albert the Younger, of Mecklenburg, a son of Ingeborg, Waldemar's eldest
daughter, and of Henry of Mecklenburg; and Olaf, a son of Margaret, his
younger daughter, and of Hakon VI of Norway, were now claiming the
hereditary succession to the throne. One party declared for Olaf, but,
as he was the son of the younger daughter, his claim was very doubtful.
But because the house of Mecklenburg had acted with hostility toward
Denmark, and Olaf had expectation of Norway and claims to the crown of
Sweden, as a grandson of Magnus Smek, Denmark was, by his election, in
hopes of one day seeing the three crowns united on the same head. It was
therefore not long before this important affair was determined. The
preference was given Olaf, who, although only six years of age, was,
under the name of Olaf V, elected king of Denmark, under the
guardianship of Margaret his mother; and after the death of his father
Hakon VI, he became also king of Norway, the two kingdoms thus being
united. This union, till the expiration of four hundred and thirty-four
years, was not dissolved. When Olaf V, seven years after, died in
Falsterbo, both kingdoms elected Margaret their queen, though custom had
not yet authorized the election of a female.

During the reign of this great Princess, who deservedly has been called
the "Semiramis of the North," Denmark and Norway exercised in Europe an
influence the effects of which were long felt throughout the
Scandinavian countries with their vast extent and rival races. She
united wisdom and policy with courage and determination, had strength of
mind to preserve her rectitude without deviation, and her efforts were
crowned by divine Providence with success. She is justly considered one
of the most illustrious female rulers in history. Her renown even
reached the Byzantine emperor Emanuel Palaeologus, who called her _Regina
sine exemplo maxima_. But under her successors--destitute of her high
sense of duty, great ability, and consistent virtue--her triumphs proved
a snare instead of a blessing. The great union she created dissolved in
a short time, and its downfall was as sudden as its elevation had been
extraordinary. She was born in 1353. Her father was, as we have seen,
Waldemar Atterdag, her mother Queen Hedevig, and she became queen of
Denmark and Norway in 1387. She was no sooner elected queen of Denmark,
and homaged on the hill of Sliparehog, near Lund, in Ringsted, Odensee,
and Wiborg, than she sailed to Norway to receive their homage. But a
remarkable occurrence is mentioned by historians as occurring about this
time. A report prevailed that King Olaf, the Queen's son, was not dead;
it was propagated by the nobility, and very likely set on foot by them,
in order to punish Margaret for her liberality to the clergy. An
impostor claimed the crown of Denmark and Norway, and gained credit
every day by making discoveries which could only be known to Olaf and
his mother. Margaret, however, proved him to be a son of Olaf's nurse.
Olaf had a large wart between his shoulders--a mark which did not appear
on the impostor. The false Olaf was seized, broken on the wheel, and
publicly burned at a place between Falsterbo and Skanor, in Sweden, and
Margaret continued uninterruptedly her regency.

But the Queen, not wishing to contract a new marriage, and comprehending
the importance of having a successor elected to the throne, proposed her
nephew, Eric, Duke of Pomerania. This proposal the clergy and nobility
approved, and they elected him to be king of Denmark and Norway after
Margaret's death. Meanwhile Albert, King of Sweden, having, on account
of his preference given to German favorites, incurred the hatred of his
people, the Swedes requested Margaret to assist them against him, which
she promised to do if they in return would make her queen of Sweden.
Moreover, Albert had highly offended the Danish Queen; had, though
hardly able to govern his own kingdom, assumed the title "king of
Denmark," and laid claim to Norway, too; and when she blamed him for it
he had answered her disdainfully. In a letter he had used foul and
abusive language, calling her "a king without breeches," and the
"abbot's concubine" (_abbedfrillen_), on account of her particular
attachment to a certain abbot of Soro, who was her spiritual director.
It is, however, true, that her intimacy with this monk gave room for
some suspicion that her privacies with him were not all employed about
the care of her soul. Afterward, to ridicule her yet more, King Albert
sent her a hone to sharpen her needles, and swore not to put on his
nightcap until she had yielded to him. But under perilous circumstances
Margaret was never at a loss how to act. She acted here with the utmost
prudence, trying first to gain the favor of the peers of the state, and
solemnly promising to rule according to the Swedish laws. War now broke
out between Albert and Margaret, whose army was commanded by Jvar Lykke.
The encounter of the two armies--about twelve thousand men on each
side--took place at Falkoping, September 21, 1388. A furious battle was
fought, in which the victory for a long while hung in suspense. But
Margaret's good fortune prevailed; Albert was routed and his army cut to
pieces, and Margaret was now mistress of Sweden.

While this was passing, the Queen tarried in Wordingborg Sjelland,
ardently desiring to learn the result. But no sooner did she hear that
the victory was gained, and the Swedish King and his son Eric taken
prisoners, than she hastened to Bahus, in Sweden, where the King and his
son were brought before her. Lost in joy and amazement at having her
enemy in her power, the Queen now retorted upon King Albert with
revilings, and she made him wear a large nightcap of paper--a
retaliation proportioned to his offensive words. He and his son were
thereupon brought to Lindholm, a castle in Skane, where they were kept
prisoners for seven years. When they entered the castle, a dark, square
room was assigned them, and when the King said, "I hope that this
torture against a crowned head will only last a few days," the jailer
replied: "I grieve to say that the Queen's orders are to the contrary;
anger not the Queen by any bravado, else you will be placed in the
irons, and if these fail we can have recourse to sharper means." To the
excessive self-love, intemperance, conceitedness, and want of foresight
which had characterized all his actions, the unhappy Albert had to
ascribe his present situation.

The year following, the Queen stormed the important city of Calmar, yet
siding with the imprisoned King. She made several wise alliances with
Richard II of England, and other potentates, and concluded a truce for
two years with the princes of Mecklenburg, and the cities of Rostock and
Wismar, which had begun to raise fresh levies in favor of the
unfortunate Albert. This period expired, she laid siege to Stockholm and
other fortified places, of which John, Duke of Mecklenburg, and other
friends of the imprisoned King had become masters. But the cause of
Albert was little forwarded, and Margaret gained ground every day. She
compelled the capital to surrender to her and do homage to her as its
sovereign; whereafter a peremptory peace was concluded on Good Friday,
which restored tranquillity to the three kingdoms. The imprisoned King
and his son were delivered up to the Hanseatic towns, and they obtained
their liberty for sixty thousand ounces of silver, upon condition that
they should resign all claims to Sweden if the amount were not paid
within three years. As soon as the King and his son were delivered to
the deputies, they solemnly swore to a strict observance of this
article, the Hanse towns engaging themselves to guarantee the treaty.
The money, however, not being paid by the stipulated time, Margaret
became undisputed sovereign of Sweden, the third Scandinavian kingdom.

About this time the "Victuals Brethren," so called because they brought
victuals from the Hanse towns to Stockholm while besieged, began to
imperil Denmark, plundering the Danish and Norwegian coasts, and
destroying all commercial business along the Baltic. But Margaret
ordered the harbors of the maritime towns to be blockaded, thus putting
a quick stop to their cruelties and piracies. The Queen's principal care
was now to visit the different provinces, to administer justice and
redress grievances of every kind. Among other salutary regulations, the
affairs of commerce were not forgotten. It was, for instance, decreed
that all manner of assistance should be given to foreign merchants and
sailors, particularly in case of misfortune and shipwreck, without
expectation of reward; and that all pirates should be treated with the
greatest rigor.

Eric of Pomerania was, as we have said, elected to be king of Denmark
and Norway after Margaret's death. But wishing to have him also elected
her successor to the Swedish throne, Margaret brought him to Sweden, and
introduced him to the deputies, one by one, whom she requested to
confirm his election to the succession. The majesty of the Queen's
person, the strength of her arguments, and the sweetness of her
eloquence gained over the deputies, who, on July 22, 1396, elected him
at Morastone by Upsala, to succeed her also in Sweden. But Margaret,
soon discovering his inability and impetuousness, took pains to remedy
these defects, as much as possible, by procuring for him as a wife the
intelligent and virtuous princess Philippa, a daughter of Henry V of
England, and shortly after had got Catharine, her niece and Eric's
sister, married to Prince John, a son of the German emperor Ruprecht;
John being promised the Scandinavian crowns if Eric of Pomerania should
die childless. Thus having strengthened and consolidated her power by
influential connections and relationships, the Queen, upon whose head
the three northern crowns were actually united, now proceeded to realize
the great plan she had long cherished--to get a fundamental law
established for a perpetual union of the three large Scandinavian
kingdoms. The realization of this purpose immortalized her, securing for
her the admiration of the world, whose most eminent historians do not
hesitate to surname her the "Great," and to compare her with the
loftiest Greek and Roman heroes and statesmen.

On June 17, 1397, Margaret summoned to an assembly at Calmar, in the
province of Smaland, Sweden, the clergy and the nobility of Denmark,
Norway, and Sweden, and established, by their aid and consent, a
fundamental law. This was the law so celebrated in the North under the
name of the "Union of Calmar," and which afterward gave birth to wars
between Sweden and Denmark that lasted a whole century. It consisted of
three articles. The first provided that the three kingdoms should
thenceforward have but one and the same king, who was to be chosen
successively by each of the kingdoms. The second article imposed upon
the sovereign the obligation of dividing his time equally between the
three kingdoms. The third, and most important, decreed that each kingdom
should retain its own laws, customs, senate, and privileges of every
kind; that the highest officers should be natives; that any alliance
concluded with foreign potentates should be obligatory upon all three
kingdoms when approved by the council of one kingdom; and that, after
the death of the King, his eldest son, or, if the King died childless,
then another wise, intelligent, and able prince, should be chosen common
monarch; and if anyone, because of high treason, was banished from one
kingdom, then he should be banished from them all. A month after, on the
Queen's birthday, July 13th, a legitimate charter was drawn up, to which
the Queen subscribed and put her seal; on which occasion Eric of
Pomerania was anointed and crowned by the archbishops of Upsala and Lund
as king of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. The _Te Deum_ was sung in the
churches of Calmar, the assembly crying out: "_Haecce unio esto perpetua!
Longe, longe, longe, vivat Margarethe, regina Daniae, Norvegiae et
Sveciae!_"

This strict union of the three large states became a potent bulwark for
their security, and made them, in more than one century, the arbiter of
the European system; the three nations of the northern peninsula
presenting a compact and united front, that could bid defiance to any
foreign aggression.

Although Eric of Pomerania was elected king, and in 1407 passed his
minority, Margaret continued governing until the day of her death. "You
have done all well," wrote the people to her, "and we value your
services so highly that we would gladly grant you everything." The union
of the three Scandinavian kingdoms having been established in Calmar,
all her efforts were now aimed at regaining the duchy of Schleswig,
which circumstances had compelled her to resign to Gerhard IV, Count of
Holstein. For such a reunion with Schleswig a favorable opportunity
appeared, when Gerhard was killed in an expedition against the
Ditmarshers, leaving behind three sons in minority. Elizabeth, Gerhard's
widow, fled to Margaret for succor against her violent brother-in-law,
Bishop Henry of Osnabrueck. Margaret, fond of fishing in foul water, was
very willing to help her, but availed herself of the opportunity to
annex successively different parts of Schleswig.

The dethroned Swedish King, Albert, never able to forget his anger
toward Margaret or her severity against him, and continually cherishing
a hope of reascending the Swedish throne, and considering the Union of
Calmar a breach of peace, contrived to make the Swedish people
displeased with her, and thought it a suitable time to revolt from her
dominion. He established a strong camp before Visby, the capital of the
island of Gulland, having six thousand foot and, at some distance, nine
thousand horse. Determined to engage before their junction could take
place, the Queen's commander-in-chief, Abraham Broder, immediately
advanced until in sight of the enemy, and then endeavored to gain
possession of Visby and the ground near by. In this he was so far
successful that Albert and his army had to leave the camp and conclude a
truce. But nevertheless he did not till after a lapse of seven years
give up his hope of remounting the throne of Sweden, making a final
peace with Margaret, and henceforward living in Gadebush, Mecklenburg,
where in 1412 he closed his inglorious life.

Soon after, October 27th, Queen Margaret died on board a ship in the
harbor of Flensburg, at the age of fifty-nine, after an active and
notable reign of thirty-seven years. Her funeral was attended with the
greatest solemnity, and her corpse was brought to the Cathedral of
Roeskilde, where Eric of Pomerania, her successor, in 1423, caused her
likeness to be carved in alabaster. Her acts show her character. She
displayed judiciousness united with circumspection; wisdom in devising
plans, and perseverance in executing them; skill in gaining the
confidence of the clergy and peasantry, and thereby counterbalancing the
imperious nobility. On the whole she applied herself to the civilization
of her three kingdoms, and to their improvement by excellent laws, the
great aim of which was to undermine the nobility. She pursued the plan
of her great father to recall all rights to the crown lands, which
during the reign of her weak and inefficient predecessors had been
granted to the nobility. The prosecution of this plan for the perfect
subversion of the feudal aristocracy was unfortunately interrupted by
her death; her imprudent and weak successor having no power to restrain
the turbulent spirit of a factious nobility.




DEPOSITION OF RICHARD II

HENRY IV BEGINS THE LINE OF LANCASTER

A.D. 1399

JOHN LINGARD


  Richard II, son of Edward the Black Prince, succeeded his
  grandfather, Edward III, on the throne of England in 1377,
  when Richard was but ten years old. During his minority the
  government was intrusted to a council of twelve, but for
  some years it was mainly controlled by Richard's uncles,
  John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Thomas of Woodstock,
  Duke of Gloucester. War with France, then in progress,
  entailed great expenditures, which were increased by court
  extravagance, and at length burdensome taxes led to popular
  uprisings. These became most serious in the great revolt of
  the peasants led by Wat Tyler, in 1381. Richard appeared
  among the insurgents and granted them concessions.

  From this time the King became more active in his
  government, and in 1386 John of Gaunt withdrew to the
  Continent. About the same time the Duke of Gloucester headed
  a coalition of the baronial party in opposition to the
  sovereign; but in 1389 Richard suddenly declared himself of
  age and gave a check to their designs. For eight years he
  ruled with moderation as a constitutional monarch.

  But in 1396 Richard married Isabella, daughter of Charles VI
  of France, and henceforth seems to have adopted French
  ideas, and to have made pretensions in the direction of
  absolutism. He proceeded to arbitrary prosecutions which led
  to the violent death of several leading nobles. Richard also
  quarrelled with Henry, son of John of Gaunt, whom as Duke of
  Lancaster he succeeded in 1399. The year before, Richard had
  banished Henry for ten years--fearing him as a possible
  rival. The history of the remaining months of Richard's
  reign is crowded with the events which rapidly led to the
  ending of the direct line of the Plantagenets and the
  beginning of the line of Lancaster.

  In Shakespeare's _Richard II_--the first of his historical
  plays--the poet, following Holinshed's chronicle, presents
  not only a skilful dramatic construction of the recorded
  incidents of the reign, but also a finely discriminated
  portrait of Richard's much debated character as man and
  monarch.

Richard now saw himself triumphant over all his opponents. Even his
uncles, through affection or fear, seconded all his measures. He had
attained what seems for some time to have been the great object of his
policy. He had placed himself above the control of the law. By the
grant of a subsidy for life he was relieved from the necessity of
meeting his parliament; with the aid of his committee, the members of
which proved the obsequious ministers of his will, he could issue what
new ordinances he pleased; and a former declaration by the two houses,
that he was as free as any of his predecessors, was conveniently
interpreted to release him from the obligations of those statutes which
he deemed hostile to the royal prerogative. But he had forfeited all
that popularity which he had earned during the last ten years; and the
security in which he indulged hurried him on to other acts of despotism,
which inevitably led to his ruin. He raised money by forced loans; he
compelled the judges to expound the law according to his own prejudices
or caprice; he required the former adherents of Gloucester to purchase
and repurchase charters of pardon; and, that he might obtain a more
plentiful harvest of fines and amercements, put at once seventeen
counties out of the protection of the law, under the pretence that they
had favored his enemies.

The Duke of Lancaster did not survive the banishment of his son more
than three months; and the exile expected to succeed by his attorneys to
the ample estates of his father. But Richard now discovered that his
banishment, like an outlawry, had rendered him incapable of inheriting
property. At a great council, including the committee of parliament, it
was held that the patents granted, both to him and his antagonist, were
illegal, and therefore void; and all the members present were sworn to
support that determination. Henry Bowet, who had procured the patent for
the duke of Hereford, was even condemned, for that imaginary offence, to
suffer the punishment of treason; though, on account of his character,
his life was spared on condition that he should abjure the kingdom
forever.

This iniquitous proceeding seems to have exhausted the patience of the
nation. Henry--on the death of his father he had assumed the title of
duke of Lancaster--had long been the idol of the people; and the
voluntary assemblage of thousands to attend him on his last departure
from London might have warned Richard of the approaching danger. The
feeling of their own wrongs had awakened among them a spirit of
resistance; the new injury offered to their favorite pointed him out to
them as their leader. Consultations were held; plans were formed; the
dispositions of the great lords were sounded; and the whole nation
appeared in a ferment. Yet it was in this moment, so pregnant with
danger, that the infatuated monarch determined to leave his kingdom. His
cousin and heir, the Earl of March, had been surprised and slain by a
party of Irish; and, in his eagerness to revenge the loss of a relation,
he despised the advice of his friends, and wilfully shut his eyes to the
designs of his enemies.

Having appointed his uncle, the Duke of York, regent during his absence,
the King assisted at a solemn mass at Windsor, chanted a collect
himself, and made his offering. At the door of the Church he took wine
and spices with his young Queen; and, lifting her up in his arms,
repeatedly kissed her, saying, "Adieu, madam, adieu till we meet again."
From Windsor, accompanied by several noblemen, he proceeded to Bristol,
where the report of plots and conspiracies reached him, and was received
with contempt. At Milford Haven he joined his army, and, embarking in a
fleet of two hundred sail, arrived in a few days in the port of
Waterford. His cousin the Duke of Albemarle had been ordered to follow
with a hundred more; and three weeks were consumed in waiting for that
nobleman, whose delay was afterward attributed to a secret understanding
with the King's enemies.

At length Richard led his forces from Kilkenny against the Irish.
Several of the inferior chiefs hastened barefoot and with halters round
their necks to implore his mercy; but M'Murchad spurned the idea of
submission, and boasted that he would extirpate the invaders. He dared
not indeed meet them in open combat; but it was his policy to flee
before them, and draw them into woods and morasses, where they could
neither fight with advantage nor procure subsistence. The want of
provisions and the clamor of the soldiers compelled the King to give up
the pursuit, and to direct his march toward Dublin; and M'Murchad, when
he could no longer impede their progress, solicited and obtained a
parley with the Earl of Gloucester, the commander of the rear-guard. The
chieftain was an athletic man; he came to the conference mounted on a
gray charger, which had cost him four hundred head of cattle, and
brandished with ease and dexterity a heavy spear in his hand. He seemed
willing to become the nominal vassal of the King of England, but refused
to submit to any conditions. Richard set a price on his head, proceeded
to Dublin, and at the expiration of a fortnight was joined by the Duke
of Albemarle with men and provisions. This seasonable supply enabled him
to recommence the pursuit of M'Murchad; but while he was thus occupied
with objects of inferior interest in Ireland, a revolution had occurred
in England, which eventually deprived him both of his crown and his
life.

When the King sailed to Ireland, Henry of Bolingbroke, the new Duke of
Lancaster, resided in Paris, where he was hospitably entertained, but at
the same time narrowly watched, by the French monarch. About Christmas
he offered his hand to Marie, one of the daughters of the Duke of Berry.
The jealousy of Richard was alarmed; the Earl of Salisbury hastened to
Paris to remonstrate against the marriage of a daughter of France with
an English "traitor," and, suiting his conduct to his words, the envoy,
having accomplished his object, returned without deigning to speak to
the exile. While Henry was brooding over these injuries, the late
Primate, or nominal Bishop of St. Andrews, secretly left his house at
Cologne, and in the disguise of a friar procured an interview with the
Duke at the Hotel de Vinchester. The result of their meeting was a
determination to return to England during the King's absence. To elude
the suspicions of the French ministers, Henry procured permission to
visit the Duke of Bretagne; and, on his arrival at Nantes, hired three
small vessels, with which he sailed from Vannes to seek his fortune in
England. His whole retinue consisted only of the Archbishop, the son of
the late Earl of Arundel, fifteen lances, and a few servants. After
hovering for some days on the eastern coast, he landed at Ravenspur in
Yorkshire, and was immediately joined by the two powerful earls of
Northumberland and Westmoreland; before whom, in the White Friars at
Doncaster, he declared upon oath that his only object was to recover the
honors and estates which had belonged to his father, and bound himself
not to advance any claim to the crown.

The Duke of York, to whom the King had intrusted the government during
his absence, was accurately informed of his motions, and had summoned
the retainers of the crown to join the royal standard at St. Albans.
There is, however, reason to believe that he was not hearty in the cause
which it was his duty to support. He must have viewed with pity the
unmerited misfortunes of one nephew, and have condemned the violent and
thoughtless career of the other; and from the fate of his brother
Gloucester, and the cruel and unjust treatment of the only son of his
brother, John of Gaunt, he could not draw any very flattering conclusion
with respect to the stability of his own family. Whether it was from
suspicion of his fidelity, or from the disinclination of the chief
barons to draw the sword against one who demanded nothing more than his
right, the favorites of Richard became alarmed for their own safety.

The Earl of Wiltshire, with Bussy and Greene, members of the committee
of parliament, had been appointed to wait on the young Queen at
Wallingford; but they suddenly abandoned their charge, and fled with
precipitation to Bristol. York himself followed with the army in the
same direction. It might be that, to relieve himself from
responsibility, he wished to be in readiness to deliver up the command
on the expected arrival of Richard from Ireland; but at the same time he
left open the road from Yorkshire to the metropolis, and allowed the
adventurer to pursue his object without impediment. Henry was already on
his march. The snowball increased as it rolled along, and the small
number of forty followers, with whom he had landed, swelled by the time
that he had reached St. Albans to sixty thousand men. He was preceded by
his messengers and letters, stating not only his own wrongs, but also
the grievances of the people, and affirming that the revenue of the
kingdom had been let out to farm to the rapacity of Scrope, Bussy, and
Greene. In all those lordships which had been the inheritance of his
family he was received with enthusiasm; in London by a procession of the
clergy and people, with addresses of congratulation, and presents, and
offers of service.

His stay in the capital was short. Having flattered the citizens, and
confirmed them in their attachment to his person, he turned to the west,
and entered Evesham, on the same day on which York reached Berkeley.
After an interchange of messages they met in the church of the castle;
and, before they separated, the doom of Richard was sealed. That the
regent consented to the actual deposition of his nephew does not
necessarily follow; he might only have sought his reformation by putting
it out of his power to govern amiss; but he betrayed the trust which had
been reposed to him, united his force with that of Henry, and commanded
Sir Peter Courtenay, who held the castle of Bristol for the King, to
open its gates. That officer, protesting that he acknowledged no
authority in the Duke of Lancaster, obeyed the mandate of the regent.
The next morning the three fugitives, the Earl of Wiltshire, Bussy, and
Greene, were executed by order of the constable and marshal of the host.
The Duke of York remained at Bristol; Henry with his own forces
proceeded to Chester to secure that city, and awe the men of Cheshire,
the most devoted adherents of the King.

We may now return to Richard in Ireland. It must appear strange, but
Henry had been in England a fortnight before the King, in consequence,
it was said, of the tempestuous weather, had heard of his landing. The
intelligence appears to have provoked indignation as much as alarm.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, "fair uncle of Lancaster, God reward your soul! Had
I believed you, this man would not have injured me. Thrice have I
pardoned him; this is his fourth offence." But he referred the matter to
his council, and was advised to cross over to England immediately with
the ships which had brought the reenforcement under the Duke of
Albemarle. That nobleman, however, insidiously, as it was afterward
pretended, diverted him from this intention. The Earl of Salisbury
received orders to sail immediately with his own retainers, a body of
one hundred men, and to summon to the royal standard the natives of
Wales. Richard promised to follow in the fleet from Waterford in the
course of six days. The Earl obeyed; the men of Wales and Cheshire
answered the call; and a gallant host collected at Conway.

But Richard appeared not according to his promise; distressing reports
were circulated among the troops; and the royalists, having waited for
him almost a fortnight, disbanded in spite of the fears and entreaties
of their commander. At last, on the eighteenth day, the King arrived in
Milford Haven with the dukes of Albemarle, Exeter, and Surrey, the Earl
of Worcester, the bishops of London, Lincoln, and Carlisle, and
several thousands of the troops who had accompanied him to Ireland. With
such a force, had it been faithful, he might have made a stand against
his antagonist; but on the second morning, when he arose, he observed
from his window that the greater part had disappeared. A council was
immediately summoned, and a proposal made that the King should flee by
sea to Bordeaux; but the Duke of Exeter objected that to quit the
kingdom in such circumstances was to abdicate the throne. Let them
proceed to the army at Conway. There they might bid defiance to the
enemy; or at all events, as the sea would still be open, might thence
set sail to Guienne. His opinion prevailed; and at nightfall the King,
in the disguise of a Franciscan friar, his two brothers of Exeter and
Surrey, the Earl of Gloucester, the Bishop of Carlisle, Sir Stephen
Scrope, and Sir William Feriby, with eight others, stole away from the
army, and directed their route toward Conway. Their flight was soon
known. The royal treasure, which Richard left behind him, was plundered;
Albemarle, Worcester, and most of the leaders hastened to pay their
court to Henry; the rest attempted in small bodies to make their way to
their own counties, but were in most instances plundered and ill-treated
by the Welsh.

The royal party with some difficulty, but without any accident, reached
Conway, where, to their utter disappointment, instead of a numerous
force, they found only the Earl of Salisbury with a hundred men. In this
emergency the King's brothers undertook to visit Henry at Chester, and
to sound his intentions; and during their absence Richard, with the Earl
of Salisbury, examined the castles of Beaumaris and Carnarvon; but
finding them without garrisons or provisions, the disconsolate wanderers
returned to their former quarters.

When the two dukes were admitted into the presence of Henry, they bent
the knee and acquainted him with their message from the King. He took
little notice of Surrey, whom he afterward confined in the castle, but,
leading Exeter aside, spoke with him in private, and gave him, instead
of the hart, the King's livery, his own badge of the rose. But no
entreaties could induce him to allow them to return. Exeter was observed
to drop a tear when the Duke of Albemarle said to him tauntingly: "Fair
cousin, be not angry. If it please God, things shall go well."

The immediate object of Henry was to secure the royal person. He was
gratified to learn from the envoys the place of Richard's retreat, and
detained them at Chester, that the King, instead of making his escape,
might await their return. His first care was to take possession of the
treasure which the King had deposited in the strong castle of Holt; his
next, to despatch the Earl of Northumberland at the head of four hundred
men-at-arms and a thousand archers to Conway, with instructions not to
display his force, lest the King should put to sea, but by artful
speeches and promises to draw him out of the fortress and then make him
prisoner. The Earl took possession in his journey of the castles of
Flint and Rhuddlan, and a few miles beyond the latter, placing his men
in concealment under a rock, rode forward with only five attendants to
Conway.

He was readily admitted, and, to the King's anxious inquiries about his
brothers, replied that he had left them well at Chester, and had brought
a letter from the Duke of Exeter. In it that nobleman said, or rather
was made to say, that full credit might be given to the offers of the
bearer. These offers were, that Richard should promise to govern and
judge his people by law; that the dukes of Exeter and Surrey, the Earl
of Salisbury, the Bishop of Carlisle, and Maudelin, the King's chaplain,
should submit to a trial in parliament, on the charge of having advised
the assassination of Gloucester; that Henry should be made grand
justiciary of the kingdom, as his ancestors had been for a hundred
years; and that, on the concession of these terms, the Duke should come
to Flint, ask the King's pardon on his knees, and accompany or follow
him to London. Richard consulted his friends apart. He expressed his
approbation of the articles, but bade them secretly be assured that no
consideration should induce him to abandon them on their trial, and that
he would grasp the first opportunity of being revenged on his and their
enemies--"for there were some among them whom he would flay alive; whom
he would never spare for all the gold in the land." Northumberland was
then sworn to the observance of the conditions. He took his oath on the
host; and, "like Judas," says the writer, "perjured himself on the body
of our Lord."

As Northumberland departed to make arrangements for the interview at
Flint, the King said to him: "I rely, my lord, on your faith. Remember
your oath, and the God who heard it." Soon afterward he followed with
his friends and their servants, to the number of twenty-two. They came
to a steep declivity, to the left of which was the sea, and on the right
a lofty rock overhanging the road. The King dismounted, and was
descending on foot, when he suddenly exclaimed: "I am betrayed. God of
Paradise, assist me! Do you not see banners and pennons in the valley?"
Northumberland with eleven others met them at the moment and affected to
be ignorant of the circumstance. "Earl of Northumberland," said the
King, "if I thought you capable of betraying me, it is not too late to
return." "You cannot return," the Earl replied, seizing the King's
bridle; "I have promised to conduct you to the Duke of Lancaster." By
this time he was joined by a hundred lances, and two hundred archers on
horseback; and Richard, seeing it impossible to escape, exclaimed: "May
the God, on whom you laid your hand, reward you and your accomplices at
the last day!" and then, turning to his friends, added: "We are
betrayed; but remember that our Lord was also sold and delivered into
the hands of his enemies."

They dined at Rhuddlan, and reached Flint in the evening. The King, as
soon as he was left with his friends, abandoned himself to the
reflections which his melancholy situation inspired. He frequently
upbraided himself with his past indulgence to his present opponent:
"Fool that I was!" he exclaimed: "thrice did I save the life of this
Henry of Lancaster. Once my dear uncle his father, on whom the Lord have
mercy! would have put him to death for his treason and villany. God of
Paradise! I rode all night to save him; and his father delivered him to
me, to do with him as I pleased. How true is the saying that we have no
greater enemy than the man whom we have preserved from the gallows!
Another time he drew his sword on me, in the chamber of the Queen, on
whom God have mercy! He was also the accomplice of the Duke of
Gloucester and the Earl of Arundel; he consented to my murder, to that
of his father, and of all my council. By St. John, I forgave him all;
nor would I believe his father, who more than once pronounced him
deserving of death."

The unfortunate King rose after a sleepless night, heard mass, and
ascended the tower to watch the arrival of his opponent. At length he
saw the army, amounting to eighty thousand men, winding along the beach
till it reached the castle and surrounded it from sea to sea. He
shuddered and wept, and cursed the Earl of Northumberland, but was
called down by the arrival of Archbishop Arundel, the Duke of Albemarle,
and the Earl of Worcester. They knelt to Richard, who, drawing the
prelate apart, held a long conversation with him. After their departure
he again mounted the tower, and, surveying the host of his enemies,
exclaimed: "Good Lord God! I commend myself into thy holy keeping, and
cry thee mercy, that thou wouldst pardon all my sins. If they put me to
death I will take it patiently, as thou didst for us all."
Northumberland had ordered dinner, and the Earl of Salisbury, the Bishop
and the two knights, Sir Stephen Scrope and Sir William Feriby, sat with
the King at the same table by his order; for since they were all
companions in misfortune, he would allow no distinction among them.
While he was eating, unknown persons entered the hall, insulting him
with sarcasms and threats. As soon as he rose, he was summoned into the
court to receive the Duke of Lancaster. Henry came forward in complete
armor, with the exception of his helmet. As soon as he saw the King he
bent his knee, and, advancing a few paces, he repeated his obeisance
with his cap in his hand.

"Fair cousin of Lancaster," said Richard, uncovering himself, "you are
right welcome." "My lord," answered the Duke, "I am come before my time.
But I will show you the reason. Your people complain that for the space
of twenty or two-and-twenty years you have ruled them rigorously; but,
if it please God, I will help you to govern better." The King replied,
"Fair cousin, since it pleaseth you, it pleaseth us well." Henry then
addressed himself successively to the Bishop and to the knights, but
refused to notice the Earl. The King's horses were immediately ordered;
and two lean and miserable animals were brought out, on which Richard
and Salisbury mounted, and amid the flourish of trumpets and shouts of
triumph followed the Duke into Chester.

At Chester writs were issued in the King's name for the meeting of
parliament and the preservation of the peace. Henry dismissed the
greater part of his army, and prepared to conduct his prisoner to the
capital. At Lichfield Richard seized a favorable moment to let himself
down from his window, but was retaken in the garden, and from that
moment was constantly guarded by ten or twelve armed men. In the
neighborhood of London they separated. Henry, accompanied by the mayor
and principal citizens, proceeded to St. Paul's, prayed before the high
altar, and wept a few minutes over the tomb of his father. The King was
sent to Westminster, and thence on the following day to the Tower, and,
as he went along, was greeted with curses and the appellation of "the
bastard," a word of ominous import, and prophetic of his approaching
degradation.

When the Duke first landed in England, he had sworn on the Gospels that
his only object was to vindicate his right to the honors and possessions
of the house of Lancaster. If this was the truth, his ambition had grown
with his good-fortune. He now aspired to exchange the coronet of a duke
for the crown of a king. Can we believe that he would meet with
opposition from his associates, the Percy family? Yet so we are assured.
They, however, by their perfidy, had given themselves a master. Their
retainers had been already dismissed; and the friends of Richard
abhorred them as the worst of traitors. They had therefore no resource
but to submit, and to second the design of Lancaster. After several
consultations it was resolved to combine a solemn renunciation of the
royal authority on the part of Richard with an act of deposition on the
part of the two houses of parliament, in the hope that those whose
scruples should not be satisfied with the one, might acquiesce in the
other. To obtain the first, the royal captive was assailed with promises
and threats. Generally he abandoned himself to lamentation and despair;
occasionally he exerted that spirit which he had formerly displayed.
"Why am I thus guarded?" he asked one day. "Am I your king or your
prisoner?" "You are my king, sir," replied the Duke with coolness; "but
the council of your realm has thought proper to place a guard about
you."

  [Illustration: Richard II resigns the crown of England to
  Henry, Duke of Lancaster, son of John of Gaunt, at London.

  Painting by Sir John Gilbert.]

On the day before the meeting of parliament a deputation of prelates,
barons, knights, and lawyers waited on the captive in the Tower, and
reminded him that in the castle of Conway, while he was perfectly his
own master, he had promised to resign the crown on account of his own
incompetency to govern. On his reply that he was ready to perform his
promise, a paper was given him to read, in which he was made to absolve
all his subjects from their fealty and allegiance, to renounce of his
own accord all kingly authority, to acknowledge himself incapable of
reigning, and worthy for his past demerits to be deposed, and to swear
by the holy Gospels that he would never act, nor, as far as in him lay,
suffer any other person to act, in opposition to this resignation. He
then added, as from himself, that if it were in his power to name his
successor, he would choose his cousin of Lancaster, who was present, and
to whom he gave his ring, which he took from his own finger.

Such is the account of this transaction inserted by the order of Henry
in the rolls of parliament; an account the accuracy of which is liable
to strong suspicion. It is difficult to believe that Richard had so much
command over his feelings as to behave with that cheerfulness which is
repeatedly noticed in the record; and the assertion that he had promised
to resign the crown when he saw Northumberland in the castle of Conway,
is not only contradictory to the statement of the two eye-witnesses, but
also in itself highly improbable. From the fate of Edward II, with which
he had so often been threatened, he must have known that it was better
to flee to his transmarine dominions, which were still open to him, than
to resign his crown and remain a prisoner in the custody of his
successor.

The next day the two houses met amid a great concourse of people in
Westminster hall. The Duke occupied his usual seat near the throne,
which was empty and covered with cloth of gold. The resignation of the
King was read; each member, standing in his place, signified his
acceptance of it aloud; and the people with repeated shouts expressed
their approbation. Henry now proceeded to the second part of his plan,
the act of deposition. For this purpose the coronation oath was first
read; thirty-three articles of impeachment followed, in which it was
contended that Richard had violated that oath; and thence it was
concluded that he had by his misconduct forfeited his title to the
throne. Of the articles, those which bear the hardest on the King are:
the part which he was supposed to have had in the death of the Duke of
Gloucester, his revocation of the pardons formerly granted to that
Prince and his adherents, and his despotic conduct since the dissolution
of parliament. Of the remainder, some are frivolous; many might, with
equal reason, have been objected to each of his predecessors; and the
others rest on the unsupported assertion of men whose interest it was to
paint him in the blackest colors.

No opposition had been anticipated, nor is any mentioned on the rolls;
but we are told that the Bishop of Carlisle, to the astonishment of the
Lancastrians, rose and demanded for Richard what ought not to be refused
to the meanest criminal, the right of being confronted with his
accusers; and for parliament what it might justly claim, the opportunity
of learning from the King's own mouth whether the resignation of the
crown, which had been attributed to him, were his own spontaneous act.
If Merks actually made such a speech, he must have stood alone; no one
was found to second it; the house voted the deposition of Richard; and
eight commissioners, ascending a tribunal erected before the throne,
pronounced him degraded from the state and authority of king, on the
ground that he notoriously deserved such punishment, and had
acknowledged it under his hand and seal on the preceding day. Sir
William Thirnyng, chief justice, was appointed to notify the sentence to
the captive, who meekly replied that he looked not after the royal
authority, but hoped his cousin would be good lord to him.

The rightful possessor was now removed from the throne. But, supposing
it to be vacant, what pretensions could Henry of Lancaster advance to
it? By the law of succession it belonged to the descendants of Lionel,
the third son of Edward III; and their claim, it is said, had been
formally recognized in parliament. All waited in anxious suspense till
the Duke, rising from his seat, and forming with great solemnity the
sign of the cross on his forehead and breast, pronounced the following
words: "In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, I, Henry of
Lancaster, challenge this realm of England, and the crown, with all the
members and appurtenances, as that I am descended by right line of
blood, coming from the good lord King Henry III, and through that right
that God, of his grace, hath sent me with help of my kin and of my
friends to recover it; the which realm was in point to be undone for
default of governance and undoing of good laws."

In these extraordinary terms did Lancaster advance his pretensions,
artfully intermixing an undefined claim of inheritance[73] with those of
conquest and expediency, and rather hinting at each than insisting on
either. But, however difficult it might be to understand the ground, the
object of his challenge was perfectly intelligible. Both houses admitted
it unanimously; and, as a confirmation, Henry produced the ring and seal
which Richard had previously delivered to him. The Archbishop of
Canterbury now took him by the hand, and led him to the throne. He knelt
for a few minutes in prayer on the steps, arose, and was seated in it by
the two archbishops. As soon as the acclamations had subsided, the
Primate, stepping forward, made a short harangue, in which he undertook
to prove that a monarch in the vigor of manhood was a blessing, a young
and inexperienced prince was a curse to a people. At the conclusion the
King rose. "Sirs," said he, "I thank God, and you, spiritual and
temporal, and all estates of the land; and do you to wit, it is not my
will that no man think that by way of conquest I would disinherit any
man of his heritage, franchises, or other rights that him ought to have,
nor put him out of that that he has and has had by the good laws and
customs of the realm; except those persons that have been against the
good purpose and the common profit of the realm."

With the authority of Richard had expired that of the parliament and of
the royal officers. Henry immediately summoned the same parliament to
meet again in six days, appointed new officers of the crown, and as soon
as he had received their oaths retired in state to the royal apartments.
Thus ended this eventful day, with the deposition of Richard of
Bordeaux, and the succession of his cousin, Henry of Bolingbroke.




DISCOVERY OF THE CANARY ISLANDS
AND THE AFRICAN COAST

BEGINNING OF NEGRO SLAVE TRADE

A.D. 1402

SIR ARTHUR HELPS


  The Canary Islands--the "Elysian Fields" and "Fortunate
  Islands" of antiquity--have perhaps figured in fabulous lore
  more extensively than any others, and have been discovered,
  invaded, and conquered more frequently than any country in
  the world. There has scarcely been a nation of any maritime
  enterprise that has not had to do with them, and in one
  manner or another made its appearance in them.

  During the period following the death of ancient empires,
  the Canary Islands lay hidden in the general darkness which
  fell upon the world. With the modern revival came new and
  greater mariners, and the islands were once more discovered.
  It is well to note the connection between these modern
  rediscoveries and the origin of negro slavery.

  In Europe the old pagan slavery existed in many nations, and
  in the early Christian centuries underwent many
  modifications through the advance of the new religion and
  civilization. The modern form of slavery began with the
  first importation of negroes into Europe, as shown in the
  following account, from which it appears that the history of
  modern slavery begins with the history of African discovery.

Petrarch is referred to by Viera to prove that the Genoese sent out an
expedition to the Canary Islands. Las Casas mentions that an English or
French vessel bound from France or England to Spain was driven by
contrary winds to these Islands, and on its return spread abroad in
France an account of the voyage. The information thus obtained--or
perhaps in other ways of which there is no record--stimulated Don Luis
de la Cerda, Count of Clermont, great-grandson of Don Alonzo the Wise of
Castile, to seek for the investiture of the crown of the Canaries, which
was given to him with much pomp by Clement VI, at Avignon, in 1344,
Petrarch being present. This sceptre proved a barren one. The affairs of
France, with which state the new King of the Canaries was connected,
drew off his attention; and he died without having visited his
dominions. The next authentic information that we have of the Canary
Islands is that, in the times of Don Juan I of Castile, and of Don
Enrique, his son, these islands were much visited by the Spaniards. In
1399, we are told, certain Andalusians, Biscayans, Guipuzcoans, with the
consent of Don Enrique, fitted out an expedition of five vessels, and
making a descent on the island of Lanzarote, one of the Canaries, took
captive the King and Queen, and one hundred and seventy of the
islanders.

Hitherto there had been nothing but discoveries, rediscoveries, and
invasions of these islands; but at last a colonist appears upon the
scene. This was Juan de Bethencourt, a great Norman baron, lord of St.
Martin le Gaillard in the County of Eu, of Bethencourt, of Granville, of
Sancerre, and other places in Normandy, and chamberlain to Charles VI of
France. Those who are at all familiar with the history of that period,
and with the mean and cowardly barbarity which characterized the
long-continued contests between the rival factions of Orleans and
Burgundy, may well imagine that any Frenchman would then be very glad to
find a career in some other country. Whatever was the motive of Juan de
Bethencourt, he carried out his purpose in the most resolute manner.
Leaving his young wife, and selling part of his estate, he embarked at
Rochelle in 1402, with men and means for the purpose of conquering, and
establishing himself in, the Canary Islands. It is not requisite to give
a minute description of this expedition. Suffice it to say that
Bethencourt met with fully the usual difficulties, distresses,
treacheries, and disasters that attach themselves to this race of
enterprising men. After his arrival at the Canaries, finding his means
insufficient, he repaired to the court of Castile, did acts of homage to
the King, Enrique III, and afterward renewed them to his son Juan II,
thereby much strengthening the claim which the Spanish monarchs already
made to the dominion of these islands. Bethencourt, returning to the
islands with renewed resources, made himself master of the greater part
of them, reduced several of the natives to slavery, introduced the
Christian faith, built churches, and established vassalage.

On the occasion of quitting his colony in A.D. 1405, he called all his
vassals together, and represented to them that he had named for his
lieutenant and governor Maciot de Bethencourt, his relation; that he
himself was going to Spain and to Rome to seek for a bishop for them;
and he concluded his oration with these words: "My loved vassals, great
or small, plebeians or nobles, if you have anything to ask me or to
inform me of, if you find in my conduct anything to complain of, do not
fear to speak; I desire to do favor and justice to all the world." The
assembly he was addressing contained none of the slaves he had made. We
are told, however, and that by eye-witnesses, that the poor natives
themselves bitterly regretted his departure, and, wading through the
water, followed his vessel as far as they could. After his visit to
Spain and to Rome, he returned to his paternal domains in Normandy,
where, while meditating another voyage to his colony, he died in 1425.

Maciot de Bethencourt ruled for some time successfully; but afterward,
falling into disputes with the Bishop, and his affairs generally not
prospering, he sold his rights to Prince Henry of Portugal--also, as it
strangely appears, to another person--and afterward settled in Madeira.
The claims to the government of the Canaries were, for many years, in a
most entangled state; and the right to the sovereignty over these
islands was a constant ground of dispute between the crowns of Spain and
Portugal.

Thus ended the enterprise of Juan de Bethencourt, which, though it
cannot be said to have led to any very large or lasting results, yet, as
it was the first modern attempt of the kind, deserves to be chronicled
before commencing with Prince Henry of Portugal's long-continued and
connected efforts in the same direction. The events also which preceded
and accompanied Bethencourt's enterprise need to be recorded, in order
to show the part which many nations, especially the Spaniards, had in
the first discoveries on the coast of Africa.

We now turn to the history of the discoveries made, or rather caused to
be made, by Prince Henry of Portugal. This Prince was born in 1394. He
was the third son of John I of Portugal and Philippa, the daughter of
John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. That good Plantagenet blood on the
mother's side was, doubtless, not without avail to a man whose life was
to be spent in continuous and insatiate efforts to work out a great
idea. Prince Henry was with his father at the memorable capture of
Ceuta, the ancient Septem, in 1415. This town, which lies opposite to
Gibraltar, was of great magnificence, and one of the principal marts in
that age for the productions of the East. It was here that the
Portuguese nation first planted a firm foot in Africa; and the date of
this town's capture may, perhaps, be taken as that from which Prince
Henry began to meditate further and far greater conquests. His aims,
however, were directed to a point long beyond the range of the mere
conquering soldier. He was especially learned, for that age of the
world, being skilled in mathematical and geographical knowledge. And it
may be noticed here that the greatest geographical discoveries have been
made by men conversant with the book knowledge of their own time. A
work, for instance, often seen in the hands of Columbus, which his son
mentions as having had much influence with him, was the learned treatise
of Cardinal Petro de Aliaco (Pierre d'Ailly), the _Imago Mundi_.

But to return to Prince Henry of Portugal. We learn that he had
conversed much with those who had made voyages in different parts of the
world, and particularly with Moors from Fez and Morocco, so that he came
to hear of the Azeneghis, a people bordering on the country of the
negroes of Jalof. Such was the scanty information of a positive kind
which the Prince had to guide his endeavors. Then there were the
suggestions and the inducements which to a willing mind were to be found
in the shrewd conjectures of learned men, the fables of chivalry, and,
perhaps, in the confused records of forgotten knowledge once possessed
by Arabic geographers. The story of Prister John, which had spread over
Europe since the crusades, was well known to the Portuguese Prince. A
mysterious voyage of a certain wandering saint, called St. Brendan, was
not without its influence upon an enthusiastic mind. Moreover, there
were many sound motives urging the Prince to maritime discovery; among
which, a desire to fathom the power of the Moors, a wish to find a new
outlet for traffic, and a longing to spread the blessings of the faith
may be enumerated. The especial reason which impelled Prince Henry to
take the burden of discovery on himself was that neither mariner nor
merchant would be likely to adopt an enterprise in which there was no
clear hope of profit. It belonged, therefore, to great men and princes,
and among such he knew of no one but himself who was inclined to it.

The map of the world being before us, let us reduce it to the
proportions it filled in Prince Henry's time: let us look at our infant
world. First, take away those two continents, for so we may almost call
them, each much larger than a Europe, to the far west. Then cancel that
square, massive-looking piece to the extreme southeast; happily there
are no penal settlements there yet. Then turn to Africa: instead of that
form of inverted cone which it presents, and which we now know there are
physical reasons for its presenting, make a cimetar shape of it, by
running a slightly curved line from Juba on the eastern side to Cape Nam
on the western. Declare all below that line unknown. Hitherto, we have
only been doing the work of destruction; but now scatter emblems of
hippogriffs and anthropophagi on the outskirts of what is left in the
map, obeying a maxim, not confined to the ancient geographers
only--where you know nothing, place terrors. Looking at the map thus
completed, we can hardly help thinking to ourselves, with a smile, what
a small space, comparatively speaking, the known history of the world
has been transacted in, up to the last four hundred years. The idea of
the universality of the Roman dominions shrinks a little; and we begin
to fancy that Ovid might have escaped his tyrant. The ascertained
confines of the world were now, however, to be more than doubled in the
course of one century; and to Prince Henry of Portugal, as to the first
promoter of these vast discoveries, our attention must be directed.

This Prince, having once the well-grounded idea in his mind that Africa
did not end where it was commonly supposed, namely, at Cape Nam (Not),
but that there was a world beyond that forbidding negative, seems never
to have rested until he had made known that quarter of the globe to his
own. He fixed his abode upon the promontory of Sagres, at the southern
part of Portugal, whence, for many a year, he could watch for the rising
specks of white sail bringing back his captains to tell him of new
countries and new men. We may wonder that he never went himself; but he
may have thought that he served the cause better by remaining at home
and forming a centre whence the electric energy of enterprise was
communicated to many discoverers, and then again collected from them.
Moreover, he was much engaged in the public affairs of his country. In
the course of his life he was three times in Africa, carrying on war
against the Moors; and at home, besides the care and trouble which the
state of the Portuguese court and government must have given him, he was
occupied in promoting science and encouraging education.

In 1415, as before noticed, he was at Ceuta. In 1418 he was settled on
the promontory of Sagres. One night in that year he is thought to have
had a dream of promise, for on the ensuing morning he suddenly ordered
two vessels to be got ready forthwith, and to be placed under the
command of two gentlemen of his household, Joham Goncalvez Zarco and
Tristam Vaz, whom he ordered to proceed down the Barbary coast on a
voyage of discovery.

A contemporary chronicler, Azurara, whose work has recently been
discovered and published, tells the story more simply, and merely states
that these captains were young men, who, after the ending of the Ceuta
campaign, were as eager for employment as the Prince for discovery; and
that they were ordered on a voyage having for its object the general
molestation of the Moors, as well as that of making discoveries beyond
Cape Nam. The Portuguese mariners had a proverb about this cape--"He who
would pass Cape Not, either will return or not"; intimating that, if he
did not turn before passing the cape, he would never return at all. On
the present occasion it was not destined to be passed; for these
captains, Joham Goncalvez Zarco and Tristam Vaz, were driven out of
their course by storms, and accidentally discovered a little island,
where they took refuge, and from that circumstance called the island
Porto Santo. "They found there a race of people living in no settled
polity, but not altogether barbarous or savage, and possessing a kindly
and most fertile soil."

I give this description of the first land discovered by Prince Henry's
captains, thinking it would well apply to many other lands about to be
found out by his captains and by other discoverers. Joham Goncalvez
Zarco and Tristam Vaz returned. Their master was delighted with the news
they brought him, more on account of its promise than its substance. In
the same year he sent them out again, together with a third captain,
named Bartholomew Perestrelo, assigning a ship to each captain. His
object was not only to discover more lands, but also to improve those
which had been discovered. He sent, therefore, various seeds and animals
to Porto Santo. This seems to have been a man worthy to direct
discovery. Unfortunately, however, among the animals some rabbits were
introduced into the new island; and they conquered it, not for the
Prince, but for themselves. Hereafter, we shall find that they gave his
people much trouble, and caused no little reproach to him.

We come now to the year 1419. Perestrelo, for some unknown cause,
returned to Portugal at that time. After his departure, Joham Goncalvez
Zarco and Tristam Vaz, seeing from Porto Santo something that seemed
like a cloud, but yet different--the origin of so much discovery, noting
the difference in the likeness--built two boats, and, making for this
cloud, soon found themselves alongside a beautiful island, abounding in
many things, but most of all in trees, on which account they gave it the
name of "Madeira" (Wood). The two discoverers entered the island at
different parts. The Prince, their master, afterward rewarded them with
the captaincies of those parts. To Perestrelo he gave the island of
Porto Santo to colonize it. Perestrelo, however, did not make much of
his captaincy, but after a strenuous contest with the rabbits, having
killed an army of them, died himself. This captain has a place in
history as being the father-in-law of Columbus, who, indeed, lived at
Porto Santo for some time, and here, on new-found land, meditated far
bolder discoveries.

Joham Goncalvez Zarco and Tristam Vaz began the cultivation of their
island of Madeira, but met with an untoward event at first. In clearing
the wood, they kindled a fire among it, which burned for seven years, we
are told; and in the end, that which had given its name to the island,
and which, in the words of the historian, overshadowed the whole land,
became the most deficient commodity. The captains founded churches in
the island; and the King of Portugal, Don Duarte, gave the temporalities
to Prince Henry, and all the spiritualities to the Knights of Christ.

While these things were occurring at Madeira and at Porto Santo, Prince
Henry had been prosecuting his general scheme of discovery, sending out
two or three vessels each year, with orders to go down the coast from
Cape Nam, and make what discoveries they could; but these did not amount
to much, for the captains never advanced beyond Cape Bojador, which is
situated seventy leagues to the south of Cape Nam. This Cape Bojador was
formidable in itself, being terminated by a ridge of rocks with fierce
currents running round them, but was much more formidable from the
fancies which the mariners had formed of the sea and land beyond it. "It
is clear," they were wont to say, "that beyond this cape there is no
people whatever; the land is as bare as Libya--no water, no trees, no
grass in it; the sea so shallow that at a league from the land it is
only a fathom deep; the currents so fierce that the ship which passes
that cape will never return;" and thus their theories were brought in to
justify their fears. This outstretcher--for such is the meaning of the
word _bojador_--was, therefore, as a bar drawn across that advance in
maritime discovery which had for so long a time been the first object of
Prince Henry's life.

The Prince had now been working at his discoveries for twelve years,
with little approbation from the generality of persons; the discovery of
these islands, Porto Santo and Madeira, serving to whet his appetite for
further enterprise, but not winning the common voice in favor of
prosecuting discoveries on the coast of Africa. The people at home,
improving upon the reports of the sailors, said that "the land which the
Prince sought after was merely some sandy place like the deserts of
Libya; that princes had possessed the empires of the world, and yet had
not undertaken such designs as his, nor shown such anxiety to find new
kingdoms; that the men who arrived in those foreign parts--if they did
arrive--turned from white into black men; that the King Don John, the
Prince's father, had endowed foreigners with land in his kingdom, to
break it up and cultivate it--a thing very different from taking the
people out of Portugal, which had need of them, to bring them among
savages to be eaten, and to place them upon lands of which the mother
country had no need; that the Author of the world had provided these
islands solely for the habitation of wild beasts, of which an additional
proof was that those rabbits the discoverers themselves had introduced
were now dispossessing them of the island."

There is much here of the usual captiousness to be found in the
criticism of bystanders upon action, mixed with a great deal of false
assertion and premature knowledge of the ways of Providence. Still, it
were to be wished that most criticism upon action was as wise; for that
part of the common talk which spoke of keeping their own population to
bring out their own resources had a wisdom in it which the men of future
centuries were yet to discover throughout the peninsula. Prince Henry,
as may be seen by his perseverance up to this time, was not a man to
have his purposes diverted by such criticism, much of which must have
been, in his eyes, worthless and inconsequent in the extreme.
Nevertheless, he had his own misgivings. His captains came back one
after another with no good tidings of discovery, but with petty plunder
gained, as they returned from incursions on the Moorish coast.

The Prince concealed from them his chagrin at the fruitless nature of
their attempts, but probably did not feel it less on that account. He
began to think: Was it for him to hope to discover that land which had
been hidden from so many princes? Still, he felt within himself the
incitement of "a virtuous obstinacy," which would not let him rest.
Would it not, he thought, be ingratitude to God, who thus moved his mind
to these attempts, if he were to desist from his work, or be negligent
in it? He resolved, therefore, to send out again Gil Eannes, one of his
household, who had been sent the year before, but had returned, like the
rest, having discovered nothing. He had been driven to the Canary
Islands, and had seized upon some of the natives there, whom he brought
back. With this transaction the Prince had shown himself dissatisfied;
and Gil Eannes, now intrusted again with command, resolved to meet all
dangers rather than to disappoint the wishes of his master. Before his
departure, the Prince called him aside and said: "You cannot meet with
such peril that the hope of your reward shall not be much greater; and
in truth, I wonder what imagination this is that you have all taken
up--in a matter, too, of so little certainty; for if these things which
are reported had any authority, however little, I would not blame you so
much. But you quote to me the opinions of four mariners, who, as they
were driven out of their way to Frandes or to some other ports to which
they commonly navigated, had not, and could not have used, the needle
and the chart; but do you go, however, and make your voyage without
regard to their opinion,--and, by the grace of God, you will not bring
out of it anything but honor and profit."

We may well imagine that these stirring words of the Prince must have
confirmed Gil Eannes in his resolve to efface the stain of his former
misadventure. And he succeeded in doing so; for he passed the dreaded
Cape Bojador--a great event in the history of African discovery, and one
that in that day was considered equal to a labor of Hercules. Gil Eannes
returned to a grateful and most delighted master. He informed the Prince
that he had landed, and that the soil appeared to him unworked and
fruitful; and, like a prudent man, he could not tell of foreign plants,
but had brought some of them home with him in a barrel of the new-found
earth--plants much like those which bear in Portugal the roses of Santa
Maria. The Prince rejoiced to see them, and gave thanks to God, "as if
they had been the fruit and sign of the promised land; and besought Our
Lady, whose name the plants bore, that she would guide and set forth the
doings in this discovery to the praise and glory of God and to the
increase of his holy faith."

After passing the Cape of Bojador there was a lull in Portuguese
discovery, the period from 1434 to 1441 being spent in enterprises of
very little distinctness or importance. Indeed, during the latter part
of this period, the Prince was fully occupied with the affairs of
Portugal. In 1437 he accompanied the unfortunate expedition to Tangier,
in which his brother Ferdinand was taken prisoner, who afterward ended
his days in slavery to the Moor. In 1438, King Duarte dying, the
troubles of the regency occupied Prince Henry's attention. In 1441,
however, there was a voyage which led to very important consequences. In
that year Antonio Goncalvez, master of the robes to Prince Henry, was
sent out with a vessel to load it with skins of "sea-wolves," a number
of them having been seen, during a former voyage, in the mouth of a
river about fifty-four leagues beyond Cape Bojador. Goncalvez resolved
to signalize his voyage by a feat that should gratify his master more
than the capture of sea-wolves; and he accordingly planned and executed
successfully an expedition for capturing some Azeneghi Moors, in order,
as he told his companions, to take home "some of the language of that
country." Nuno Tristam, another of Prince Henry's captains, afterward
falling in with Goncalvez, a further capture of Moors was made, and
Goncalvez returned to Portugal with his spoil.

In the same year Prince Henry applied to Pope Martin V, praying that his
holiness would grant to the Portuguese crown all that it could conquer,
from Cape Bojador to the Indies, together with plenary indulgence for
those who should die while engaged in such conquests. The Pope granted
these requests. "And now," says a Portuguese historian, "with this
apostolic grace, with the breath of royal favor, and already with the
applause of the people, the Prince pursued his purpose with more courage
and with greater outlay."

In 1442 the Moors whom Antonio Goncalvez had captured in the previous
year promised to give black slaves in ransom for themselves if he would
take them back to their own country; and the Prince, approving of this,
ordered Goncalvez to set sail immediately, "insisting as the foundation
of the matter, that if Goncalvez should not be able to obtain so many
negroes (as had been mentioned) in exchange for the three Moors, yet
that he should take them; for whatever number he should get, he would
gain souls, because the negroes might be converted to the faith, which
could not be managed with the Moors." Goncalvez obtained ten black
slaves, some gold-dust, a target of buffalo-hide, and some ostrich eggs
in exchange for two of the Moors, and, returning with his cargo, excited
general wonderment on account of the color of the slaves. These, then,
we may presume, were the first black slaves that had made their
appearance in the peninsula since the extinction of the old slavery.

I am not ignorant that there are reasons for alleging that negroes had
before this era been seized and carried to Seville. The _Ecclesiastical
and Secular Annals_ of that city, under the date 1474, record that negro
slaves abounded there, and that the fifths levied on them produced
considerable gains to the royal revenue; it is also mentioned that there
had been traffic of this kind in the days of Don Enrique III, about
1399, but that it had since then fallen into the hands of the
Portuguese. The chronicler states that the negroes of Seville were
treated very kindly from the time of King Enrique, being allowed to keep
their dances and festivals; and that one of them was named _mayoral_ of
the rest, who protected them against their masters and before the courts
of law, and also settled their own private quarrels. There is a letter
from Ferdinand and Isabella in the year 1474 to a celebrated negro, Juan
de Valladolid, commonly called the "Negro Count," nominating him to this
office of mayoral of the negroes, which runs thus: "For the many good,
loyal, and signal services which you have done us, and do each day, and
because we know your sufficiency, ability, and good disposition, we
constitute you mayoral and judge of all the negroes and mulattoes, free
or slaves, which are in the very loyal and noble city of Seville, and
throughout the whole archbishopric thereof, and that the said negroes
and mulattoes may not hold any festivals nor pleadings among themselves,
except before you, Juan de Valladolid, negro, our judge and mayoral of
the said negroes and mulattoes; and we command that you, and you only,
should take cognizance of the disputes, pleadings, marriages, and other
things which may take place among them, forasmuch as you are a person
sufficient for that office, and deserving of your power, and you know
the laws and ordinances which ought to be kept, and we are informed that
you are of noble lineage among the said negroes."

But the above merely shows that in the year 1474 there were many negroes
in Seville, and that laws and ordinances had been made about them. These
negroes might all, however, have been imported into Seville since the
Portuguese discoveries. True it is that in the times of Don Enrique III,
and during Bethencourt's occupation of the Canary Islands, slaves from
thence had been brought to France and Spain; but these islanders were
not negroes, and it certainly may be doubted whether any negroes were
imported into Seville previous to 1443.

Returning to the course of Portuguese affairs, a historian of that
nation informs us that the gold obtained by Goncalvez "awakened, as it
always does, covetousness"; and there is no doubt that it proved an
important stimulus to further discovery. The next year Nuno Tristam went
farther down the African coast; and, off Adeget, one of the Arguim
Islands, captured eighty natives, whom he brought to Portugal. These,
however, were not negroes, but Azeneghis.

The tide of popular opinion was now not merely turned, but was rushing
in full flow, in favor of Prince Henry and his discoveries. The
discoverers were found to come back rich in slaves and other
commodities; whereas it was remembered that, in former wars and
undertakings, those who had been engaged in them had generally returned
in great distress. Strangers, too, now came from afar, scenting the
prey. A new mode of life, as the Portuguese said, had been found out;
and "the greater part of the kingdom was moved with a sudden desire to
follow this way to Guinea."

In 1444 a company was formed at Lagos, who received permission from the
Prince to undertake discovery along the coast of Africa, paying him a
certain portion of any gains which they might make. This has been
considered as a company founded for carrying on the slave trade; but the
evidence is by no means sufficient to show that its founders meant such
to be its purpose. It might rather be compared to an expedition sent
out, as we should say in modern times, with letters of marque, in which,
however, the prizes chiefly hoped for were not ships nor merchandise,
but men. The only thing of any moment, however, which the expedition
accomplished was to attack successfully the inhabitants of the islands
Nar and Tider, and to bring back about two hundred slaves. I grieve to
say that there is no evidence of Prince Henry's putting a check to any
of these proceedings; but, on the contrary, it appears that he rewarded
with large honors Lancarote, one of the principal men of this
expedition, and received his own fifth of the slaves. Yet I have
scarcely a doubt that the words of the historian are substantially
true--that discovery, not gain, was still the Prince's leading idea. We
have an account from an eye-witness of the partition of the slaves
brought back by Lancarote, which, as it is the first transaction of the
kind on record, is worthy of notice, more especially as it may enable
the reader to understand the motives of the Prince and of other men of
those times. It is to be found in the _Chronicle_, before referred to,
of Azurara. The merciful chronicler is smitten to the heart at the
sorrow he witnesses, but still believes it to be for good, and that he
must not let his mere earthly commiseration get the better of his piety.

"O thou heavenly Father," he exclaims, "who, with thy powerful hand,
without movement of thy divine essence, governest all the infinite
company of thy holy city, and who drawest together all the axles of the
upper worlds, divided into nine spheres, moving the times of their long
and short periods as it pleases thee! I implore thee that my tears may
not condemn my conscience, for not its law, but our common humanity,
constrains my humanity to lament piteously the sufferings of these
people (slaves). And if the brute animals, with their mere bestial
sentiments, by a natural instinct, recognize the misfortunes of their
like, what must this by human nature do, seeing thus before my eyes this
wretched company, remembering that I myself am of the generation of the
sons of Adam! The other day, which was the eighth of August, very early
in the morning, by reason of the heat, the mariners began to bring to
their vessels, and, as they had been commanded, to draw forth those
captives to take them out of the vessel: whom, placed together on that
plain, it was a marvellous sight to behold; for among them there were
some of a reasonable degree of whiteness, handsome and well made; others
less white, resembling leopards in their color; others as black as
Ethiopians, and so ill-formed, as well in their faces as their bodies,
that it seemed to the beholders as if they saw the forms of a lower
hemisphere.

"But what heart was that, how hard soever, which was not pierced with
sorrow, seeing that company: for some had sunken cheeks, and their faces
bathed in tears, looking at each other; others were groaning very
dolorously, looking at the heights of the heavens, fixing their eyes
upon them, crying out loudly, as if they were asking succor from the
Father of nature; others struck their faces with their hands, throwing
themselves on the earth; others made their lamentations in songs,
according to the customs of their country, which, although we could not
understand their language, we saw corresponded well to the height of
their sorrow. But now, for the increase of their grief, came those who
had the charge of the distribution, and they began to put them apart one
from the other, in order to equalize the portions, wherefore it was
necessary to part children and parents, husbands and wives, and
brethren from each other. Neither in the partition of friends and
relations was any law kept, only each fell where the lot took him. O
powerful Fortune! who goest hither and thither with thy wheels,
compassing the things of the world as it pleaseth thee, if thou canst,
place before the eyes of this miserable nation some knowledge of the
things that are to come after them, that they may receive some
consolation in the midst of their great sadness! and you others who have
the business of this partition, look with pity on such great misery, and
consider how can those be parted whom you cannot disunite! Who will be
able to make this partition without great difficulty? for while they
were placing in one part the children that saw their parents in another,
the children sprang up perseveringly and fled to them; the mothers
enclosed their children in their arms and threw themselves with them on
the ground, receiving wounds with little pity for their own flesh, so
that their offspring might not be torn from them!

"And so, with labor and difficulty, they concluded the partition, for,
besides the trouble they had with the captives, the plain was full of
people, as well of the place as of the villages and neighborhood around,
who in that day gave rest to their hands, the mainstay of their
livelihood, only to see this novelty. And as they looked upon these
things, some deploring, some reasoning upon them, they made such a
riotous noise as greatly to disturb those who had the management of this
distribution. The Infante was there upon a powerful horse, accompanied
by his people, looking out his share, but as a man who for his part did
not care for gain, for, of the forty-six souls which fell to his fifth,
he speedily made his choice, as all his principal riches were in his
contentment, considering with great delight the salvation of those souls
which before were lost. And certainly his thought was not vain, for as
soon as they had knowledge of our language they readily became
Christians; and I, who have made this history in this volume, have seen
in the town of Lagos young men and young women, the sons and grandsons
of those very captives, born in this land, as good and as true
Christians as if they had lineally descended, since the commencement of
the law of Christ, from those who were first baptized."

The good Azurara wished that these captives might have some foresight
of the things to happen after their death. I do not think, however, that
it would have proved much consolation to them to have foreseen that they
were almost the first of many millions to be dealt with as they had
been; for, in this year 1444, Europe may be said to have made a distinct
beginning in the slave trade, henceforth to spread on all sides, like
the waves upon stirred water, and not, like them, to become fainter and
fainter as the circles widen.

In 1445 an expedition was fitted out by Prince Henry himself, and the
command given to Gonsalvo de Cintra, who was unsuccessful in an attack
on the natives near Cape Blanco. He and some other of the principal men
of the expedition lost their lives. These were the first Portuguese who
died in battle on that coast. In the same year the Prince sent out three
other vessels. The captains received orders from the Infante, Don Pedro,
who was then Regent of Portugal, to enter the river D'Oro, and make all
endeavors to convert the natives to the faith, and even, if they should
not receive baptism, to make peace and alliance with them. This did not
succeed. It is probable that the captains found negotiation of any kind
exceedingly tame and apparently profitless in comparison with the
pleasant forays made by their predecessors. The attempt, however, shows
much intelligence and humanity on the part of those in power in
Portugal. That the instructions were sincere is proved by the fact of
this expedition returning with only one negro, gained in ransom, and a
Moor who came of his own accord to see the Christian country.

This same year 1445 is signalized by a great event in the progress of
discovery along the African coast. Dinis Dyaz, called by Barros and the
historians who followed him Dinis Fernandez, sought employment from the
Infante, and, being intrusted by him with the command of a vessel,
pushed boldly down the coast, and passed the river Sanaga (Senegal),
which divides the Azeneghis--whom the first discoverers always called
Moors--from the negroes of Jalof. The inhabitants were much astonished
at the presence of the Portuguese vessel on their coasts, and at first
took it for a fish or a bird or a phantasm; but when in their rude
boats--hollowed logs--they neared it, and saw that there were men in it,
judiciously concluding that it was a more dangerous thing than fish or
bird or phantasm, they fled. Dinis Fernandez, however, captured four of
them off that coast, but as his object was discovery, not slave-hunting,
he went on till he discovered Cape Verd, and then returned to his
country, to be received with much honor and favor by Prince Henry. These
four negroes taken by Dinis Fernandez were the first taken in their own
country by the Portuguese. That the Prince was still engaged in high
thoughts of discovery and conversion we may conclude from observing that
he rewarded and honored Dinis Fernandez as much as if he had brought him
large booty; for the Prince "thought little of whatever he could do for
those who came to him with these signs and tokens of another greater
hope which he entertained."

In this case, as in others, we should do great injustice if we supposed
that Prince Henry had any of the pleasure of a slave-dealer in obtaining
these negroes: it is far more probable that he valued them as persons
capable of furnishing intelligence, and, perhaps, of becoming
interpreters, for his future expeditions. Not that, without these
especial motives, he would have thought it anything but great gain for a
man to be made a slave, if it were the means of bringing him into
communion with the Church.

After this, several expeditions, which did not lead to much, occupied
the Prince's time till 1447. In that year a fleet, large for those
times, of fourteen vessels, was fitted out at Lagos by the people there,
and the command given by Prince Henry to Lancarote. The object seems to
have been, from a speech that is recorded of Lancarote's, to make war
upon the Azeneghi Moors, and especially to take revenge for the defeat
before mentioned which Gonsalvo de Cintra suffered in 1445 near Cape
Blanco. That purpose effected, Lancarote went southward, extending the
discovery of the coast to the Gambia. In the course of his proceedings
on that coast we find again that Prince Henry's instructions insisted
much upon the maintenance of peace with the natives. Another instance of
the same disposition on his part deserves to be especially recorded. The
expedition had been received in a friendly manner at Gomera, one of the
Canary Islands. Notwithstanding this kind reception, some of the natives
were taken prisoners. On their being brought to Portugal, Prince Henry
had them clothed and afterward set at liberty in the place from which
they had been taken.

This expedition under Lancarote had no great result. The Portuguese went
a little farther down the coast than they had ever been before, but they
did not succeed in making friends of the natives, who had already been
treated in a hostile manner by some Portuguese from Madeira. Neither did
the expedition make great spoil of any kind. They had got into feuds
with the natives, and were preparing to attack them, when a storm
dissipated their fleet and caused them to return home.

It appears, I think, from the general course of proceedings of the
Portuguese in those times, that they considered there was always war
between them and the Azeneghi Moors--that is, in the territory from
Ceuta as far as the Senegal River; but that they had no declared
hostility against the negroes of Jalof, or of any country farther south,
though skirmishes would be sure to happen from ill-understood attempts
at friendship on the one side, and just or needless fears on the other.

The last public enterprise of which Prince Henry had the direction was
worthy to close his administration of the affairs relating to Portuguese
discovery. He caused two ambassadors to be despatched to the King of the
Cape Verd territory, to treat of peace and to introduce the Christian
faith. One of the ambassadors, a Danish gentleman, was treacherously
killed by the natives, and upon that the other returned, having
accomplished nothing.

Don Alfonso V, the nephew of Prince Henry, now took the reins of
government, and the future expeditions along the coast of Africa
proceeded in his name. Still it does not appear that Prince Henry ceased
to have power and influence in the management of African affairs; and
the first thing that the King did in them was to enact that no one
should pass Cape Bojador without a license from Prince Henry. Some time
between 1448 and 1454 a fortress was built in one of the islands of
Arguim, which islands had already become a place of bargain for gold and
negro slaves. This was the first Portuguese establishment on the coast
of Africa. It seems that a system of trade was now established between
the Portuguese and the negroes.




COUNCIL OF CONSTANCE

A.D. 1414

RICHARD LODGE


  During the forty years of the second great schism in the
  Roman Catholic Church, 1378-1417, different parties adhered
  to different popes, of whom there were sometimes two or more
  simultaneously in office. The French cardinals preferred
  Avignon--to which the holy see had been removed in 1309--as
  the seat of the pope, the Italian cardinals preferred Rome,
  and two lines of popes were consequently chosen. This
  division proved extremely injurious to the papal power and
  authority.

  Meanwhile there were various efforts for reform in the
  Church, among the most notable movements being those led by
  John Wycliffe in England and John Huss on the Continent. At
  last a council was called to decide who was the rightful
  claimant to the papal throne. The council assembled at Pisa,
  Italy, in 1409, but recognized neither of the then rival
  popes--Gregory XII and Benedict XIII--Alexander V being
  elected in their stead. The deposed popes, however, would
  not give up their rule, and so the action of the council
  added to the difficulty, since there were now three popes
  instead of two.

  Alexander V died ten months after his election, and the
  cardinals chose as his successor Cardinal Cossa, who took
  the name of John XXIII. The Church remained as much divided
  as before. In 1412 Pope John, who was a shrewd and politic
  man, opened at Rome a council for the reformation of the
  Church, but there seems to have been little serious purpose
  either on the part of John himself or of the ecclesiastics
  who assembled; and practically nothing was done.

  John was more concerned about his political relations with
  various sovereigns. He was at war with Ladislaus, King of
  Naples, who soon drove him from Rome. John fled to Florence,
  and appealed to Sigismund, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire,
  for assistance. But the Emperor would aid him only on
  condition that the Pope should summon a new council to some
  German city, in order to end the schism. At last John issued
  a formal summons for a council to meet at Constance on
  November 1, 1414. Before it assembled, Ladislaus died, and
  Sigismund determined to conduct the council in the interest
  of his imperial dignity and that of the German kingship,
  which he also held.

The Council of Constance, like that of Pisa, had two very obvious
questions to consider: (1) The restoration of unity; and (2), if the
reforming party could have its way, the reform of the Church in its head
and members. But circumstances forced the council to consider a third
question, which had never been even touched in the discussions at Pisa.
This was reformation in its widest sense; not merely a constitutional
change in the relations of pope and hierarchy, but a vital change in
dogma and ritual. This question was brought to the front by the
so-called Hussite movement in Bohemia. The fundamental issues involved
were those which have been at the bottom of most subsequent disputes in
the Christian Church.

How far was the Christianity of the day unlike the Christianity to be
found in the record of Christ and his apostles? And the difference, if
any, was it a real and necessary difference consequent on the
development of society, or was it the result of abuses and innovations
introduced by fallible men? The orthodox took their stand upon the unity
and authority of the Church. The Church was the true foundation of
Christ and the inheritor of his spirit. Therefore what the Church
believed and taught, that alone was the true Christian doctrine; and the
forms and ceremonies of the Church were the necessary aids to faith. The
reformers, on the other hand, looked to Scripture for the fundamental
rules of life and conduct. Any deviation from these rules, no matter on
what authority, must be superfluous and might very probably be harmful.

The Council of Constance is one of the most notable assemblies in the
history of the world. In the number and fame of its members, in the
importance of its objects, and, above all, in the dramatic interest of
its records, it has few rivals. It is like the meeting of two worlds,
the old and the new, the mediaeval and the modern. We find there
represented views which have hardly yet been fully accepted, which have
occupied the best minds of succeeding centuries; at the same time, the
council itself and its ceremonial carry us back to the times of the
Roman Empire, when church and state were scarcely yet dual, and when
Christianity was coextensive with one united empire. At Constance all
the ideas, religious and political, of the Middle Ages seem to be put
upon their trial. If that trial had ended in condemnation, there could
be no fitter point to mark the division between mediaeval and modern
history. But the verdict was acquittal, or at least a partial aquittal;
and the old system was allowed, under modified conditions, a lease of
life for another century. It must not be forgotten that there were
great secular as well as ecclestiasical interests involved in the
council. Princes and nobles were present as well as cardinals and
prelates. The council may be regarded not only as a great assembly of
the Church, but also as a great diet of the mediaeval empire.

The man who had done more than anyone to procure the summons of the
council, and whose interests were most closely bound up in its success,
was Sigismund, King of the Romans and potential Emperor. He was eager to
terminate the schism, and to bring about such a reform in the Church as
would prevent the recurrence of similar scandals. But his motive in this
was not merely disinterested devotion to the interests of the Church. He
wished to revive the prestige of the Holy Roman Empire, and to gratify
his own personal vanity by posing as the secular head of Christendom and
the arbiter of its disputes. More especially he wished to restore the
authority of the monarchy in Germany, and to put an end to that anarchic
independence of the princes of which the recent schism was both the
illustration and the result.

In pursuing this aim he was confronted by the champions of "liberty" and
princely interests, who were represented at Constance by the Archbishop
of Mainz and Frederick of Hapsburg, Count of Tyrol. The Archbishop, John
of Nassau, had been prominent in effecting and prolonging the schism in
the Empire. He was a firm supporter of John XXIII, and had no interest
in attending the council except to thwart the designs of the King, whom
he had been the last to accept. Frederick of Tyrol was the youngest son
of that duke Leopold who had fallen at Sempach in the war with the
Swiss. Of his father's possessions Frederick had inherited Tyrol and the
Swabian lands, and the propinquity of his territories made him a
powerful personage at Constance. His family was the chief rival of the
house of Luxemburg for ascendency in Eastern Germany, and he himself
seems to have cherished a personal grudge against Sigismund. To these
enemies Sigismund could oppose two loyal allies, the elector palatine
Lewis, who had completely abandoned the anti-Luxemburg policy pursued by
his father, Rupert, and Frederick of Hohenzollern, the most prominent
representative of national sentiment in Germany, who had already given
in Brandenburg an example of that restoration of order which he wished
Sigismund to effect throughout his dominions.

Of the clerical members of the council the most prominent at the
commencement was the pope John XXIII. He had been forced by his
difficulties in Italy to issue the summons, but as the time for the
meeting approached he felt more and more misgiving. His object was to
maintain himself in office; but he was conscious that neither Sigismund
nor the cardinals would hesitate to throw him over if he stood in the
way of the restoration of unity. He therefore allied himself with
Sigismund's opponents, the Elector of Mainz and Frederick of Tyrol, and
spared no pains to bring about dissension between Sigismund and the
council.

The assembled clergy may be divided roughly into two parties, the
reformers, and the conservative or ultramontane party. The reformers
were not in favor of any radical change in the Church. They were, if
anything, more vehemently opposed than their antagonists to the
doctrines of Wycliffe and Huss. Such reform as they desired was
aristocratic rather than democratic. They had no intention of weakening
the authority of the Church; but within the Church they desired to
remove gross abuses, and to strengthen the hierarchy as against the
papacy. Their chief contention was that a general council has supreme
authority, even over the pope, and they wished such councils to meet at
regular intervals. By this means papal absolutism would be limited by a
sort of oligarchical parliament within the Church. The conservatives, on
the other hand, consisting chiefly of the cardinals and Italian
prelates, had no wish to alter a system under which they enjoyed
material advantages. Their object, as it had been at Pisa, was to
restore the union of the Church, but to defeat, or at any rate postpone,
any schemes of reform.

The council was opened on November 5th, but the meeting was only formal,
and no real business was transacted for a month. Meanwhile Huss had been
followed to Constance by the representatives of the orthodox party in
Bohemia, who brought a formidable list of charges against the reformer.
John XXIII at once saw in this an opportunity for embroiling the council
with Sigismund. Adroitly keeping himself in the background, he allowed
the cardinals to take the lead in the matter. They summoned Huss to
appear before them, and in spite of his protest that he was only
answerable to the whole council, they committed him to prison. The news
that his safe-conduct had been so insultingly disregarded reached
Sigismund as he was starting for Constance after the coronation ceremony
at Aachen.

He arrived on Christmas Day, and at once demanded that Huss should be
released. The Pope excused himself, and threw the blame on the
cardinals. To the King's right to protect his subject the cardinals
opposed their duty to suppress heresy. In high dudgeon, Sigismund
declared that he would leave the council to its fate, and actually set
out on his return journey. The Pope was jubilant at the success of his
wiles. But Sigismund's friends, and especially Frederick of
Hohenzollern, urged him not to sacrifice the interests of Germany and of
Christendom for the sake of a heretic. This advice, and the feeling that
his personal reputation was staked on the success of the council,
triumphed. Sigismund returned to Constance, and Huss remained a
prisoner. From this moment John XXIII began to despair.

The Pope's position became worse when the council, copying the procedure
of the universities, began to discuss matters, not in a general
assembly, but each nation separately. This deprived John of the
advantage which he hoped to gain from the numerical majority of Italian
prelates attending the council. Four nations organized themselves:
Italians, French, Germans, and English. Over the last three John XXIII
had no hold whatever. To his disgust they treated him, not as the
legitimate pope, whose authority was to be vindicated against his
rivals, but as one of three schismatic popes, whose retirement was a
necessary condition of the restoration of unity. When he tried to evade
their demand, they brought unanswerable charges against his personal
character and threatened to depose him.

He tried to disarm hostility by declaring his readiness to resign if the
other popes would do the same. His promise was welcomed with enthusiasm,
but neither Sigismund nor his supporters were softened by it. In spite
of the vehement protests of the Elector of Mainz that he would obey no
pope but John XXIII, the proposal was made to proceed to a new
election. John had to fall back upon his last expedient. If he departed
from Constance he might throw the council into fatal confusion; at the
worst he could maintain himself as an antipope, as Gregory and Benedict
had done against the Council of Pisa. His ally Frederick of Tyrol was
prepared to assist him. Frederick arranged a tournament outside the
walls; and while this absorbed public interest, the Pope escaped from
Constance in the disguise of a groom, and made his way to Schaffhausen,
a strong castle of the Hapsburg Count.

For the moment John XXIII seemed not unlikely to gain his end. Constance
was thrown into confusion by the news of his flight. The mob rushed to
pillage the papal residence. The Italian and Austrian prelates prepared
to leave the city, and the council was on the verge of dissolution. But
Sigismund's zeal and energy succeeded in averting such a disaster. He
restored order in the city, persuaded the prelates to remain, and took
prompt measures to punish his rebellious vassal. An armed force under
Frederick of Hohenzollern succeeded in capturing not only John XXIII,
but also Frederick of Tyrol. The latter was compelled to undergo public
humiliation, and to hand over his territories to his suzerain on
condition that his life should be spared. No such exercise of imperial
power had been witnessed in Germany since the days of the Hohenstaufen,
and Sigismund chose this auspicious moment to secure a powerful
supporter within the electoral college by handing over the electorate of
Brandenburg to Frederick of Nuremberg, April 30, 1415. He thus
established a dynasty which was destined to play a great part in German
history, and ultimately to create a new German empire.

The unsuccessful flight of John XXIII not only enabled Sigismund to
assume a more authoritative position in the council and in Germany; it
also sealed his own fate. The council had no longer any hesitation in
proceeding to the formal deposition of the Pope May 29, 1415. As the two
popes who had been deposed at Pisa had never been recognized at
Constance, the Church was now without a head. But instead of hastening
to fill the vacancy, the council turned aside to the suppression of
heresy and the trial of Huss. On three occasions, the 5th, 7th, and 8th
of June, Huss was heard before a general session. No point in his
teaching excited greater animadversion than his contention that a
priest, whether pope or prelate, forfeited his office by the commission
of mortal sin. With great cunning his accusers drew him on to extend
this doctrine to temporal princes. This was enough to complete the
alienation of Sigismund, and after the third day's trial he was the
first to pronounce in favor of condemnation. The last obstacle in the
way of the prosecution was thus removed, and Huss was burned in a meadow
outside the city walls on July 6, 1415.

With the death of Huss ends the first and most eventful period of the
Council of Constance. Within these seven or eight months Sigismund and
the reforming party, thanks to the division of the council into nations,
seemed to have gained a signal success. Sigismund had purchased his
triumph by breaking his pledge to Huss, and for this he was to pay a
heavy penalty in the subsequent disturbances in Bohemia. But for the
moment these were not foreseen, and Sigismund was jubilantly eager to
prosecute his scheme. Warned by the experience of its predecessor at
Pisa, the Council of Constance was careful not to put too much trust in
paper decrees. John XXIII was not only deposed, but a prisoner. Gregory
XII had given a conditional promise of resignation, and had so few
supporters as to be of slight importance. But Benedict XIII was still
strong in the allegiance of the Spanish kingdoms, and unless they could
be detached from his cause there was little prospect of ending the
schism.

This task Sigismund volunteered to undertake, and he also proposed to
avert the impending war between England and France, to reconcile the
Burgundian and Armagnac parties in the latter country, and to negotiate
peace between the King of Poland and the Teutonic Knights. It would,
indeed, be a revival of the imperial idea if its representative could
thus act as a general mediator in European quarrels. The council
welcomed the offer with enthusiasm, and showed their loyalty to
Sigismund by deciding to postpone all important questions till his
return. And this decision was actually adhered to. During the sixteen
months of Sigismund's absence--July 15, 1415, to January 27, 1417--only
two prominent subjects were considered by the council. One was the trial
of Jerome of Prague, which was a mere corollary of that of Huss, and
ended in a similar sentence. The other was the thorny question raised by
the proposed condemnation of the writings of Jean Petit, a Burgundian
partisan who had defended the murder of the Duke of Orleans. The leader
of the attack upon Jean Petit was Gerson, the learned and eloquent
chancellor of the University of Paris. But so completely had the matter
become a party question, and so great was the influence of the Duke of
Burgundy, that the council could not be induced to go further than a
general condemnation of the doctrine of lawful tyrannicide; and Gerson's
activity in the matter provoked such ill-will that after the close of
the council he could not venture to return to France, which was then
completely under Burgundian and English domination.

It is impossible to narrate here the story of Sigismund's journey,
though it abounds with illustrations of his impulsive character and of
the attitude of the western states toward the imperial pretensions. It
furnished conclusive proofs, if any were needed, that however the
council, for its own ends, might welcome the authority of a secular
head, national sentiment was far too strongly developed to give any
chance of success to a projected revival of the mediaeval empire. As
regards his immediate object, Sigismund was able to achieve some
results. He failed to induce Benedict XIII to abdicate, but the quibbles
of the veteran intriguer exhausted the patience of his supporters, and
at a conference at Narbonne the Spanish kings agreed to desert him and
to adhere to the Council of Constance, December, 1415. But Sigismund's
more ambitious schemes came to nothing. So far from preventing a war
between England and France, he only forwarded an alliance between Henry
V and the Duke of Burgundy; and though he may have done this in the hope
of forcing peace upon France, the result was to make the war more
disastrous and prolonged.

When Sigismund reappeared in Constance, January 27, 1417, he found that
the state of affairs both in Germany and in the council had altered for
the worse. Frederick of Tyrol had returned to his dominions and had been
welcomed by his subjects.

The Archbishop of Mainz had renewed his intrigues, and an attempt had
even been made to release John XXIII. With the Elector Palatine,
formerly his loyal supporter, Sigismund had quarrelled on money matters,
and it seemed possible that the four Rhenish electors would form a
league against Sigismund as they had done against Wenceslaus in 1400.
Still more galling was his loss of influence in the council. The
adhesion of the Spanish kingdoms had been followed by the arrival of
Spanish prelates, who formed a fifth nation and strengthened the party
opposed to reform. The war between England and France had created a
quarrel between the two nations at Constance, and the French deserted
the cause they had once championed rather than vote with their enemies.

Sigismund could only rely upon the English and the Germans; and the
question which agitated the council was one of vital importance. Which
was to come first, the election of a new pope or the adoption of a
scheme of ecclesiastical reform? The conservatives contended that the
Church could hardly be said to exist without its head; that no reform
would be valid until the normal constitution of the Church was restored.
On the other hand, it was urged that no reform was possible unless the
supremacy of a general council was fully recognized; that certain
questions could be more easily discussed and settled during a vacancy;
that if the reforms were agreed upon, a new pope could be pledged to
accept them, whereas a pope elected at once could prevent all reform.
Party spirit ran extremely high, and it seemed almost impossible to
effect an agreement. Sigismund was openly denounced as a heretic, while
he in turn threatened to imprison the cardinals for contumacy.

But gradually the balance turned against the reformers. Some of the
leading German bishops were bribed to change their votes. The head of
the English representatives, Robert Hallam, Bishop of Salisbury, died at
the critical moment, and the influence of Henry Beaufort, the future
cardinal, induced the English nation to support an immediate election.
It was agreed that a new pope should be chosen at once, and that the
council should then proceed to the work of reform. But the only
preliminary concession that Sigismund and his party could obtain was the
issue of a decree in October, 1417, that another council should meet
within five years, a second within seven years, and that afterward a
council should be regularly held every ten years.

For the new election it was decided that the twenty-three cardinals
should be joined by thirty delegates of the council, six from each
nation. The conclave met on November 8th, and three days later their
choice fell upon Cardinal Oddo Colonna, who took the name of Martin V.
Even the defeated party could not refrain from sharing in the general
enthusiasm at the restoration of unity after forty years of schism. But
their fears as to the ultimate fate of the cause of reform were fully
justified. Soon after his election Martin declared that it was impious
to appeal to a council against a papal decision. Such a declaration, as
Gerson said, nullified the acts of the councils of Pisa and Constance,
including the election of the Pope himself. In their indignation the
members made a strong appeal to the Pope to fulfil the conditions agreed
upon before his election. But Martin had a weapon to hand which had been
furnished by the council itself.

It was the division into nations that had led to the fall of John XXIII,
and it was the same division into nations that had ruined the prospects
of reform. The Pope now drew up a few scanty articles of reform, which
he offered as separate concordats to the French, Germans, and English.
It was a dangerous expedient for a pope to adopt, because it seemed to
imply the separate existence of national churches; but it answered its
immediate purpose. Martin could contend that there was no longer any
work for the council to do, and he dissolved it in May, 1418.

He set out for Italy, where a difficult task awaited him. Papal
authority in Rome had ceased with the flight of John XXIII in 1414.
Sigismund offered the Pope a residence in some Germany city, but Martin
wisely refused. The support of his own family, the Colonnas, enabled him
to reenter Rome in 1421. By that time almost all traces of the schism
had disappeared. Gregory XII was dead; John XXIII had recently died in
Florence; Benedict XIII still held out in his fortress of Peniscola, but
was impotent in his isolation.




TRIAL AND BURNING OF JOHN HUSS

THE HUSSITE WARS

A.D. 1415

RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH


  Among the heralds of the Reformation, John Wycliffe, the
  English Protestant who antedated Protestantism by a century
  and a half, holds the first position in order of time. For
  many years after the death of Wycliffe the movement which he
  began continued to be, as it was at first, confined to
  England; but at length it was to acquire a wider
  significance and to enter upon its European extension.

  Not long after his own day the spirit of Wycliffe--even
  before knowledge of his work had crossed the Channel--had
  come to a new birth on the Continent. And when some sparks
  of Wycliffe's own fire were blown over the half of
  Europe--even as far as Bohemia--the kindred fires which had
  long burned in spite of all suppression were quickened into
  a living and a spreading flame.

  While then there was a direct and vital influence from the
  work of the English reformer which gave to his teachings
  partial identity with those of his Bohemian successors, the
  movement led by these was still quite independent and
  national.

  The central figure of the Bohemian Reformation was John
  Huss, or Hus, the son of a peasant. He was born in 1369 at
  Husinetz--of which his own name is a contraction--in
  Southern Bohemia. The principal events of his life, from the
  time that he took his degree at the University of Prague
  until his death at the stake, July 6, 1415, will be found in
  Trench's sympathetic but discriminating narrative.

If we look for the proper forerunners of Huss, his true spiritual
ancestors, we shall find them in his own land, in a succession of
earnest and faithful preachers--among these Militz (d. 1374) and Janow
(d. 1394) stand out the most prominently--who had sown seed which could
hardly have failed to bear fruit sooner or later, though no line of
Wycliffe's writings had ever found its way to Bohemia. This land, not
German, however it may have been early drawn into the circle of German
interests, with a population Slavonic in the main, had first received
the faith through the preaching of Greek monks. The Bohemian Church
probably owed to this fact that, though incorporated from the first with
the churches of the West, uses and customs prevailed in it--as the
preaching in the mother tongue, the marriage of the clergy, communion in
both kinds--which it only slowly and unwillingly relinquished. It was
not till the fourteenth century that its lines were drawn throughout in
exact conformity with those of Rome. All this deserves to be kept in
mind; for it helps to account for the kindly reception which the seed
sown by the later Bohemian reformers found, falling as this did in a
soil to which it was not altogether strange.

John Huss took in the year 1394 his degree as bachelor of theology in
that University of Prague upon the fortunes of which he was destined to
exercise so lasting an influence; and four years later, in 1398, he
began to deliver lectures there. Huss had early taken his degree in a
school higher than any school of man's. He himself has told us how he
was once careless and disobedient, how the word of the Cross had taken
hold of him with strength, and penetrated him through and through as
with a mighty purifying fire. What he had learned in the school of
Christ he could not keep to himself. Holding, in addition to his
academical position, a lectureship founded by two pious laymen for the
preaching of the Word in the Bohemian tongue (1401), he soon signalized
himself by his diligence in breaking the bread of life to hungering
souls, and his boldness in rebuking vice in high places as in low. So
long as he confined himself to reproving the sins of the laity, he found
little opposition, nay, rather support and applause. But when he brought
the clergy and monks also within the circle of his condemnation, and
began to upbraid them for their covetousness, their ambition, their
luxury, their sloth, and for other vices, they turned resentfully upon
him, and sought to undermine his authority, everywhere spreading reports
of the unsoundness of his teaching.

Let us see on what side he mainly exposed himself to charges such as
these. Many things had recently wrought together to bring into nearness
countries geographically so remote from one another as Bohemia and
England. Anne, wife of our second Richard, was a sister of Wenceslaus,
King of Bohemia. The two flourishing universities of Oxford and Prague
were bound together by their common zeal for Realism. This may seem to
us but a slight and fantastic bond; it was in those days a very strong
one indeed. Young English scholars studied at Prague, young Bohemian at
Oxford. Now, Oxford, long after Wycliffe's death, was full of interest
for his doctrine; and among the many strangers sojourning there, it
could hardly fail that some should imbibe opinions and bring back with
them books of one whom they had there learned to know and to honor. Thus
Jerome, called of Prague, on his return from the English university,
gave a new impulse to the study of Wycliffe's writings, bearer as he was
of several among these which had not hitherto travelled so far.

This man, whose fortunes were so tragically bound up with those of Huss,
who should share with him in the same fiery doom, was his junior by
several years; his superior in eloquence, in talents, in gifts--for
certainly Huss was not a theologian of the first order; speculative
theologian he was not at all--but notably his inferior in moderation and
practical good-sense. Huss never shared in his friend's indiscriminate
admiration of Wycliffe. When, in 1403, some forty-five theses, which
either were or professed to be drawn from the writings of the English
reformer, were brought before the university, that they might be
condemned as heretical, Huss expressed himself with extreme caution and
reserve. Many of these, he affirmed, were true when a man took them
aright; but he could not say this of all. Not first at the Council of
Constance, but long before, he had refused to undertake the
responsibility of Wycliffe's teaching on the holy eucharist. But he did
not conceal what he had learned from Wycliffe's writings. By these there
had been opened to him a deeper glimpse into the corruptions of the
Church, and its need of reformation in the head and in the members, than
ever he had before obtained. His preaching, with the new accesses of
insight which now were his, more than ever exasperated his foes.

While matters were in this strained condition, events took place at
Prague which are too closely connected with the story that we are
telling, exercised too great an influence in bringing about the issues
that lie before us, to allow us to pass them by, even though they may
prove somewhat long to relate. The University of Prague, though recently
founded--it only dated back to the year 1348--was now, next after those
of Paris and Oxford, the most illustrious in Europe. Saying this I say
much; for we must not measure the influence and authority of a
university at that day by the influence and authority, great as these
are, which it may now possess. This university, like that of Paris, on
the pattern of which it had been modelled, was divided into four
"nations"--four groups, that is, or families of scholars--each of these
having in academical affairs a single collective vote. These nations
were the Bavarian, the Saxon, the Polish, and the Bohemian. This does
not appear at first an unfair division--two German and two Slavonic; but
in practical working the Polish was so largely recruited from Silesia
and other German or half-German lands that its vote was in fact German
also.

The Teutonic votes were thus as three to one, and the Bohemians, in
their own land and in their own university, on every important matter
hopelessly outvoted. When, by aid of this preponderance, the university
was made to condemn the teaching of Wycliffe in those forty-five points,
matters came to a crisis. Urged by Huss--who as a stout patriot, and an
earnest lover of the Bohemian language and literature, had more than a
theological interest in the matter--by Jerome, by a large number of the
Bohemian nobility, King Wenceslaus published an edict whereby the
relations of natives and foreigners were completely reversed. There
should be henceforth three votes for the Bohemian nation, and only one
for the three others. Such a shifting of the weight certainly appears as
a redressing of one inequality by creating another. At all events it was
so earnestly resented by the Germans, by professors and students alike,
that they quitted the university in a body, some say of five thousand
and some of thirty thousand, and founded the rival University of
Leipsic, leaving no more than two thousand students at Prague. Full of
indignation against Huss, whom they regarded as the prime author of this
affront and wrong, they spread throughout Germany the most unfavorable
reports of him and of his teaching.

This exodus of the foreigners had left Huss, who was now rector of the
university, with a freer field than before. But church matters at Prague
did not mend; they became more confused and threatening every day,
until presently Huss stood in open opposition with the hierarchy of his
time. Pope John XXIII, having a quarrel with the King of Naples,
proclaimed a crusade against him, with what had become a constant
accompaniment of this--indulgences to the crusaders. But to denounce
indulgences, as Huss with fierce indignation did now, was to wound Pope
John in a most sensitive part. He was excommunicated at once, and every
place which should harbor him stricken with an interdict. While matters
were in this frame the Council of Constance was opened, which should
appease all the troubles of Christendom and correct whatever was amiss.
The Bohemian difficulty could not be omitted, and Huss was summoned to
make answer at Constance for himself.

He had not been there four weeks when he was required to appear before
the Pope and cardinals, November 18, 1414. After a brief informal
hearing he was committed to harsh durance, from which he never issued as
a free man again. Sigismund, the German King and Emperor-elect, who had
furnished Huss with a safe-conduct which should protect him, "going to
the Council, tarrying at the Council, returning from the Council," was
absent from Constance at the time, and heard with real displeasure how
lightly regarded this promise and pledge of his had been.

Some big words, too, he spoke, threatening to come himself and release
the prisoner by force; but, being waited on by a deputation from the
council, who represented to him that he, as a layman, in giving such a
safe-conduct had exceeded his powers, and intruded into a region which
was not his, Sigismund was convinced, or affected to be convinced.
Doubtless the temptations to be convinced were strong. Had he insisted
on the liberation of Huss, the danger was imminent that the council, for
which he had labored so earnestly, would be broken up on the plea that
its rightful freedom was denied it. He did not choose to run this risk,
preferring to leave an everlasting blot upon his name.

Some modern sophists assure us that this safe-conduct--or free pass, as
they prefer to call it--engaged the imperial word for Huss' safety in
going to the council, but for nothing more--a most perfidious document,
if this is all which it undertook; for the words--I quote the more
important of them in the original Latin--are as follows: "_ut ei
transire, stare, morari, redire permittatis_." But the treachery was not
in the document, and nobody at the time attempted to find it there. If
this had not engaged the honor of the Emperor, what cause of complaint
would he have had against the cardinals as having entangled him in a
breach of his word? what need of their solemn ambassage to him? Untrue
also is the assertion that this was so little regarded by Huss himself
as a safe-conduct covering the whole period during which he should be
exposed to the malice of his enemies that he never appealed to it or
claimed protection from it. He did so appeal at this second formal
hearing, June 7th, the first at which Sigismund was present. "I am
here," he there said, "under the King's promise that I should return to
Bohemia in safety"; while at his last, by a look and by a few like
words, he brought the royal word-breaker to a blush, evident to all
present, July 6th.

But to return a little. More than seven months elapsed before Huss could
obtain a hearing before the council. This was granted to him at last.
Thrice heard, June 5, 7, 8, 1415--if, indeed, such tumultuary sittings,
where the man speaking for his life, and for much more than his life,
was continually interrupted and overborne by hostile voices, by loud
cries of "Recant, recant!" may be reckoned as hearings at all--he bore
himself, by the confession of all, with courage, meekness, and dignity.
The charges brought against him were various; some so far-fetched as
that urged by a Nominalist from the University of Paris--for Paris was
Nominalist now--namely, that as a Realist he could not be sound on the
doctrine of the eucharist. Others were vague enough, as that he had sown
discord between the church and the state. Nor were accusations wanting
which touched a really weak point in his teaching, namely, the
subjective aspect which undoubtedly some aspects of it wore; as when he
taught that not the baptized, but the predestinated to life, constituted
the Church. Beset as he was by the most accomplished theologians of the
age, the best or the worst advantage was sure to be made of any
vulnerable side which he exposed.

But there were charges against him with more in them of danger than
these. The point which was really at issue between him and his
adversaries concerned the relative authority of the Church and of
Scripture. What they demanded of him was a retractation of all the
articles brought against him, with an unconditional submission to the
council. Some of the articles, he replied, charged him with teaching
things which he had never taught, and he could not by this formal act of
retractation admit that he had taught them. Let any doctrine of his be
shown to be contrary to God's holy Word, and he would retract it; but
such unconditional submission he could not yield.

His fate was now sealed--that is, unless he could be induced to recant;
in which event, though he did not know it, his sentence would have been
degradation from the priesthood and a lifelong imprisonment. Many
efforts up to the last moment were made by friend and foe to persuade
him to this, but in vain. And now once more, July 6th, he is brought
before the council, but this time for sentence and for doom. The
sentence passed, his suffering begins. The long list of his heresies,
among which they are not ashamed to include many which he has distinctly
repudiated, is read out in his hearing. He is clothed with priestly
garments, that these, piece by piece, and each with an appropriate
insult malediction, may be stripped from him again. The sacred vessels
are placed in his hands, that from him, "accursed Judas that he is,"
they may be taken again. There is some difficulty in erasing his
tonsure; but this difficulty with a little violence and cruelty is
overcome. A tall paper cap, painted over with flames and devils, and
inscribed "Heresiarch," is placed upon his head. This done, and his soul
having been duly delivered to Satan, his body is surrendered to the
secular arm. One last touch is not wanting. As men bind him to the
stake, attention is called to the fact that his face is turned to the
east. This honor must not be his, upon whom no sun of righteousness
shall ever rise. He is unfastened, and refastened anew. All is borne
with perfect meekness, in the thought and in the strength of Him who had
borne so much more for sinners, the Just for the unjust; and so, in his
fire-chariot of a painful martyrdom, Huss passes from our sight.

Some may wonder that he, a reformer, should have been so treated by a
council, itself also reforming, and with a man like Gerson--_Doctor
Christianissimus_ was the title he bore--virtually at its head. But a
little consideration will dispel this surprise, and lead us to the
conclusion that a council less earnestly bent on reforms of its own
would probably have dealt more mildly with him. His position and theirs,
however we may ascribe alike to him and to them a desire to reform the
Church, were fundamentally different. They, when they deposed a pope,
where they proclaimed the general superiority of councils over popes,
had no intention of diminishing one jot the Church's authority in
matters of faith, but only of changing the seat of that authority,
substituting an ecclesiastical aristocracy for an ecclesiastical
monarchy--or despotism, as long since it had grown to be. And thus the
more earnest the council was to carry out a reformation in discipline,
the more eager was it also to make evident to all the world that it did
not intend to touch doctrine, but would uphold this as it had received
it. It is not then uncharitable to suspect that the leading men of the
council--like those reformers at Geneva who a century and a half later,
1553, sent Servetus to the stake--were not sorry to be able to give so
signal an evidence of their zeal for the maintenance of the faith which
they had received, as thus, in the condemnation of Huss, they had the
opportunity of doing. Nor may we leave altogether out of account that
the German element must of necessity have been strong in a council held
on the shores of the Bodensee; while in his vindication of Bohemian
nationality, perhaps an excessive vindication, Huss had offended and
embittered the Germans to the uttermost.

If any had flattered themselves that with the death of Huss the
Reformation in Bohemia had also received its death-blow, they had not
long to wait for a painful undeception. Words fail to describe the
tempest of passionate indignation with which the tidings of his
execution, followed within a year by that of Jerome, were received
there. Both were honored as martyrs, and already, in the fierce
exasperation of men's spirits against the authors of their doom, there
was a prophecy of the unutterable woes which were even at the door. Some
watchword by which his followers could know and be known--this
watchword, if possible, a spell of power like that which Luther had
found in the doctrine of justification by faith--was still wanting.
One, however, was soon found; which indeed had this drawback, that it
concerned a matter disciplinary rather than doctrinal, yet having a real
value as a visible witness for the rights of the laity in the Church of
Christ. So far as we know, Huss had not himself laid any special stress
on communion under both kinds; but in 1414--he was then already at
Constance--the subject had come to the forefront at Prague; and, being
consulted, Huss had entirely approved of such communion as most
conformable to the original institution and to the practice of the
primitive Church. On the other hand, the council, learning the agitation
of men's spirits in this direction, had declared what is called the
"Concomitance"--that is, that wherever one kind was present, there was
also the other, which being so, nothing was, indeed, withholden from the
communicant through the withholding of the cup. At the same time the
council had solemnly condemned as a heretic everyone who refused to
submit himself to the decision of the Church in this matter, June 15,
1415.

But there was no temper of submission in Bohemia--least of all when the
University of Prague gave its voice in favor of this demand. Wenceslaus,
the well-intentioned but poor-spirited King, was quite unable to keep
peace between the rival factions, and could only slip out of his
difficulties by dying, August 16, 1419. Sigismund, his brother, was also
his successor; but of one thing the Bohemians were at this time
resolved; namely, that the royal betrayer of his word should not reign
over them. And thus a condition of miserable anarchy followed, and, in
the end, of open war; which, lasting for eleven years, could be matched
by few wars in the cruelties and atrocities by which on both sides it
was disgraced. In Ziska, their blind chief, the Hussites had a leader
with a born genius for war. It was he who invented the movable
wagon-fortress whereof we hear so much, against which the German
chivalry would break as idle waves upon a rock. Three times crusading
armies--for this name they bore, thinking with no serious opposition to
enforce the decrees of the council--invaded Bohemia, to be thrice driven
back with utter defeat, disgrace, and loss; the Hussites, who for a long
while were content with merely repelling the invaders, after a while,
and as the only way of conquering a peace, turning the tables, and
wasting with fire and sword all neighboring German lands.

A conflict so hideous could not long be waged without a rapid
deterioration of all who were engaged in it. The spirit of Huss more and
more departed from those who called themselves by his name. Intestine
strifes devoured their strength. There were first the
Moderates--Calixtines, Utraquists, or "Those of Prague," they were
called--who, weary of the long struggle, were willing to return to the
bosom of the Church if only the cup (_calix_), and thus communion under
both kinds (_sub utraque_), were guaranteed to them, with two or three
secondary matters. Not so the Taborites, who drew their name from a
mountain fastness which they fortified and called Mount Tabor. These,
the Ultras, the democratic radical party, separating themselves off as
early as 1419, had left Huss and his teaching very far behind. Ignoring
the whole historical development of Christianity, they demanded that a
clean sweep should be made of everything in the Church's practice for
which an express and literal warrant in Scripture could not be found.
When at the Council of Basel an agreement was patched up with the
Calixtines on the footing which I have just named, 1433, a few further
promises being thrown in which might mean anything and, as the issue
proved, did mean nothing, the Taborites would not listen to the
compromise. Again they appealed to arms: but now their old comrades and
allies had passed to the other side; and, defeated in battle, 1434,
their stronghold taken and destroyed, 1453, their political power
forever broken, they, too, as so many before and since, were doomed to
learn that violence is weakness in disguise, and that the wrath of man
worketh not the righteousness of God.

Whether the Church of Rome made the concessions to the Calixtines which
she did, with the intention of retracting them at the first opportunity,
it is impossible to say. This, however, is certain, that half a dozen
years had scarcely elapsed before these concessions were brought into
question and dispute; while, in less than thirty, Pope Pius II formally
withdrew altogether the papal recognition of them, 1462; though a
struggle for their maintenance, not always unsuccessful, lasted on into
the century ensuing.

It was in truth a melancholy close of a movement so hopefully begun. And
yet not altogether the close; for, indeed, nothing, in which any
elements of true heroism are mingled, so disappears as to leave no
traces of itself behind. If it does no more, it serves to feed the high
tradition of the world--that most precious of all bequests to the
present age from the ages which are behind it. But there was more than
this. If much was consumed, yet not all. Something--and that the best
worth the saving--was saved from the fires, having first been purified
in them. The stormy zealots, as many as had taken the sword, had for the
most part perished by the sword.

But there were some who made for themselves a better future than the
sword could have ever made. A feeble remnant, extricating themselves
from the wreck and ruin of their party, and having been taught of God in
his severest school, pious Calixtines, too, that were little content
with the Compacts of Basel, a few stray Waldensians mingling with them,
all these, drawing together in an evil time, refashioned and
reconstituted themselves in humblest guise, though not in guise so
humble that they could escape the cruel attentions of Rome. Seeking to
build on a true scriptural foundation, with a scheme of doctrine, it may
be, dogmatically incomplete--even as that of Huss himself had been--with
their episcopate lost and never since recovered, the Unitas Fratrum, the
Moravian Brethren, trampled and trodden down, but overcoming now, not by
weapons of carnal warfare, but by the blood of the Cross, lived on to
hail the breaking of a fairer dawn, and to be themselves greeted as
witnesses for God, who in a dark and gloomy day, and having but a little
strength, had kept his word, and not denied his name.




THE HOUSE OF HOHENZOLLERN ESTABLISHED
IN BRANDENBURG

A.D. 1415

THOMAS CARLYLE


  The German princely family of Hohenzollern, which ruled over
  Brandenburg from 1415, has furnished the kings of Prussia
  since 1701, and since 1871 those kings have also been German
  emperors. The Hohenzollerns were originally owners of a
  castle on the Upper Danube, at no great distance from the
  ancestral seat of the Hapsburg family. They acquired
  influence at the court of Swabia, and in 1192 had
  established themselves in Nuremberg, where in that year
  Frederick I became burggraf. When Rudolph I, founder of the
  house of Hapsburg, finally defeated his rival, Ottocar of
  Bohemia (1278), his cause was saved by the assistance of a
  Hohenzollern--Frederick of Nuremberg.

  The Hohenzollerns made fortunate marriages and shrewd
  purchases and the descendants of Frederick I, succeeding to
  his burggravate, in the course of time acquired great
  estates in Franconia, Moravia, and Burgundy. Through their
  increasing wealth--whereby in the fifteenth century they had
  gained a position similar to that of the present
  Rothschilds--and by use of their political abilities, they
  attained commanding influence in the councils of the German
  princes.

  Such was the eminence of this powerful family at the time
  when they acquired the electorate of Brandenburg, the
  nucleus of the present kingdom of Prussia. Brandenburg was a
  district formerly inhabited by the Wends, a Slavic people,
  from whom it was taken in 926 by Henry the Fowler, King of
  Germany, of which kingdom it afterward became a margravate.
  Its first margrave was Albert the Bear, under whom, about
  1150, it was made an electorate; from Albert's line it
  passed to Louis the Bavarian, in 1319; and in 1371 it was
  transferred to Charles (Karl) IV. On the death of Charles,
  his son and successor Wenzel (Wenceslaus) relinquished
  Brandenburg to his brothers, as told by Carlyle, who in his
  own pictorial manner describes the subsequent complications
  which finally resulted in giving that possession to the
  ancestors of the present ruling house of Germany.

Karl[74] left three young sons, Wenzel, Sigismund, Johann; and also a
certain nephew much older; all of whom now more or less concern us in
this unfortunate history.

Wenzel, the eldest son, heritable Kurfuerst of Brandenburg as well as
King of Bohemia, was as yet only seventeen, who nevertheless got to be
kaiser--and went widely astray, poor soul. The nephew was no other than
Margrave Jobst of Moravia, now in the vigor of his years and a stirring
man: to him, for a time, the chief management in Brandenburg fell, in
these circumstances. Wenzel, still a minor, and already Kaiser and King
of Bohemia, gave up Brandenburg to his two younger brothers, most of it
to Sigismund, with a cutting for Johann, to help their appanages; and
applied his own powers to govern the Holy Roman Empire, at that early
stage of life.

To govern the Holy Roman Empire, poor soul--or rather "to drink beer and
dance with the girls"; in which, if defective in other things, Wenzel
had an eminent talent. He was one of the worst kaisers and the least
victorious on record. He would attend to nothing in the Reich; "the Prag
white beer, and girls" of various complexion, being much preferable, as
he was heard to say. He had to fling his poor Queen's Confessor into the
river Moldau--Johann of Nepomuk, Saint so called, if he is not a fable
altogether; whose Statue stands on Bridges ever since, in those parts.
Wenzel's Bohemians revolted against him; put him in jail; and he broke
prison, a boatman's daughter helping him out, with adventures. His
Germans were disgusted with him; deposed him from the kaisership; chose
Rupert of the Pfalz; and then, after Rupert's death, chose Wenzel's own
brother Sigismund in his stead--left Wenzel to jumble about in his
native Bohemian element, as king there, for nineteen years longer, still
breaking pots to a ruinous extent.

He ended by apoplexy, or sudden spasm of the heart; terrible Ziska,[75]
as it were, killing him at second hand. For Ziska, stout and furious,
blind of one eye and at last of both, a kind of human rhinoceros driven
mad, had risen out of the ashes of murdered Huss, and other bad papistic
doings, in the interim; and was tearing up the world at a huge rate.
Rhinoceros Ziska was on the Weissenberg, or a still nearer hill of Prag
since called Ziska-berg (Ziska Hill); and none durst whisper of it to
the King. A servant waiting at dinner inadvertently let slip the word:
"Ziska there? Deny it, slave!" cried Wenzel, frantic. Slave durst not
deny. Wenzel drew his sword to run at him, but fell down dead: that was
the last pot broken by Wenzel. The hapless royal ex-imperial phantasm
self-broken in this manner. Poor soul, he came to the kaisership too
early; was a thin violent creature, sensible to the charms and horrors
of created objects; and had terrible rhinoceros ziskas and unruly horned
cattle to drive. He was one of the worst kaisers ever known--could have
done Opera Singing much better--and a sad sight to Bohemia. Let us leave
him there: he was never actual Elector of Brandenburg, having given it
up in time; never did any ill to that poor country.

The real Kurfuerst of Brandenburg all this while was Sigismund, Wenzel's
next brother, under tutelage of cousin Jobst or otherwise--a real and
yet imaginary, for he never himself governed, but always had Jobst of
Maehren or some other in his place there. Sigismund was to have married a
daughter of Burggraf Friedrich V;[76] and he was himself, as was the
young lady, well inclined to this arrangement. But the old people being
dead, and some offer of a king's daughter turning up for Sigismund,
Sigismund broke off; and took the king's daughter, King of
Hungary's--not without regret then and afterward, as is believed. At any
rate, the Hungarian charmer proved a wife of small merit, and a
Hungarian successor she had was a wife of light conduct even; Hungarian
charmers, and Hungarian affairs, were much other than a comfort to
Sigismund.

As for the disappointed princess, Burggraf Friedrich's daughter, she
said nothing that we hear; silently became a Nun, an Abbess: and through
a long life looked out, with her thoughts to herself, upon the loud
whirlwind of things, where Sigismund (oftenest an imponderous rag of
conspicuous color) was riding and tossing. Her two brothers also, joint
Burggraves after their father's death, seemed to have reconciled
themselves without difficulty. The elder of them was already Sigismund's
brother-in-law; married to Sigismund's and Wenzel's sister--by such
predestination as we saw. Burggraf Johann III was the name of this one;
a stout fighter and manager for many years; much liked, and looked to,
by Sigismund, as indeed were both the brothers, for that matter; always,
together or in succession, a kind of right hand to Sigismund. Frederick
(Friedrich), the younger Burggraf, and ultimately the survivor and
inheritor (Johann having left no sons), is the famed Burggraf Friedrich
VI the last and notablest of all the Burggraves--a man of distinguished
importance, extrinsic and intrinsic; chief or among the very chief of
German public men in his time; and memorable to Posterity, and to this
history, on still other grounds! But let us not anticipate.

Sigismund, if appanaged with Brandenburg alone, and wedded to his first
love, not a king's daughter, might have done tolerably well there;
better than Wenzel, with the empire and Bohemia, did. But delusive
Fortune threw her golden apple at Sigismund too; and he, in the wide
high world, had to play strange pranks. His father-in-law died in
Hungary, Sigismund's first wife his only child. Father-in-law bequeathed
Hungary to Sigismund, who plunged into a strange sea thereby; got
troubles without number, beatings not a few, and had even to take boat,
and sail for his life down to Constantinople, at one time. In which sad
adventure Burggraf Johann escorted him, and as it were tore him out by
the hair of the head. These troubles and adventures lasted many years;
in the course of which, Sigismund, trying all manner of friends and
expedients, found in the Burggraves of Nuremberg, Johann and Friedrich,
with their talents, possessions, and resources, the main or almost only
sure support he got.

No end of troubles to Sigismund, and to Brandenburg through him, from
this sublime Hungarian legacy. Like a remote fabulous golden fleece,
which you have to go and conquer first, and which is worth little when
conquered. Before ever setting out (1387), Sigismund saw too clearly
that he would have cash to raise: an operation he had never done with,
all his life afterward. He pawned Brandenburg to cousin Jobst of Maehren;
got "twenty thousand Bohemian gulden"--I guess, a most slender sum, if
Dryasdust would but interpret it. This was the beginning of pawnings to
Brandenburg; of which when will the end be? Jobst thereby came into
Brandenburg on his own right for the time, not as tutor or guardian,
which he had hitherto been. Into Brandenburg; and there was no chance of
repayment to get him out again.

Jobst tried at first to do some governing; but finding all very
anarchic, grew unhopeful; took to making matters easy for himself. Took,
in fact, to turning a penny on his pawn-ticket; alienating crown
domains, winking hard at robber barons, and the like--and after a few
years, went home to Moravia, leaving Brandenburg to shift for itself,
under a Statthalter (Viceregent, more like a hungry land-steward), whom
nobody took the trouble of respecting. Robber castles flourished; all
else decayed. No highway not unsafe; many a Turpin with sixteen
quarters, and styling himself Edle Herr (noble gentleman), took to
"living from the saddle": what are Hamburg pedlers made for but to be
robbed?

The towns suffered much; any trade they might have had, going to wreck
in this manner. Not to speak of private feuds, which abounded _ad
libitum_. Neighboring potentates, Archbishop of Magdeburg and others,
struck in also at discretion, as they had gradually got accustomed to
do, and snapped away some convenient bit of territory, or, more
legitimately, they came across to coerce, at their own hand, this or the
other Edle Herr of the Turpin sort, whom there was no other way of
getting at, when he carried matters quite too high. "Droves of six
hundred swine"--I have seen (by reading in those old books) certain
noble gentlemen, "of Putlitz," I think, driving them openly, captured by
the stronger hand; and have heard the short querulous squeak of the
bristly creatures: "What is the use of being a pig at all, if I am to be
stolen in this way, and surreptitiously made into ham?" Pigs do continue
to be bred in Brandenburg: but it is under such discouragements.
Agriculture, trade, well-being and well-doing of any kind, it is not
encouragement they are meeting here. Probably few countries, not even
Ireland, have a worse outlook, unless help come.

Jobst came back in 1398, after eight years' absence; but no help came
with Jobst. The Neumark of Brandenburg, which was brother Johann's
portion, had fallen home to Sigismund, brother Johann having died; but
Sigismund, far from redeeming old pawn-tickets with the Neumark, pawned
the Neumark too--the second pawnage of Brandenburg. Pawned the Neumark
to the Teutsch Ritters "for sixty-three thousand Hungarian gulden" (I
think, about thirty thousand pounds), and gave no part of it to Jobst;
had not nearly enough for himself and his Hungarian occasions.

Seeing which, and hearing such squeak of pigs surreptitiously driven,
with little but discordant sights and sounds everywhere, Jobst became
disgusted with the matter; and resolved to wash his hands of it, at
least to have his money out of it again. Having sold what of the domains
he could to persons of quality, at an uncommonly easy rate, and so
pocketed what ready cash there was among them, he made over his
pawn-ticket, or properly he himself repawned Brandenburg to the Saxon
potentate, a speculative moneyed man, Markgraf of Meissen, "Wilhelm the
Rich," so called. Pawned it to Wilhelm the Rich--sum not named; and went
home to Moravia, there to wait events. This is the third Brandenburg
pawning: let us hope there may be a fourth and last.

And so we have now reached that point in Brandenburg history when, if
some help does not come, Brandenburg will not long be a country, but
will either get dissipated in pieces and stuck to the edge of others
where some government is, or else go waste again and fall to the bisons
and wild bears.

Who now is Kurfuerst of Brandenburg, might be a question. "I
unquestionably!" Sigismund would answer, with astonishment. "Soft, your
Hungarian Majesty," thinks Jobst: "till my cash is paid may it not
probably be another?" This question has its interest: the Electors just
now (1400) are about deposing Wenzel; must choose some better Kaiser. If
they wanted another scion of the house of Luxemburg--a mature old
gentleman of sixty; full of plans, plausibilities, pretensions--Jobst is
their man. Jobst and Sigismund were of one mind as to Wenzel's going; at
least Sigismund voted clearly so, and Jobst said nothing counter: but
the Kurfuersts did not think of Jobst for successor. After some
stumbling, they fixed upon Rupert Kur-Pfalz (Elector Palatine, Ruprecht
von der Pfalz) as Kaiser.

Rupert of the Pfalz proved a highly respectable Kaiser; lasted for ten
years (1400-10), with honor to himself and the Reich. A strong heart,
strong head, but short of means. He chastised petty mutiny with vigor,
could not bring down the Milanese Visconti, who had perched themselves
so high on money paid to Wenzel; could not heal the schism of the
Church (double or triple Pope, Rome-Avignon affair), or awaken the
Reich to a sense of its old dignity and present loose condition. In the
late loose times, as antiquaries remark, most members of the Empire,
petty princes even and imperial towns, had been struggling to set up for
themselves; and were now concerned chiefly to become sovereign in their
own territories. And Schilter informs us it was about this period that
most of them attained such rather unblessed consummation; Rupert of
himself not able to help it, with all his willingness. The people called
him "Rupert Klemm (Rupert Smith's-vise)," from his resolute ways; which
nickname--given him not in hatred, but partly in satirical good-will--is
itself a kind of history. From historians of the Reich he deserves
honorable regretful mention.

He had for Empress a sister of Burggraf Friedrich's; which high lady,
unknown to us otherwise, except by her tomb at Heidelberg, we remember
for her brother's sake. Kaiser Rupert--great-grandson of that Kur-Pfalz
who was Kaiser Ludwig's elder brother--is the culminating point of the
Electors Palatine; the highest that Heidelberg produced. Ancestor of
those famed Protestant "Palatines"; of all the Palatines or Pfalzes that
reign in these late centuries. Ancestor of the present Bavarian Majesty;
Kaiser Ludwig's race having died out. Ancestor of the unfortunate
Winterkoenig, Friedrich, King of Bohemia, who is too well known in
English history--ancestor also of Charles XII of Sweden, a highly
creditable fact of the kind to him. Fact indisputable: a cadet of
Pfalz-Zweibrueck (Deux-Ponts), direct from Rupert, went to serve in
Sweden in his soldier business; distinguished himself in soldiering; had
a sister of the great Gustaf Adolf to wife; and from her a renowned son,
Karl Gustaf (Christiana's cousin), who succeeded as King; who again had
a grandson made in his own likeness, only still more of iron in his
composition. Enough now of Rupert Smith's-vise; who died in 1410, and
left the Reich again vacant.

Rupert's funeral is hardly done, when, over in Preussen, far off in the
Memel region, place called Tannenberg, where there is still "a
church-yard to be seen," if little more, the Teutsch Ritters had,
unexpectedly, a terrible defeat; consummation of their Polish
miscellaneous quarrels of long standing; and the end of their high
courses in this world. A ruined Teutsch Ritterdom, as good as ruined,
ever henceforth. Kaiser Rupert died May 18th; and on July 15th, within
two months, was fought that dreadful "Battle of Tannenburg," Poland and
Polish King, with miscellany of savage Tartars and revolted Prussians,
versus Teutsch Ritterdom; all in a very high mood of mutual rage; the
very elements, "wild thunder, tempest and rain deluges," playing chorus
to them on the occasion. Ritterdom fought lion-like, but with
insufficient strategic and other wisdom, and was driven nearly
distracted to see its pride tripped into the ditch by such a set. Vacant
Reich could not in the least attend to it; nor can we further at
present.

Jobst and Sigismund were competitors for the Kaisership; Wenzel, too,
striking in with claims for reinstatement: the house of Luxemburg
divided against itself. Wenzel, finding reinstatement not to be thought
of, threw his weight, such as it was, into the scale of cousin Jobst.
The contest was vehement, and like to be lengthy. Jobst, though he had
made over his pawn-ticket, claimed to be Elector of Brandenburg; and
voted for himself. The like, with still more emphasis, did Sigismund, or
Burggraf Friedrich acting for him: "Sigismund, sure, is Kur-Brandenburg,
though under pawn!" argued Friedrich--and, I almost guess, though that
is not said, produced from his own purse, at some stage of the business,
the actual money for Jobst, to close his Brandenburg pretension.

Both were elected (majority contested in this manner); and old Jobst,
then above seventy, was like to have given much trouble; but happily in
three months he died; and Sigismund became indisputable. In his day
Jobst made much noise in the world, but did little or no good in it. He
was thought "a great man," says one satirical old Chronicler; and there
"was nothing great about him but the beard."

"The cause of Sigismund's success with the Electors," says Kohler, "or
of his having any party among them, was the faithful and unwearied
diligence which had been used for him by the above-named Burggraf
Friedrich VI of Nuremberg, who took extreme pains to forward Sigismund
to the Empire; pleading that Sigismund and Wenzel would be sure to agree
well henceforth, and that Sigismund, having already such extensive
territories (Hungary, Brandenburg, and so forth) by inheritance, would
not be so exact about the Reichs-tolls and other imperial incomes. This
same Friedrich also, when the election fell out doubtful, was
Sigismund's best support in Germany, nay almost his right hand, through
whom he did whatever was done."

Sigismund is Kaiser, then, in spite of Wenzel. King of Hungary, after
unheard-of troubles and adventures, ending some years ago in a kind of
peace and conquest, he has long been. King of Bohemia, too, he at last
became; having survived Wenzel, who was childless. Kaiser of the Holy
Roman Empire, and so much else: is not Sigismund now a great man? Truly
the loom he weaves upon, in this world, is very large. But the weaver
was of headlong, high-pacing, flimsy nature; and both warp and woof were
gone dreadfully entangled!

This is the Kaiser Sigismund who held the Council of Constance; and
"blushed visibly," when Huss, about to die, alluded to the letter of
safe-conduct granted him, which was issuing in such fashion. Sigismund
blushed; but could not conveniently mend the matter--so many matters
pressing on him just now. As they perpetually did, and had done. An
always-hoping, never-resting, unsuccessful, vain and empty Kaiser.
Specious, speculative; given to eloquence, diplomacy, and the windy
instead of the solid arts; always short of money for one thing. He
roamed about, and talked eloquently; aiming high, and generally missing.
Hungary and even the Reich have at length become his, but have brought
small triumph in any kind; and instead of ready money, debt on debt. His
Majesty has no money, and his Majesty's occasions need it more and more.

He is now (1414) holding this Council of Constance, by way of healing
the Church, which is sick of three simultaneous popes and of much else.
He finds the problem difficult; finds he will have to run into Spain, to
persuade a refractory pope there, if eloquence can (as it cannot): all
which requires money, money. At opening of the council, he "officiated
as deacon"; actually did some kind of litanying "with a surplice over
him," though Kaiser and King of the Romans. But this passage of his
opening speech is what I recollect best of him there: "Right reverend
Fathers, _date operam ut illa nefanda schisma eradicetur_," exclaims
Sigismund, intent on having the Bohemian schism well dealt with--which
he reckons to be of the feminine gender. To which a cardinal mildly
remarking, "_Domine, schisma est generis neutrius_ (schisma is neuter,
your Majesty)," Sigismund loftily replies: "_Ego sum Rex Romanus et
super grammaticam_ (I am King of the Romans, and above Grammar)!" For
which reason I call him in my note-books Sigismund Super Grammaticam, to
distinguish him in the imbroglio of kaisers.

How Jobst's pawn-ticket was settled I never clearly heard; but can guess
it was by Burggraf Friedrich's advancing the money, in the pinch above
indicated, or paying it afterward to Jobst's heirs whoever they were.
Thus much is certain: Burggraf Friedrich, these three years and more
(ever since July 8, 1411) holds Sigismund's deed of acknowledgment "for
one hundred thousand gulden lent at various times"; and has likewise got
the Electorate of Brandenburg in pledge for that sum; and does himself
administer the said Electorate till he be paid. This is the important
news; but this is not all.

The new journey into Spain requires new money; this council itself, with
such a pomp as suited Sigismund, has cost him endless money.
Brandenburg, torn to ruins in the way we saw, is a sorrowful matter;
and, except the title of it, as a feather in one's cap, is worth nothing
to Sigismund. And he is still short of money; and will forever be. Why
could not he give up Brandenburg altogether; since, instead of paying,
he is still making new loans from Burggraf Friedrich; and the hope of
ever paying were mere lunacy! Sigismund revolves these sad thoughts too,
amid his world-wide diplomacies, and efforts to heal the Church.
"Pledged for one hundred thousand gulden," sadly ruminates Sigismund;
"and fifty thousand more borrowed since, by little and little; and more
ever needed, especially for this grand Spanish journey!" these were his
sad thoughts. "Advance me, in a round sum, two hundred and fifty
thousand more," said he to Burggraf Friedrich, "two hundred and fifty
thousand more, for my manifold occasions in this time--that will be four
hundred thousand in whole--and take the Electorate of Brandenburg to
yourself, Land, Titles, Sovereign, Electorship and all, and make me rid
of it!" That was the settlement adopted, in Sigismund's apartment at
Constance, on April 30, 1415; signed, sealed, and ratified--and the
money paid. A very notable event in World-History; virtually completed
on the day we mention.

The ceremony of investiture did not take place till two years afterward,
when the Spanish journey had proved fruitless, when much else of
fruitless had come and gone and Kaiser and council were probably more at
leisure for such a thing. Done at length it was by Kaiser Sigismund in
almost gala, with the Grandees of the Empire assisting, and august
members of the council and world in general looking on; in the big
square or market-place of Constance, April 17, 1417; is to be found
described in Rentsch, from Nauclerus and the old news-mongers of the
times. Very grand indeed: much processioning on horseback, under
powerful trumpet-peals and flourishes; much stately kneeling, stately
rising, stepping backward (done well, _zierlich_, on the Kurfuerst's
part); liberal expenditure of cloth and pomp; in short, "above one
hundred thousand people looking on from roofs and windows," and Kaiser
Sigismund in all his glory. He was on a high platform in the
market-place, with stairs to it; the illustrious Kaiser--red as a
flamingo, "with scarlet mantle and crown of gold,"--a treat to the eyes
of simple mankind.

What sum of modern money, in real purchasing power, this "four hundred
thousand Hungarian Gold Gulden" is, I have inquired in the likely
quarters without result; and it is probable no man exactly knows. The
latest existing representative of the ancient gold gulden is the ducat,
worth generally a half-sovereign in English. Taking the sum at that
latest rate, it amounts to two hundred thousand pounds; and the reader
can use that as a note of memory for the sale-price of Brandenburg with
all its lands and honors--multiplying it perhaps by four or six to bring
out its effective amount in current coin. Dog cheap, it must be owned,
for size and capability; but in the most waste condition, full of
mutiny, injustice, anarchy, and highway robbery; a purchase that might
have proved dear enough to another man than Burggraf Friedrich.

But so, at any rate, moribund Brandenburg has got its Hohenzollern
Kurfuerst, and started on a new career it little dreamt of; and we can
now, right willingly, quit Sigismund and the Reichs-History, leave
Kaiser Sigismund to sink or swim at his own will henceforth. His grand
feat in life, the wonder of his generation, was this same Council of
Constance; which proved entirely a failure; one of the largest wind-eggs
ever dropped with noise and travail in this world. Two hundred thousand
human creatures, reckoned and reckoning themselves the elixir of the
intellect and dignity of Europe. Two hundred thousand--nay some,
counting the lower menials and numerous unfortunate females, say four
hundred thousand--were got congregated into that little Swiss town; and
there as an Ecumenic Council, or solemnly distilled elixir of what pious
intellect and valor could be scraped together in the world, they labored
with all their select might for four years' space. That was the Council
of Constance. And except this transfer of Brandenburg to Friedrich of
Hohenzollern, resulting from said council, in the quite reverse and
involuntary way, one sees not what good result it had.

They did, indeed, burn Huss; but that could not be called a beneficial
incident; that seemed to Sigismund and the council a most small and
insignificant one. And it kindled Bohemia, and kindled Rhinoceros Ziska,
into never-imagined flame of vengeance; brought mere disaster, disgrace,
and defeat on defeat to Sigismund, and kept his hands full for the rest
of his life, however small he had thought it. As for the sublime four
years' deliberations and debates of this Sanhedrim of the
Universe--eloquent debates, conducted, we may say, under such extent of
wig as was never seen before or since--they have fallen wholly to the
domain of Dryasdust; and amount, for mankind at this time, to zero plus
the burning of Huss. On the whole, Burggraf Friedrich's Electorship, and
the first Hohenzollern to Brandenburg, is the one good result.

Burggraf Friedrich, on his first coming to Brandenburg, found but a cool
reception as Statthalter. He came as the representative of law and rule;
and there had been many helping themselves by a ruleless life, of late.
Industry was at a low ebb, violence was rife; plunder, disorder,
everywhere; too much the habit for baronial gentlemen to "live by the
saddle," as they termed it, that is, by highway robbery in modern
phrase.

The towns, harried and plundered to skin and bone, were glad to see a
Statthalter, and did homage to him with all their heart. But the
baronage or squirearchy of the country were of another mind. These, in
the late anarchies, had set up for a kind of kings in their own right.
They had their feuds; made war, made peace, levied tolls, transit dues;
lived much at their own discretion in these solitary countries; rushing
out from their stone towers ("walls fourteen feet thick"), to seize any
herd of "six hundred swine," and convoy of Luebeck or Hamburg merchant
goods, that had not contented them in passing. What were pedlers and
mechanic fellows made for, if not to be plundered when needful?
Arbitrary rule, on the part of these noble robber lords! And then much
of the crown domains had gone to the chief of them--pawned (and the
pawn-ticket lost, so to speak), or sold for what trifle of ready money
was to be had, in Jobst and Company's time. To these gentlemen a
Statthalter coming to inquire into matters was no welcome phenomenon.
Your Edle Herr (noble lord) of Putlitz, noble lords of Quitzow, Rochow,
Maltitz, and others, supreme in their grassy solitudes this long while,
and accustomed to nothing greater than themselves in Brandenburg, how
should they obey a Statthalter?

Such was more or less the universal humor in the squirearchy of
Brandenburg; not of good omen to Burggraf Friedrich. But the chief seat
of contumacy seemed to be among the Quitzows, Putlitzes, above spoken
of; big squires in the district they call the Priegnitz, in the country
of the sluggish Havel River, northwest from Berlin a forty or fifty
miles. These refused homage, very many of them; said they were
"incorporated with Boehmen"; said this and that; much disinclined to
homage; and would not do it. Stiff, surly fellows, much deficient in
discernment of what is above them and what is not: a thick-skinned set;
bodies clad in buff leather; minds also cased in ill habits of long
continuance.

Friedrich was very patient with them; hoped to prevail by gentle
methods. He "invited them to dinner"; "had them often at dinner for a
year or more:" but could make no progress in that way. "Who is this we
have got for a Governor?" said the noble lords privately to each other:
"A Nuremberger Tand" (Nuremberg plaything--wooden image, such as they
make at Nuremberg), said they, grinning, in a thick-skinned way: "If it
rained Burggraves all the year round, none of them would come to luck in
this country;" and continued their feuds, toll-levyings, plunderings,
and other contumacies.

Seeing matters come to this pass after above a year, Burggraf Friedrich
gathered his Frankish men-at-arms; quietly made league with the
neighboring Potentates, Thueringen and others; got some munitions, some
artillery together--especially one huge gun, the biggest ever seen, "a
twenty-four pounder," no less; to which the peasants, dragging her with
difficulty through the clayey roads, gave the name of Faule Grete (Lazy
or Heavy Peg); a remarkable piece of ordnance. Lazy Peg he had got from
the Landgraf of Thueringen, on loan merely; but he turned her to
excellent account of his own. I have often inquired after Lazy Peg's
fate in subsequent times; but could never learn anything distinct; the
German Dryasdust is a dull dog, and seldom carries anything human in
those big wallets of his!

Equipped in this way, Burggraf Friedrich (he was not yet Kurfuerst, only
coming to be) marches for the Havel Country (early days of 1414); makes
his appearance before Quitzow's strong house of Friesack, walls fourteen
feet thick: "You, Dietrich von Quitzow, are you prepared to live as a
peaceable subject henceforth? to do homage to the laws and me?" "Never!"
answered Quitzow, and pulled up his drawbridge. Whereupon Heavy Peg
opened upon him, Heavy Peg and other guns; and, in some eight-and-forty
hours, shook Quitzow's impregnable Friesack about his ears. This was in
the month of February, 1414, day not given: Friesack was the name of the
impregnable castle (still discoverable in our time); and it ought to be
memorable and venerable to every Prussian man. Burggraf Friedrich VI,
not yet quite become Kurfuerst Friedrich I, but in a year's space to
become so, he in person was the beneficent operator; Heavy Peg and
steady human insight, these were clearly the chief implements.

Quitzow being settled--for the country is in military occupation of
Friedrich and his allies, and except in some stone castle a man has no
chance--straightway Putlitz or another mutineer, with his drawbridge up,
was battered to pieces, and his drawbridge brought slamming down. After
this manner, in an incredibly short period, mutiny was quenched; and it
became apparent to noble lords, and to all men, that here at length was
a man come who would have the laws obeyed again, and could and would
keep mutiny down.




BATTLE OF AGINCOURT

ENGLISH CONQUEST OF FRANCE

A.D. 1415-1420

JAMES GAIRDNER


  King Henry V of England, son of Henry IV, was born in 1387,
  and two years later was made prince of Wales. In 1401-1408
  he was engaged against the Welsh rebels under Owen
  Glendower, and in 1410 became captain of Calais. His
  youthful period is represented--probably with much
  exaggeration, to which Shakespeare, in _Henry IV_,
  contributed--as full of wild and dissolute conduct, but as
  king he was distinguished for his courage, ability, and
  enterprise.

  Henry was crowned in 1413, about seventy-five years after
  the beginning of the Hundred Years' War between England and
  France, which arose from the claim of Edward III to the
  French throne. For some years a feud had been raging in
  France between the houses of Burgundy and Orleans, the rival
  parties being known as Burgundians and Armagnacs. Led by
  Simonet Caboche, a butcher, adherents of the Armagnacs rose
  with great fury against the Burgundians. This was in the
  first year of Henry's reign, and to him and other rulers
  Charles VI of France appealed in order to prevent them from
  aiding the outbreak, which was soon quelled by the princes
  of the blood and the University of Paris. Order in France
  was restored by the Duke of Orleans, and the Duke of
  Burgundy withdrew to Flanders. But war between the two
  factions was soon after renewed, and both sides sought the
  alliance of England.

  In these contentions and appeals for his interference Henry
  saw an opportunity for pressing his designs to recover what
  he claimed as the French inheritance of his predecessors. In
  1414, as the heir of Isabella, mother of his
  great-grandfather Edward, he formally demanded the crown of
  France. The French princes refused to consider his claim.
  Henry modified his demands, but after several months of
  negotiation, with no promise of success, he prepared for
  renewal of the ancient war.

The claim made by Edward III to the French crown had been questionable
enough. That of Henry was certainly most unreasonable. Edward had
maintained that though the Salic Law, which governed the succession in
France, excluded females from the throne, it did not exclude their male
descendants. On this theory Edward himself was doubtless the true heir
to the French monarchy. But even admitting the claims of Edward, his
rights had certainly not descended to Henry V, seeing that even in
England neither he nor his father was true to the throne by lineal
right. A war with France, however, was sure to be popular with his
subjects, and the weakness of that country from civil discord seemed a
favorable opportunity for urging the most extreme pretensions.

To give a show of fairness and moderation the English ambassadors at
Paris lessened their demands more than once, and appeared willing for
some time to renew negotiations after their terms had been rejected. But
in the end they still insisted on a claim which in point of equity was
altogether preposterous, and rejected a compromise which would have put
Henry in possession of the whole of Guienne and given him the hand of
the French King's daughter Catharine with a marriage portion of eight
hundred thousand crowns. Meanwhile Henry was making active preparations
for war, and at the same time carried on secret negotiations with the
Duke of Burgundy, trusting to have him for an ally in the invasion of
France.

At length, in the summer of 1415, the King had collected an army and was
ready to embark at Southampton. But on the eve of his departure a
conspiracy was discovered, the object of which was to dethrone the King
and set aside the house of Lancaster. The conspirators were Richard,
Earl of Cambridge, Henry, Lord Scrope of Masham, and a knight of
Northumberland named Sir Thomas Grey. The Earl of Cambridge was the
King's cousin-german, and had been recently raised to that dignity by
Henry himself. Lord Scrope was, to all appearance, the King's most
intimate friend and counsellor. The design seems to have been formed
upon the model of similar projects in the preceding reign. Richard II
was to be proclaimed once more, as if he had been still alive; but the
real intention was to procure the crown for Edmund Mortimer, Earl of
March, the true heir of Richard, whom Henry IV had set aside.

At the same time the Earl of March himself seems hardly to have
countenanced the attempt; but the Earl of Cambridge, who had married his
sister, wished, doubtless, to secure the succession for his son Richard,
as the Earl of March had no children. Evidently it was the impression
of some persons that the house of Lancaster was not even yet firmly
seated upon the throne. Perhaps it was not even yet apparent that the
young man who had so recently been a gamesome reveller was capable of
ruling with a firm hand a king.

But all doubt on this point was soon terminated. The commissioners were
tried by a commission hastily issued, and were summarily condemned and
put to death. The Earl of March, it is said, revealed the plot to the
King, sat as one of the judges of his two brother peers, and was taken
into the King's favor. The Earl of Cambridge made a confession of his
guilt. Lord Scrope, though he repudiated the imputation of disloyalty,
admitted having had a guilty knowledge of the plot, which he said it had
been his purpose to defeat. The one nobleman, in consideration of his
royal blood, was simply beheaded; the other was drawn and quartered. We
hear of no more attempts of the kind during Henry's reign.

With a fleet of one thousand five hundred sail Henry crossed the sea and
landed without opposition at Chef de Caux, near Harfleur, at the mouth
of the Seine. The force that he brought with him was about thirty
thousand men, and he immediately employed it in laying siege to
Harfleur. The place was strong, so far as walls and bulwarks could make
it, but it was not well victualled, and after a five-weeks' siege it was
obliged to capitulate. But the forces of the besieged were thinned by
disease as well as actual fighting. Dysentery had broken out in the
camp, and, though it was only September, they suffered bitterly from the
coldness of the nights; so that, when the town had been won and
garrisoned, the force available for further operations amounted to less
than half the original strength of the invading army.

Under the circumstances it was hopeless to expect to do much before the
winter set in, and many counselled the King to return to England. But
Henry could not tolerate the idea of retreat or even of apparent
inaction. He sent a challenge to the Dauphin, offering to refer their
differences to single combat; and when no notice was taken of this
proposal, he determined to cut his way, if possible, through the country
to Calais, along with the remainder of his forces.

It was a difficult and hazardous march. Hunger, dysentery, and fever had
already reduced the little band to less than nine thousand men, or, as
good authorities say, to little more than six thousand. The country
people were unfriendly, their supplies were cut off on all sides, and
the scanty stock of provisions with which they set out was soon
exhausted. For want of bread, many were driven to feed on nuts, while
the enemy harassed them upon the way and broke down the bridges in
advance of them. On one or two occasions, having repulsed an attack from
a garrison town, Henry demanded and obtained from the governor a
safe-conduct and a certain quantity of bread and wine, under threat of
setting fire to the place if refused.

In this manner he and his army gradually approached the river Somme at
Blanche Tache, where there was a ford by which King Edward III had
crossed before the battle of Crecy. But while yet some distance from it,
they received information from a prisoner that the ford was guarded by
six thousand fighting men, and, though the intelligence was untrue, it
deterred him from attempting the passage. They accordingly turned to the
right and went up the river as far as Amiens, but were still unable to
cross, till, after following the course of the river about fifty miles
farther, they fortunately came upon an undefended ford and passed over
before their enemies were aware.

Hitherto their progress had not been without adventures and skirmishes
in many places. But the main army of the French only overtook them when
they had arrived within about forty-five miles of Calais. On the night
of October 24th they were posted at the village of Maisoncelles, with an
enemy before them five or six times their number, who had resolved to
stop their further progress. Both sides prepared for battle on the
following morning. The English, besides being so much inferior in
numbers, were wasted by disease and famine, while their adversaries were
fresh and vigorous, with a plentiful commissariat. But the latter were
overconfident. They spent the evening in dice-playing and making wagers
about the prisoners they should take; while the English, on the
contrary, confessed themselves and received the sacrament.

Heavy rain fell during the night, from which both armies suffered; but
Henry availed himself of a brief period of moonlight to have the
ground thoroughly surveyed. His position was an admirable one. His
forces occupied a narrow field hemmed in on either side by hedges and
thickets, so that they could only be attacked in front, and were in no
fear of being surrounded. Early on the following morning Henry arose and
heard mass; but the two armies stood facing each other for some hours,
each waiting for the other to begin. The English archers were drawn up
in front in form of a wedge, and each man was provided with a stake shod
with iron at both ends, which being fixed into the ground before him,
the whole line formed a kind of hedge bristling with sharp points, to
defend them from being ridden down by the enemy's cavalry.

At length, however, Henry gave orders to commence the attack, and the
archers advanced, leaving their stakes behind them fixed in the ground.
The French cavalry on either side endeavored to close them in, but were
soon obliged to retire before the thick showers of arrows poured in upon
them, which destroyed four-fifths of their numbers. Their horses then
became unmanageable, being plagued with a multitude of wounds, and the
whole army was thrown into confusion. Never was a more brilliant victory
won against more overwhelming odds.

One sad piece of cruelty alone tarnished the glory of that day's action,
but it seems to have been dictated by fear as a means of
self-preservation. After the enemy had been completely routed in front,
and a multitude of prisoners taken, the King, hearing that some
detachments had got round to his rear, and were endeavoring to plunder
his baggage, gave orders to the whole army to put their prisoners to
death. The order was executed in the most relentless fashion. One or two
distinguished prisoners afterward were taken from under heaps of slain,
among whom were the dukes of Orleans and Bourbon. Altogether, the
slaughter of the French was enormous. There is a general agreement that
it was upward of ten thousand men, and among them were the flower of the
French nobility. That of the English was disproportionately small. Their
own writers reckon it not more than one hundred altogether, some
absurdly stating it as low as twenty or thirty, while the French
authorities estimate it variously from three hundred to one thousand six
hundred.

Henry called his victory the battle of Agincourt, from the name of a
neighboring castle. The army proceeded in excellent order to Calais,
where they were triumphantly received, and after resting there awhile
recrossed to England. The news of such a splendid victory caused them to
be welcomed with an enthusiasm that knew no bounds. At Dover the people
rushed into the sea to meet the conquerors, and carried the King in
their arms in triumph from his vessel to the shore. From thence to
London his progress was like one continued triumphal procession, and the
capital itself received him with every demonstration of joy.

The progress of the English arms in France did not, for a long time,
induce the rival factions in that country to suspend the civil war among
themselves. But at length some feeble efforts were made toward a
reconciliation. The Council of Constance having healed the divisions in
the Church by the election of Martin V as pope in place of the three
rival popes deposed, the new Pontiff despatched two cardinals to France
to aid in this important object. By their mediation a treaty was
concluded between the Queen, the Duke of Burgundy, and the Dauphin; but
it was no sooner published than the Count of Armagnac and his partisans
made a vehement protest against it and accused of treason all who had
promoted it.

On this, Paris rose in anger, took part with the Burgundians, fell upon
all the leading Armagnacs, put them in prison, and destroyed their
houses. The Dauphin was only saved by one of Armagnac's principal
adherents, Tannegui du Chatel, who carried him to the Bastille. The
Bastille, however, was a few days after stormed by the populace, and Du
Chatel was forced to withdraw his charge to Melun. The Armagnac party,
except those in prison, were entirely driven out of Paris. But even this
did not satisfy the rage of the multitude. Riots continued from day to
day, and, a report being spread that the King was willing to ransom the
captives, the people broke open the prisons and massacred every one of
the prisoners. The Count of Armagnac, his chancellor, and several
bishops and officers of state were the principal victims; but no one,
man or woman, was spared. State prisoners, criminals, and debtors, even
women great with child, perished in this indiscriminate slaughter.

Almost the whole of Normandy was by this time in possession of the
English; but Rouen, the capital of the duchy, still held out. It was a
large city, strongly fortified, but Henry closed it in on every side
until it was reduced to capitulate by hunger. At the beginning of the
siege the authorities took measures to expel the destitute class of the
inhabitants, and several thousands of poor people were thus thrown into
the hands of the besiegers, who endeavored to drive them back into the
town. But the gates being absolutely shut against them, they remained
between the walls and the trenches, pitifully crying for help and
perishing for want of food and shelter, until, on Christmas Day, when
the siege had continued nearly five months, Henry ordered food to be
distributed to them "in the honor of Christ's nativity."

Those within the town, meanwhile, were reduced to no less extremities.
Enormous prices were given for bread and even for the bodies of dogs,
cats, and rats. The garrison at length were induced to offer terms, but
Henry for some time insisted on their surrendering at discretion.
Hearing, however, that a desperate project was entertained of
undermining the wall and suddenly rushing out upon the besiegers, he
consented to grant them conditions, and the city capitulated on January
19th. The few places that remained unconquered in Normandy then opened
their gates to Henry; others in Maine and the Isle of France did the
same, and the English troops entered Picardy on a further career of
conquest.

Both the rival factions were now seriously anxious to stop the progress
of the English, either by coming at once to terms with Henry or by
uniting together against him; and each in turn first tried the former
course. The Dauphin offered to treat with the King of England; but Henry
demanding the whole of those large possessions in the north and south of
France which had been secured to Edward III by the treaty of Bretigni,
he felt that it was impossible to prolong the negotiation. The Duke of
Burgundy then arranged a personal interview at Meulan between Henry on
the one side and himself and the French Queen on behalf of Charles, at
which terms of peace were to be adjusted. The Queen brought with her the
princess Catharine, her daughter, whose hand Henry himself had formerly
demanded as one of the conditions on which he would have consented to
forbear from invading France. It was now hoped that if he would take her
in marriage he would moderate his other demands. But Henry, for his
part, was altogether unyielding. He insisted on the terms of the treaty
of Bretigni, and on keeping his own conquests besides, with Anjou,
Maine, Touraine, and the sovereignty over Brittany.

Demands so exorbitant the Duke of Burgundy did not dare to accept, and
as a last resource he and the Dauphin agreed to be reconciled and to
unite in defence of their country against the enemy. They held a
personal interview, embraced each other, and signed a treaty by which
they promised each to love the other as a brother, and to offer a joint
resistance to the invaders. A further meeting was arranged to take place
about seven weeks later to complete matters and to consider their future
policy. France was delighted at the prospect of internal harmony and the
hope of deliverance from her enemies. But at the second interview an
event occurred which marred all her prospects once more. The meeting had
been appointed to take place at Montereau, where the river Yonne falls
into the Seine.

The Duke, remembering doubtless how he had perfidiously murdered the
Duke of Orleans, allowed the day originally appointed to pass by, and
came to the place at last after considerable misgivings, which appear to
have been overcome by the exhortations of treacherous friends.

When he arrived he found a place railed in with barriers for the
meeting. He nevertheless advanced, accompanied by ten attendants, and,
being told that the Dauphin waited for him, he came within the barriers,
which were immediately closed behind him. The Dauphin was accompanied by
one or two gentlemen, among whom was his devoted servant, Tannegui du
Chatel, who had saved him from the Parisian massacre. This Tannegui had
been formerly a servant of Louis, Duke of Orleans, whose murder he had
been eagerly seeking an opportunity to revenge; and as the Duke of
Burgundy knelt before the Dauphin, he struck him a violent blow on the
head with a battle-axe. The attack was immediately followed up by two or
three others, who, before the Duke was able to draw his sword, had
closed in around him and despatched him with a multitude of wounds.

The effect of this crime was what might have been anticipated. Nothing
could have been more favorable to the aggressive designs of Henry, or
more ruinous to the party of the Dauphin, with whose complicity it had
been too evidently committed. Philip, the son and heir of the murdered
Duke of Burgundy, at once sought means to revenge his father's death.
The people of Paris became more than ever enraged against the Armagnacs,
and entered into negotiations with the King of England. The new Duke
Philip and Queen Isabel did the same, the latter being no less eager
than the former for the punishment of her own son. Within less than
three months they made up their minds to waive every scruple as to the
acceptance of Henry's most exorbitant demands. He was to have the
princess Catharine in marriage, and, the Dauphin being disinherited, to
succeed to the crown of France on her father's death. He was also to be
regent during King Charles' life; and all who held honors or offices of
any kind in France were at once to swear allegiance to him as their
future sovereign. Henry, for his part, was to use his utmost power to
reduce to obedience those towns and places within the realm which
adhered to the Dauphin or the Armagnacs.

A treaty on this basis was at length concluded at Troyes in Champagne on
May 21, 1420, and on Trinity Sunday, June 2d, Henry was married to the
princess Catharine. Shortly afterward the treaty was formally registered
by the states of the realm at Paris, when the Dauphin was condemned and
attainted as guilty of the murder of the Duke of Burgundy and declared
incapable of succeeding to the crown. But the state of affairs left
Henry no time for honeymoon festivities. On the Tuesday after his
wedding he again put himself at the head of his army, and marched with
Philip of Burgundy to lay siege to Sens, which in a few days
capitulated. Montereau and Melun were next besieged in succession, and
each, after some resistance, was compelled to surrender. The latter
siege lasted nearly four months, and during its continuance Henry fought
a single combat with the governor in the mines, each combatant having
his vizor down and being unknown to the other. The governor's name was
Barbason, and he was one of those accused of complicity in the murder of
the Duke of Orleans; but in consequence of this incident, Henry saved
him from the capital punishment which he would otherwise have incurred
on his capture.

Toward the end of the year Henry entered Paris in triumph with the
French King and the Duke of Burgundy. He there kept Christmas, and
shortly afterward moved with his Queen into Normandy on his return into
England. He held a parliament at Rouen to confirm his authority in the
duchy, after which he passed through Picardy and Calais, and, crossing
the sea, came by Dover and Canterbury to London. By his own subjects,
and especially in the capital, he and his bride were received with
profuse demonstrations of joy. The Queen was crowned at Westminster with
great magnificence, and afterward Henry went a progress with her through
the country, making pilgrimages to several of the more famous shrines in
England.

But while he was thus employed, a great calamity befell the English
power in France, which, when the news arrived in England, made it
apparent that the King's presence was again much needed across the
Channel. His brother, the Duke of Clarence, whom he had left as his
lieutenant, was defeated and slain at Beauge in Anjou by an army of
French and Scots, a number of English noblemen being also slain or taken
prisoners. This was the first important advantage the Dauphin had
gained, and the credit of the victory was mainly due to his Scotch
allies. For the Duke of Albany, who was regent of Scotland, though it is
commonly supposed that he was unwilling to give needless offence to
England lest Henry should terminate his power by setting the Scotch King
at liberty, had been compelled by the general sympathy of the Scots with
France to send a force under his son the Earl of Buchan to serve against
the English. The service which they did in that battle was so great that
the Earl of Buchan was created, by the Dauphin, constable of France.

Again Henry crossed the sea with a new army, having borrowed large sums
for the expenses of the expedition. Before he left England he made a
private treaty with his prisoner King James of Scotland, promising to
let him return to his country after the campaign in France on certain
specified conditions, among which it was agreed that he should take the
command of a body of troops in aid of the English. James had accompanied
him in his last campaign, and Henry had endeavored to make use of his
authority to forbid the Scots in France from taking part in the war, but
they had refused to acknowledge themselves bound to a king who was a
captive.

By this agreement, however, Henry obtained real assistance and
cooperation from his prisoner, whom he employed, in concert with the
Duke of Gloucester, in the siege of Dreux, which very soon surrendered.
He himself meanwhile marched toward the Loire to meet the Dauphin, and
took Beaugency; then, returning northward, first reduced Villeneuve on
the Yonne, and afterward laid siege to Meaux on the Marne. The latter
place held out for seven months, and while Henry lay before it he
received intelligence that his Queen had borne him a son at Windsor, who
was christened Henry.

The city of Meaux surrendered on May 10, 1422. The Governor, a man who
had been guilty of great cruelties, was beheaded, and his head and body
were suspended from a tree on which he himself had caused a number of
people to be hanged as adherents of the Duke of Burgundy. Henry was now
master of the greater part of the North of France, and his Queen came
over from England to join him, with reenforcements under his brother the
Duke of Bedford. But he was not permitted to rest; for the Dauphin,
having taken from his ally the Duke of Burgundy the town of La Charte on
the Loire, proceeded to lay siege to Cosne, and, Philip having applied
to Henry for assistance, he sent forward the Duke of Bedford with his
army, intending shortly to follow himself. This demonstration was
sufficient. The Dauphin felt that he was too weak to contend with the
united English and Burgundian forces, and he withdrew from the siege.

Henry, however, was disabled from joining the army by a severe attack of
dysentery; and though he had at first hoped that he might be carried in
a litter to head-quarters, he soon found that his illness was far too
serious to permit him to carry out his intention. He was accordingly
conveyed back to Vincennes, near Paris, where he grew so rapidly worse
that it was evident his end was near. In a few brief words to those
about him he declared his will touching the government of England and
France after his death, until his infant son should be of age. The
regency of France he committed to the Duke of Bedford, in case it
should be declined by the Duke of Burgundy. That of England he gave to
his other brother, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. To his two uncles,
Henry Beaufort, Bishop of Winchester, and Thomas Beaufort, Duke of
Exeter, he intrusted the guardianship of his child. He besought all
parties to maintain the alliance with Burgundy, and never to release the
Duke of Orleans and the other prisoners of Agincourt during his son's
minority. Having given these instructions he expired, on the last day of
August, 1422.

His death was bewailed both in England and France with no ordinary
regret. The great achievements of his reign made him naturally a popular
hero; nor was the regard felt for his memory diminished when, under the
feeble reign of his son, all that he had gained was irrecoverably lost
again, so that nothing remained of all his conquests except the story of
how they had been won. Those past glories, indeed, must have seemed all
the brighter when contrasted with a present which knew but disaster
abroad and civil dissension at home. The early death of Henry also
contributed to the popular estimate of his greatness. It was seen that
in a very few years he had subdued a large part of the territory of
France. It was not seen that in the nature of things this advantage
could not be maintained, and that even the greatest military talents
would not have succeeded in preserving the English conquests.

Nor can it be said that Henry's success, extraordinary as it was, was
altogether owing to his own abilities. That he exhibited great qualities
as a general cannot be denied; but these would have availed him little
if the rival factions in France had not been far more bitterly opposed
to each other than to him. Indeed, it is difficult after all to justify,
even as a matter of policy, his interference in French affairs, except
as a means of diverting public attention from the fact that he inherited
from his father but an indifferent title even to the throne of England.
And though success attended his efforts beyond all expectation, he most
wilfully endangered the safety not only of himself, but of his gallant
army, when he determined to march with reduced forces through the
enemy's country from Harfleur to Calais. It was a rashness nothing less
than culpable, but in his own interests rashness was good policy.
Unless he could succeed in desperate enterprises against tremendous
odds and so make himself a military hero and a favorite of the
multitude, his throne was insecure. He succeeded; but it was only by
staking everything upon the venture--his own safety and that of his
army, which, if the French had exercised but a little more discretion,
would inevitably have been cut to pieces or made prisoners to a man.




JEANNE D'ARC'S VICTORY AT ORLEANS

A.D. 1429

Sir Edward Shepherd Creasy


  In the Hundred Years' War between England and France, a
  critical period was reached when Henry V, in 1415, won the
  battle of Agincourt, and five years later, by the treaty of
  Troyes, secured the succession to the French throne on the
  death of Charles VI. Both monarchs dying in 1422, Charles
  VII was proclaimed King of France, and Henry's son--Henry
  VI--succeeded to his father's throne.

  France now realized that her condition was wellnigh
  hopeless, for the greater part of her territory was in the
  hands of her enemies. When the English began the siege of
  Orleans the extinction of French independence seemed to be
  inevitable. The chivalry of France had been wasted in
  terrible wars, and the spirits of her soldiers were daunted
  by repeated disaster. The English king had been proclaimed
  in Paris, and the "native prince was a dissolute trifler,
  stained with the assassination of the most powerful noble of
  the land."[77] Anarchy and brigandage everywhere prevailed,
  and the condition of the peasantry was too wretched to be
  described.

  "Such," says Lamartine, "was the state of the nation when
  Providence showed it a savior in a child." This child was
  Jeanne d'Arc, called _La Pucelle_ ("the Maid"--more fully,
  "the Maid of Orleans"), whose character and services to her
  country made her, perhaps, the most illustrious heroine of
  history. She was born at Domremy, in the northeast part of
  France, January 6, 1412. All that is essential concerning
  her personality and life prior to the great achievement
  recorded here will be found in Creasy's own introduction to
  his spirited account of the victory at Orleans.

Orleans was looked upon as the last stronghold of the French national
party. If the English could once obtain possession of it, their
victorious progress through the residue of the kingdom seemed free from
any serious obstacle. Accordingly, the Earl of Salisbury, one of the
bravest and most experienced of the English generals, who had been
trained under Henry V, marched to the attack of the all-important city;
and, after reducing several places of inferior consequence in the
neighborhood, appeared with his army before its walls on the 12th of
October, 1428.

The city of Orleans itself was on the north side of the Loire, but its
suburbs extended far on the southern side, and a strong bridge connected
them with the town. A fortification, which in modern military phrase
would be termed a _tete-du-pont_, defended the bridge head on the
southern side, and two towers, called the _Tourelles_, were built on the
bridge itself, at a little distance from the tete-du-pont. Indeed, the
solid masonry of the bridge terminated at the Tourelles; and the
communication thence with the tete-du-pont and the southern shore was by
means of a drawbridge. The Tourelles and the tete-du-pont formed
together a strong-fortified post, capable of containing a garrison of
considerable strength; and so long as this was in possession of the
Orleannais, they could communicate freely with the southern provinces,
the inhabitants of which, like the Orleannais themselves, supported the
cause of their dauphin against the foreigners.

Lord Salisbury rightly judged the capture of the Tourelles to be the
most material step toward the reduction of the city itself. Accordingly,
he directed his principal operations against this post, and after some
severe repulses he carried the Tourelles by storm on the 23d of October.
The French, however, broke down the arches of the bridge that were
nearest to the north bank, and thus rendered a direct assault from the
Tourelles upon the city impossible. But the possession of this post
enabled the English to distress the town greatly by a battery of cannon
which they planted there, and which commanded some of the principal
streets.

It has been observed by Hume that this is the first siege in which any
important use appears to have been made of artillery. And even at
Orleans both besiegers and besieged seem to have employed their cannons
merely as instruments of destruction against their enemy's _men_, and
not to have trusted to them as engines of demolition against their
enemy's walls and works. The efficacy of cannon in breaching solid
masonry was taught Europe by the Turks a few years afterward, at the
memorable siege of Constantinople.

In our French wars, as in the wars of the classic nations, famine was
looked on as the surest weapon to compel the submission of a well-walled
town; and the great object of the besiegers was to effect a complete
circumvallation. The great ambit of the walls of Orleans, and the
facilities which the river gave for obtaining succors and supplies,
rendered the capture of the town by this process a matter of great
difficulty. Nevertheless, Lord Salisbury, and Lord Suffolk, who
succeeded him in command of the English after his death by a
cannon-ball, carried on the necessary works with great skill and
resolution. Six strongly-fortified posts, called _bastilles_, were
formed at certain intervals round the town, and the purpose of the
English engineers was to draw strong lines between them. During the
winter, little progress was made with the intrenchments, but when the
spring of 1429 came, the English resumed their work with activity; the
communications between the city and the country became more difficult,
and the approach of want began already to be felt in Orleans.

The besieging force also fared hardly for stores and provisions, until
relieved by the effects of a brilliant victory which Sir John Fastolf,
one of the best English generals, gained at Rouvrai, near Orleans, a few
days after Ash Wednesday, 1429. With only sixteen hundred fighting men,
Sir John completely defeated an army of French and Scots, four thousand
strong, which had been collected for the purpose of aiding the
Orleannais and harassing the besiegers. After this encounter, which
seemed decisively to confirm the superiority of the English in battle
over their adversaries, Fastolf escorted large supplies of stores and
food to Suffolk's camp, and the spirits of the English rose to the
highest pitch at the prospect of the speedy capture of the city before
them, and the consequent subjection of all France beneath their arms.

The Orleannais now, in their distress, offered to surrender the city
into the hands of the Duke of Burgundy, who, though the ally of the
English, was yet one of their native princes. The regent Bedford refused
these terms, and the speedy submission of the city to the English seemed
inevitable. The dauphin Charles, who was now at Chinon with his remnant
of a court, despaired of continuing any longer the struggle for his
crown, and was only prevented from abandoning the country by the more
masculine spirits of his mistress and his Queen. Yet neither they nor
the boldest of Charles' captains could have shown him where to find
resources for prolonging war; and least of all could any human skill
have predicted the quarter whence rescue was to come to Orleans and to
France.

In the village of Domremy, on the borders of Lorraine, there was a poor
peasant of the name of Jacques d'Arc, respected in his station of life,
and who had reared a family in virtuous habits and in the practice of
the strictest devotion. His eldest daughter was named by her parents
Jeannette, but she was called Jeanne by the French, which was Latinized
into Johanna, and Anglicized into Joan.

At the time when Jeanne first attracted attention, she was about
eighteen years of age. She was naturally of a susceptible disposition,
which diligent attention to the legends of saints and tales of fairies,
aided by the dreamy loneliness of her life while tending her father's
flocks, had made peculiarly prone to enthusiastic fervor. At the same
time, she was eminent for piety and purity of soul, and for her
compassionate gentleness to the sick and the distressed.

The district where she dwelt had escaped comparatively free from the
ravages of war, but the approach of roving bands of Burgundian or
English troops frequently spread terror through Domremy. Once the
village had been plundered by some of these marauders, and Jeanne and
her family had been driven from their home, and forced to seek refuge
for a time at Neufchateau. The peasantry in Domremy were principally
attached to the house of Orleans and the Dauphin, and all the miseries
which France endured were there imputed to the Burgundian faction and
their allies, the English, who were seeking to enslave unhappy France.

Thus, from infancy to girlhood, Jeanne had heard continually of the woes
of the war, and had herself witnessed some of the wretchedness that it
caused. A feeling of intense patriotism grew in her with her growth. The
deliverance of France from the English was the subject of her reveries
by day and her dreams by night. Blended with these aspirations were
recollections of the miraculous interpositions of heaven in favor of
the oppressed, which she had learned from the legends of her Church.
Her faith was undoubting; her prayers were fervent. "She feared no
danger, for she felt no sin," and at length she believed herself to have
received the supernatural inspiration which she sought.

According to her own narrative, delivered by her to her merciless
inquisitors in the time of her captivity and approaching death, she was
about thirteen years old when her revelations commenced. Her own words
describe them best. "At the age of thirteen, a voice from God came to
her to help her in ruling herself, and that voice came to her about the
hour of noon, in summer-time, while she was in her father's garden. And
she had fasted the day before. And she heard the voice on her right, in
the direction of the church; and when she heard the voice, she saw also
a bright light."

Afterward St. Michael and St. Margaret and St. Catharine appeared to
her. They were always in a halo of glory; she could see that their heads
were crowned with jewels; and she heard their voices, which were sweet
and mild. She did not distinguish their arms or limbs. She heard them
more frequently than she saw them; and the usual time when she heard
them was when the church bells were sounding for prayer. And if she was
in the woods when she heard them, she could plainly distinguish their
voices drawing near to her. When she thought that she discerned the
heavenly voices, she knelt down, and bowed herself to the ground. Their
presence gladdened her even to tears, and after they departed she wept
because they had not taken her with them back to paradise. They always
spoke soothingly to her. They told her that France would be saved, and
that she was to save it.

Such were the visions and the voices that moved the spirit of the girl
of thirteen; and as she grew older, they became more frequent and more
clear. At last the tidings of the siege of Orleans reached Domremy.
Jeanne heard her parents and neighbors talk of the sufferings of its
population, of the ruin which its capture would bring on their lawful
sovereign, and of the distress of the Dauphin and his court. Jeanne's
heart was sorely troubled at the thought of the fate of Orleans; and her
"voices" now ordered her to leave her home, and warned her that she was
the instrument chosen by heaven for driving away the English from that
city, and for taking the Dauphin to be anointed king at Rheims. At
length she informed her parents of her divine mission, and told them
that she must go to the Sire de Baudricourt, who commanded at
Vaucouleurs, and who was the appointed person to bring her into the
presence of the King, whom she was to save.

Neither the anger nor the grief of her parents, who said that they would
rather see her drowned than exposed to the contamination of the camp,
could move her from her purpose. One of her uncles consented to take her
to Vaucouleurs, where De Baudricourt at first thought her mad, and
derided her, but by degrees was led to believe, if not in her
inspiration, at least in her enthusiasm, and in its possible utility to
the Dauphin's cause.

The inhabitants of Vaucouleurs were completely won over to her side by
the piety and devoutness which she displayed, and by her firm assurance
in the truth of her mission. She told them that it was God's will that
she should go to the King, and that no one but her could save the
kingdom of France. She said that she herself would rather remain with
her poor mother and spin; but the Lord had ordered her forth.

The fame of "the Maid," as she was termed, the renown of her holiness
and of her mission, spread far and wide. Baudricourt sent her with an
escort to Chinon, where the dauphin Charles was dallying away his time.
Her "voices" had bidden her assume the arms and the apparel of a knight;
and the wealthiest inhabitants of Vaucouleurs had vied with each other
in equipping her with war-horse, armor, and sword. On reaching Chinon,
she was, after some delay, admitted into the presence of the Dauphin.
Charles designedly dressed himself far less richly than many of his
courtiers were apparelled, and mingled with them, when Jeanne was
introduced, in order to see if the holy Maid would address her
exhortations to the wrong person. But she instantly singled him out,
and, kneeling before him, said:

"Most noble Dauphin, the King of Heaven announces to you by me that you
shall be anointed and crowned king in the city of Rheims, and that you
shall be his vicegerent in France."

His features may probably have been seen by her previously in
portraits, or have been described to her by others; but she herself
believed that her "voices" inspired her when she addressed the King, and
the report soon spread abroad that the holy Maid had found the King by a
miracle; and this, with many other similar rumors, augmented the renown
and influence that she now rapidly acquired.

The state of public feeling in France was now favorable to an
enthusiastic belief in a divine interposition in favor of the party that
had hitherto been unsuccessful and oppressed. The humiliations which had
befallen the French royal family and nobility were looked on as the just
judgments of God upon them for their vice and impiety. The misfortunes
that had come upon France as a nation were believed to have been drawn
down by national sins. The English, who had been the instruments of
heaven's wrath against France, seemed now, by their pride and cruelty,
to be fitting objects of it themselves.

France in that age was a profoundly religious country. There was
ignorance, there was superstition, there was bigotry; but there was
_faith_--a faith that itself worked true miracles, even while it
believed in unreal ones. At this time, also, one of those devotional
movements began among the clergy in France, which from time to time
occur in national churches, without it being possible for the historian
to assign any adequate human cause for their immediate date or
extension. Numberless friars and priests traversed the rural districts
and towns of France, preaching to the people that they must seek from
heaven a deliverance from the pillages of the soldiery and the insolence
of the foreign oppressors.

The idea of a providence that works only by general laws was wholly
alien to the feelings of the age. Every political event, as well as
every natural phenomenon, was believed to be the immediate result of a
special mandate of God. This led to the belief that his holy angels and
saints were constantly employed in executing his commands and mingling
in the affairs of men. The Church encouraged these feelings, and at the
same time sanctioned the concurrent popular belief that hosts of evil
spirits were also ever actively interposing in the current of earthly
events, with whom sorcerers and wizards could league themselves, and
thereby obtain the exercise of supernatural power.

Thus all things favored the influence which Jeanne obtained both over
friends and foes. The French nation, as well as the English and the
Burgundians, readily admitted that superhuman beings inspired her; the
only question was whether these beings were good or evil angels; whether
she brought with her "airs from heaven or blasts from hell." This
question seemed to her countrymen to be decisively settled in her favor
by the austere sanctity of her life, by the holiness of her
conversation, but still more by her exemplary attention to all the
services and rites of the Church. The Dauphin at first feared the injury
that might be done to his cause if he laid himself open to the charge of
having leagued himself with a sorceress. Every imaginable test,
therefore, was resorted to in order to set Jeanne's orthodoxy and purity
beyond suspicion. At last Charles and his advisers felt safe in
accepting her services as those of a true and virtuous Christian
daughter of the holy Church.

It is, indeed, probable that Charles himself and some of his counsellors
may have suspected Jeanne of being a mere enthusiast, and it is certain
that Dunois and others of the best generals took considerable latitude
in obeying or deviating from the military orders that she gave. But over
the mass of the people and the soldiery her influence was unbounded.
While Charles and his doctors of theology, and court ladies, had been
deliberating as to recognizing or dismissing the Maid, a considerable
period had passed away during which a small army, the last gleanings, as
it seemed, of the English sword, had been assembled at Blois, under
Dunois, La Hire, Xaintrailles, and other chiefs, who to their natural
valor were now beginning to unite the wisdom that is taught by
misfortune. It was resolved to send Jeanne with this force and a convoy
of provisions to Orleans. The distress of that city had now become
urgent. But the communication with the open country was not entirely cut
off: the Orleannais had heard of the holy Maid whom Providence had
raised up for their deliverance, and their messengers earnestly implored
the Dauphin to send her to them without delay.

Jeanne appeared at the camp at Blois, clad in a new suit of brilliant
white armor, mounted on a stately black war-horse, and with a lance in
her right hand, which she had learned to wield with skill and grace. Her
head was unhelmeted, so that all could behold her fair and expressive
features, her deep-set and earnest eyes, and her long black hair, which
was parted across her forehead, and bound by a ribbon behind her back.
She wore at her side a small battle-axe, and the consecrated sword,
marked on the blade with five crosses, which had at her bidding been
taken for her from the shrine of St. Catharine at Fierbois. A page
carried her banner, which she had caused to be made and embroidered as
her voices enjoined. It was white satin, strewn with _fleurs-de-lis_,
and on it were the words

  "JHESUS MARIA,"

and the representation of the Saviour in his glory. Jeanne afterward
generally bore her banner herself in battle; she said that though she
loved her sword much, she loved her banner forty times as much; and she
loved to carry it, because it could not kill anyone.

Thus accoutred, she came to lead the troops of France, who looked with
soldierly admiration on her well-proportioned and upright figure, the
skill with which she managed her war-horse, and the easy grace with
which she handled her weapons. Her military education had been short,
but she had availed herself of it well. She had also the good sense to
interfere little with the manoeuvres of the troops, leaving these
things to Dunois and others whom she had the discernment to recognize as
the best officers in the camp.

Her tactics in action were simple enough. As she herself described it,
"I used to say to them, 'Go boldly in among the English,' and then I
used to go boldly in myself." Such, as she told her inquisitors, was the
only spell she used, and it was one of power. But, while interfering
little with the military discipline of the troops, in all matters of
moral discipline she was inflexibly strict. All the abandoned followers
of the camp were driven away. She compelled both generals and soldiers
to attend regularly at confessional. Her chaplain and other priests
marched with the army under her orders; and at every halt, an altar was
set up and the sacrament administered. No oath or foul language passed
without punishment or censure. Even the roughest and most hardened
veterans obeyed her. They had put off for a time the bestial coarseness
which had grown on them during a life of bloodshed and rapine; they
felt that they must go forth in a new spirit to a new career, and
acknowledged the beauty of the holiness in which the heaven-sent Maid
was leading them to certain victory.

Jeanne marched from Blois on the 25th of April with a convoy of
provisions for Orleans, accompanied by Dunois, La Hire, and the other
chief captains of the French, and on the evening of the 28th they
approached the town. In the words of the old chronicler Hall: "The
Englishmen, perceiving that thei within could not long continue for
faute of vitaile and pouder, kepte not their watche so diligently as
thei were accustomed, nor scoured now the countrey environed as thei
before had ordained. Whiche negligence the citizens shut in perceiving,
sent worde thereof to the French captaines, which, with Pucelle, in the
dedde tyme of the nighte, and in a greate rayne and thundere, with all
their vitaile and artillery, entered into the citie."

When it was day, the Maid rode in solemn procession through the city,
clad in complete armor, and mounted on a white horse. Dunois was by her
side, and all the bravest knights of her army and of the garrison
followed in her train. The whole population thronged around her; and
men, women, and children strove to touch her garments or her banner or
her charger. They poured forth blessings on her, whom they already
considered their deliverer. In the words used by two of them afterward
before the tribunal which reversed the sentence, but could not restore
the life of the virgin-martyr of France, "the people of Orleans, when
they first saw her in their city, thought that it was an angel from
heaven that had come down to save them."

Jeanne spoke gently in reply to their acclamations and addresses. She
told them to fear God, and trust in him for safety from the fury of
their enemies. She first went to the principal church, where _Te Deum_
was chanted; and then she took up her abode at the house of Jacques
Bourgier, one of the principal citizens, and whose wife was a matron of
good repute. She refused to attend a splendid banquet which had been
provided for her, and passed nearly all her time in prayer.

When it was known by the English that the Maid was in Orleans, their
minds were not less occupied about her than were the minds of those in
the city; but it was in a very different spirit. The English believed
in her supernatural mission as firmly as the French did, but they
thought her a sorceress who had come to overthrow them by her
enchantments. An old prophecy, which told that a damsel from Lorraine
was to save France, had long been current, and it was known and applied
to Jeanne by foreigners as well as by the natives. For months the
English had heard of the coming Maid, and the tales of miracles which
she was said to have wrought had been listened to by the rough yeomen of
the English camp with anxious curiosity and secret awe. She had sent a
herald to the English generals before she marched for Orleans, and he
had summoned the English generals in the name of the most High to give
up to the Maid, who was sent by heaven, the keys of the French cities
which they had wrongfully taken; and he also solemnly adjured the
English troops, whether archers or men of the companies of war or
gentlemen or others, who were before the city of Orleans, to depart
thence to their homes, under peril of being visited by the judgment of
God.

On her arrival in Orleans, Jeanne sent another similar message; but the
English scoffed at her from their towers, and threatened to burn her
heralds. She determined, before she shed the blood of the besiegers, to
repeat the warning with her own voice; and accordingly she mounted one
of the boulevards of the town, which was within hearing of the
Tourelles, and thence she spoke to the English, and bade them depart,
otherwise they would meet with shame and woe.

Sir William Gladsdale--whom the French call "Glacidas"--commanded the
English post at the Tourelles, and he and another English officer
replied by bidding her go home and keep her cows, and by ribald jests
that brought tears of shame and indignation into her eyes. But, though
the English leaders vaunted aloud, the effect produced on their army by
Jeanne's presence in Orleans was proved four days after her arrival,
when, on the approach of reenforcements and stores to the town, Jeanne
and La Hire marched out to meet them, and escorted the long train of
provision wagons safely into Orleans, between the bastiles of the
English, who cowered behind their walls instead of charging fiercely and
fearlessly, as had been their wont, on any French band that dared to
show itself within reach.

Thus far she had prevailed without striking a blow; but the time was now
come to test her courage amid the horrors of actual slaughter. On the
afternoon of the day on which she had escorted the reenforcements into
the city, while she was resting fatigued at home, Dunois had seized an
advantageous opportunity of attacking the English bastile of St. Loup,
and a fierce assault of the Orleannais had been made on it, which the
English garrison of the fort stubbornly resisted. Jeanne was roused by a
sound which she believed to be that of her heavenly voices; she called
for her arms and horse, and, quickly equipping herself, she mounted to
ride off to where the fight was raging. In her haste she had forgotten
her banner; she rode back, and, without dismounting, had it given to her
from the window, and then she galloped to the gate whence the sally had
been made.

On her way she met some of the wounded French who had been carried back
from the fight. "Ha!" she exclaimed, "I never can see French blood flow
without my hair standing on end." She rode out of the gate, and met the
tide of her countrymen, who had been repulsed from the English fort, and
were flying back to Orleans in confusion. At the sight of the holy Maid
and her banner they rallied and renewed the assault, Jeanne rode forward
at their head, waving her banner and cheering them on. The English
quailed at what they believed to be the charge of hell; St. Loup was
stormed, and its defenders put to the sword, except some few, whom
Jeanne succeeded in saving. All her woman's gentleness returned when the
combat was over. It was the first time that she had ever seen a
battlefield. She wept at the sight of so many bleeding corpses; and her
tears flowed doubly when she reflected that they were the bodies of
Christian men who had died without confession.

The next day was Ascension Day, and it was passed by Jeanne in prayer.
But on the following morrow it was resolved by the chiefs of the
garrison to attack the English forts on the south of the river. For this
purpose they crossed the river in boats, and after some severe fighting,
in which the Maid was wounded in the heel, both the English bastiles of
the Augustins and St. Jean de Blanc were captured. The Tourelles were
now the only posts which the besiegers held on the south of the river.
But that post was formidably strong, and by its command of the bridge
it was the key to the deliverance of Orleans. It was known that a fresh
English army was approaching under Fastolfe to reenforce the besiegers,
and, should that army arrive while the Tourelles were yet in the
possession of their comrades, there was great peril of all the
advantages which the French had gained being nullified, and of the siege
being again actively carried on.

It was resolved, therefore, by the French to assail the Tourelles at
once, while the enthusiasm which the presence and the heroic valor of
the Maid had created was at its height. But the enterprise was
difficult. The rampart of the tete-du-pont, or landward bulwark, of the
Tourelles was steep and high, and Sir John Gladsdale occupied this
all-important fort with five hundred archers and men-at-arms, who were
the very flower of the English army.

Early in the morning of the 7th of May some thousands of the best French
troops in Orleans heard mass and attended the confessional by Jeanne's
orders, and then crossing the river in boats, as on the preceding day,
they assailed the bulwark of the Tourelles "with light hearts and heavy
hands." But Gladsdale's men, encouraged by their bold and skilful
leader, made a resolute and able defence. The Maid planted her banner on
the edge of the fosse, and then, springing down into the ditch, she
placed the first ladder against the wall and began to mount. An English
archer sent an arrow at her, which pierced her corselet and wounded her
severely between the neck and shoulder. She fell bleeding from the
ladder; and the English were leaping down from the wall to capture her,
but her followers bore her off. She was carried to the rear and laid
upon the grass; her armor was taken off, and the anguish of her wound
and the sight of her blood made her at first tremble and weep.

But her confidence in her celestial mission soon returned: her patron
saints seemed to stand before her and reassure her. She sat up and drew
the arrow out with her own hands. Some of the soldiers who stood by
wished to stanch the blood by saying a charm over the wound; but she
forbade them, saying that she did not wish to be cured by unhallowed
means. She had the wound dressed with a little oil, and then, bidding
her confessor come to her, she betook herself to prayer.

In the mean while the English in the bulwark of the Tourelles had
repulsed the oft-renewed efforts of the French to scale the wall.
Dunois, who commanded the assailants, was at last discouraged, and gave
orders for a retreat to be sounded. Jeanne sent for him and the other
generals, and implored them not to despair.

"By my God," she said to them, "you shall soon enter in there. Do not
doubt it. When you see my banner wave again up to the wall, to your arms
again! the fort is yours. For the present, rest a little and take some
food and drink."

"They did so," says the old chronicler of the siege, "for they obeyed
her marvellously."

The faintness caused by her wound had now passed off, and she headed the
French in another rush against the bulwark. The English, who had thought
her slain, were alarmed at her reappearance, while the French pressed
furiously and fanatically forward. A Biscayan soldier was carrying
Jeanne's banner. She had told the troops that directly the banner
touched the wall they should enter. The Biscayan waved the banner
forward from the edge of the fosse, and touched the wall with it, and
then all the French host swarmed madly up the ladders that now were
raised in all directions against the English fort. At this crisis the
efforts of the English garrison were distracted by an attack from
another quarter. The French troops who had been left in Orleans had
placed some planks over the broken arch of the bridge, and advanced
across them to the assault of the Tourelles on the northern side.

Gladsdale resolved to withdraw his men from the landward bulwark, and
concentrate his whole force in the Tourelles themselves. He was passing
for this purpose across the drawbridge that connected the Tourelles and
the tete-du-pont, when Jeanne, who by this time had scaled the wall of
the bulwark, called out to him, "Surrender! surrender to the King of
Heaven! Ah, Glacidas, you have foully wronged me with your words, but I
have great pity on your soul and the souls of your men." The Englishman,
disdainful of her summons, was striding on across the drawbridge, when a
cannon-shot from the town carried it away, and Gladsdale perished in the
water that ran beneath. After his fall, the remnant of the English
abandoned all further resistance. Three hundred of them had been killed
in the battle and two hundred were made prisoners.

The broken arch was speedily repaired by the exulting Orleannais, and
Jeanne made her triumphal reentry into the city by the bridge that had
so long been closed. Every church in Orleans rang out its gratulating
peal; and throughout the night the sounds of rejoicing echoed, and the
bonfires blazed up from the city. But in the lines and forts which the
besiegers yet retained on the northern shore, there was anxious watching
of the generals, and there was desponding gloom among the soldiery. Even
Talbot now counselled retreat. On the following morning the Orleannais,
from their walls, saw the great forts called "London" and "St. Lawrence"
in flames, and witnessed their invaders busy in destroying the stores
and munitions which had been relied on for the destruction of Orleans.

Slowly and sullenly the English army retired; and not before it had
drawn up in battle array opposite to the city, as if to challenge the
garrison to an encounter. The French troops were eager to go out and
attack, but Jeanne forbade it. The day was Sunday.

"In the name of God," she said, "let them depart, and let us return
thanks to God."

She led the soldiers and citizens forth from Orleans, but not for the
shedding of blood. They passed in solemn procession round the city
walls, and then, while their retiring enemies were yet in sight, they
knelt in thanksgiving to God for the deliverance which he had vouchsafed
them.

Within three months from the time of her first interview with the
Dauphin, Jeanne had fulfilled the first part of her promise, the raising
of the siege of Orleans. Within three months more she had fulfilled the
second part also, and had stood with her banner in her hand by the high
altar at Rheims, while he was anointed and crowned as king Charles VII
of France. In the interval she had taken Jargeau, Troyes, and other
strong places, and she had defeated an English army in a fair field at
Patay. The enthusiasm of her countrymen knew no bounds; but the
importance of her services, and especially of her primary achievement at
Orleans, may perhaps be best proved by the testimony of her enemies.
There is extant a fragment of a letter from the regent Bedford to his
royal nephew, Henry VI, in which he bewails the turn that the war has
taken, and especially attributes it to the raising of the siege of
Orleans by Jeanne. Bedford's own words, which are preserved in Rymer,
are as follows:

"And alle thing there prospered for you til the tyme of the Siege of
Orleans taken in hand God knoweth by what advis. At the whiche tyme,
after the adventure fallen to the persone of my cousin of Salisbury,
whom God assoille, there felle, by the hand of God as it seemeth, a
great strook upon your peuple that was assembled there in grete nombre,
caused in grete partie, as y trowe, of lakke of sadde beleve, and of
unlevefulle doubte, that thei hadde of a disciple and lyme of the
Feende, called the Pucelle, that used fals enchantments and sorcerie.

"The whiche strooke and discomfiture nott oonly lessed in grete partie
the nombre of your peuple there, but as well withdrewe the courage of
the remenant in merveillous wyse, and couraiged your adverse partie and
ennemys to assemble them forthwith in grete nombre."

When Charles had been anointed king of France, Jeanne believed that her
mission was accomplished. And in truth the deliverance of France from
the English, though not completed for many years afterward, was then
insured. The ceremony of a royal coronation and anointment was not in
those days regarded as a mere costly formality. It was believed to
confer the sanction and the grace of heaven upon the prince, who had
previously ruled with mere human authority. Thenceforth he was the
Lord's Anointed. Moreover, one of the difficulties that had previously
lain in the way of many Frenchmen when called on to support Charles VII
was now removed. He had been publicly stigmatized, even by his own
parents, as no true son of the royal race of France. The queen-mother,
the English, and the partisans of Burgundy called him the "Pretender to
the title of Dauphin"; but those who had been led to doubt his
legitimacy were cured of their scepticism by the victories of the holy
Maid and by the fulfilment of her pledges. They thought that heaven had
now declared itself in favor of Charles as the true heir of the crown of
St. Louis, and the tales about his being spurious were thenceforth
regarded as mere English calumnies.

With this strong tide of national feeling in his favor, with victorious
generals and soldiers round him, and a dispirited and divided enemy
before him, he could not fail to conquer, though his own imprudence and
misconduct, and the stubborn valor which the English still from time to
time displayed, prolonged the war in France until the civil Wars of the
Roses broke out in England, and left France to peace and repose.




TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF JEANNE D'ARC

A.D. 1431

Jules Michelet


  After her victory at Orleans (1429), Jeanne d'Arc "knelt
  before the French King in the cathedral of Rheims, and shed
  tears of joy." She felt that she had fulfilled her mission,
  and she desired to return to her home at Domremy. But King
  Charles VII persuaded her to remain with the army. "She
  still heard her heavenly voices, but she now no longer
  thought herself the appointed minister of heaven to lead her
  countrymen to certain victory." She expected but one year
  more of life; but she still bravely faced the future with
  its perils.

  The Maid took part in the capture of Laon, Soissons,
  Compiegne, and other places, and, in the attack on Paris,
  September, 1429, which she prematurely urged, was severely
  wounded. In a sally from Compiegne, where she was besieged
  by Burgundians, she was taken prisoner May 24, 1430, and
  held until November, when for a large payment in money she
  was surrendered to the English, who took her to Rouen, their
  real capital in France.

  On January 3, 1431, by order of King Henry VI of England,
  Jeanne was placed in the hands of Peter Cauchon, Bishop of
  Beauvais, who had already moved to have her delivered up to
  the Inquisition of France, as demanded by the University of
  Paris. The Bishop proceeded to form at Rouen a "court of
  justice" for her trial, and on February 21st the Maid was
  brought before her judges--"Norman priests and doctors of
  Paris"--in the chapel of Rouen castle. The trial lasted
  until May 30th, forty sittings being held--some of them in
  Jeanne's prison, where for a time she was kept in an iron
  cage.

  Commanded to take "an oath to tell the truth about
  everything as to which she should be questioned," she
  replied: "Perchance you may ask me things I would not tell
  you. I do not like to take an oath to tell the truth save as
  to matters which concern the faith." She fearlessly tried to
  guard against violation of what she considered her right to
  be silent.

  In "this odious and shameful trial," says Guizot, "the
  judges' prejudiced servility and scientific subtlety were
  employed for three months to wear out the courage or
  overreach the understanding of a young girl of nineteen, who
  made no defence beyond holding her tongue or appealing to
  God, who had dictated to her that which she had done."
  Formal accusation was made under twelve heads or articles,
  based on the preliminary examination, and the trial
  proceeded to its merciless end.

In Passion Week, Jeanne d'Arc fell sick. Her temptation began, no doubt,
on Palm Sunday. A country girl, born on the skirts of a forest, and
having ever lived in the open air of heaven, she was compelled to pass
this fine Palm Sunday in the depths of a dungeon. The grand "succor"
which the Church invokes came not for her; the "doors did not open."

They were opened on the Tuesday, but it was to lead the accused to the
great hall of the castle, before her judges. They read to her the
articles which had been founded on her answers, and the Bishop
previously represented to her "that these doctors were all churchmen,
clerks, and well read in law, divine and human; that they were all
tender and pitiful, and desired to proceed mildly, seeking neither
vengeance nor corporal punishment, but solely wishing to enlighten her,
and put her in the way of truth and of salvation; and that, as she was
not sufficiently informed in such high matters, the Bishop and the
Inquisitor offered her the choice of one or more of the assessors to act
as her counsel." The accused, in presence of this assembly, in which she
did not descry a single friendly face, mildly answered: "For what you
admonish me as to my good, and concerning our faith, I thank you; as to
the counsel you offer me, I have no intention to forsake the counsel of
our Lord."

The first article touched the capital point, submission. She replied:
"Well do I believe that our holy Father, the bishops, and others of the
Church are to guard the Christian faith and punish those who are found
wanting. As to my deeds, I submit myself only to the Church in heaven,
to God and the Virgin, to the sainted men and women in paradise. I have
not been wanting in regard to the Christian faith, and trust I never
shall be." And, shortly afterward, "I would rather die than recall what
I have done by our Lord's command."

What illustrates the time, the uninformed mind of these doctors, and
their blind attachment to the letter without regard to the spirit is
that no point seemed graver to them than the sin of having assumed male
attire. They represented to her that, according to the canons, those who
thus change the habit of their sex are abominable in the sight of God.
At first she would not give a direct answer, and begged for a respite
till the next day, but her judges insisted on her discarding the dress;
she replied "that she was not empowered to say when she could quit it."

"But if you should be deprived of the privilege of hearing mass?"

"Well, our Lord can grant me to hear it without you."

"Will you put on a woman's dress, in order to receive your Saviour at
Easter?"

"No; I cannot quit this dress; it matters not to me in what dress I
receive my Saviour."

After this she seems shaken, asks to be at least allowed to hear mass,
adding, "I won't say but if you were to give me a gown such as the
daughters of the burghers wear, a very _long gown_."

It is clear she shrank, through modesty, from explaining herself. The
poor girl durst not explain her position in prison or the constant
danger she was in. The truth is that three soldiers slept in her room,
three of the brigand ruffians called _houspilleurs_;[78] that she was
chained to a beam by a large iron chain, almost wholly at their mercy;
the man's dress they wished to compel her to discontinue was all her
safeguard. What are we to think of the imbecility of the judge, or of
his horrible connivance?

Besides being kept under the eyes of these wretches, and exposed to
their insults and mockery, she was subjected to espial from without.
Winchester,[79] the Inquisitor, and Cauchon had each a key to the tower,
and watched her hourly through a hole in the wall. Each stone of this
infernal dungeon had eyes.

Her only consolation was that she was at first allowed interviews with a
priest, who told her that he was a prisoner and attached to Charles
VII's cause. Loyseleur, so he was named, was a tool of the English. He
had won Jeanne's confidence, who used to confess herself to him; and, at
such times, her confessions were taken down by notaries concealed on
purpose to overhear her. It is said that Loyseleur encouraged her to
hold out, in order to insure her destruction.

The deplorable state of the prisoner's health was aggravated by her
being deprived of the consolations of religion during Passion Week. On
the Thursday, the sacrament was withheld from her; on that selfsame day
on which Christ is universal host, on which he invites the poor and all
those who suffer, she seemed to be forgotten.

On Good Friday, that day of deep silence, on which we all hear no other
sound than the beating of one's own heart, it seems as if the hearts of
the judges smote them, and that some feeling of humanity and of religion
had been awakened in their aged scholastic souls; at least it is certain
that, whereas thirty-five of them took their seats on the Wednesday, no
more than nine were present at the examination on Saturday; the rest, no
doubt, alleged the devotions of the day as their excuse.

On the contrary, her courage had revived. Likening her own sufferings to
those of Christ, the thought had roused her from her despondency. She
agreed to "defer to the Church militant, provided it commanded nothing
impossible."

"Do you think, then, that you are not subject to the Church which is
upon earth, to our holy father the Pope, to the cardinals, archbishops,
bishops, and prelates?"

"Yes, certainly, our Lord served."

"Do your voices forbid your submitting to the Church militant?"

"They do not forbid it, our Lord being served _first_."

This firmness did not desert her once on the Saturday; but on the next
day, the Sunday, Easter Sunday! what must her feelings have been? What
must have passed in that poor heart when, the sounds of the universal
holiday enlivening the city, Rouen's five hundred bells ringing out with
their joyous peals on the air, and the whole Christian world coming to
life with the Saviour, she remained with death! Could she who, with all
her inner life of visions and revelations, had not the less docilely
obeyed the commands of the Church; could she, who till now had believed
herself in her simplicity "a good girl," as she said, a girl altogether
submissive to the Church--could she without terror see the Church
against her?

After all, what, who was she, to undertake to gainsay these prelates,
these doctors? How dared she speak before so many able men--men who had
studied? Was there not presumption and damnable pride in an ignorant
girl's opposing herself to the learned--a poor, simple girl, to men in
authority? Undoubtedly fears of the kind agitated her mind.

On the other hand, this opposition is not Jeanne's, but that of the
saints and angels who have dictated her answers to her, and, up to this
time, sustained her. Wherefore, alas! do they come no more in this
pressing need of hers? Wherefore is the so long promised deliverance
delayed? Doubtless the prisoner has put these questions to herself over
and over again.

There was one means of escaping; this was, without expressly disavowing,
to forbear affirming, and to say, "It seems to me." The lawyers thought
it easy for her to pronounce these few simple words; but in her mind, to
use so doubtful an expression was in reality equivalent to a denial; it
was abjuring her beautiful dream of heavenly friendships, betraying her
sweet sisters on high. Better to die. And indeed, the unfortunate,
rejected by the visible, abandoned by the invisible, by the Church, by
the world, and by her own heart, was sinking. And the body was following
the sinking soul.

It so happened that on that very day she had eaten part of a fish which
the charitable Bishop of Beauvais had sent her, and might have imagined
herself poisoned. The bishop had an interest in her death; it would have
put an end to this embarrassing trial, would have got the judge out of
the scrape; but this was not what the English reckoned upon. The Earl of
Warwick, in his alarm, said: "The King would not have her by any means
die a natural death. The King has bought her dear. She must die by
justice and be burned. See and cure her."

All attention, indeed, was paid her; she was visited and bled, but was
none the better for it, remaining weak and nearly dying. Whether through
fear that she should escape thus and die without retracting, or that her
bodily weakness inspired hopes that her mind would be more easily dealt
with, the judges made an attempt while she was lying in this state,
April 18th. They visited her in her chamber, and represented to her that
she would be in great danger if she did not reconsider, and follow the
advice of the Church. "It seems to me, indeed," she said, "seeing my
sickness, that I am in great danger of death. If so, God's will be done;
I should like to confess, receive my Saviour, and be laid in holy
ground."

"If you desire the sacraments of the Church, you must do as good
Catholics do, and submit yourself to it." She made no reply. But, on the
judge's repeating his words, she said: "If the body die in prison, I
hope that you will lay it in holy ground; if you do not, I appeal to our
Lord."

Already, in the course of these examinations, she had expressed one of
her last wishes. _Question_: "You say that you wear a man's dress by
God's command, and yet, in case you die, you want a woman's shift?"
_Answer_: "All I want is to have a long one." This touching answer was
ample proof that, in this extremity, she was much less occupied with
care about life than with the fears of modesty.

The doctors preached to their patient for a long time; and he who had
taken on himself the especial care of exhorting her, Master Nicolas
Midy, a scholastic of Paris, closed the scene by saying bitterly to her,
"If you don't obey the Church, you will be abandoned for a Saracen."

"I am a good Christian," she replied meekly; "I was properly baptized,
and will die like a good Christian."

The slowness of these proceedings drove the English wild with
impatience. Winchester had hoped to bring the trial to an end before the
campaign; to have forced a confession from the prisoner, and have
dishonored King Charles. This blow struck, he would recover Louviers,
secure Normandy and the Seine, and then repair to Basel to begin another
war--a theological war--to sit there as arbiter of Christendom, and make
and unmake popes. At the very moment he had these high designs in view,
he was compelled to cool his heels, waiting upon what it might please
this girl to say.

The unlucky Cauchon happened at this precise juncture to have offended
the chapter of Rouen, from which he was soliciting a decision against
the Pucelle; he had allowed himself to be addressed beforehand as "My
lord the Archbishop." Winchester determined to disregard the delays of
these Normans, and to refer at once to the great theological tribunal,
the University of Paris.

While waiting for the answer, new attempts were made to overcome the
resistance of the accused; and both stratagem and terror were brought
into play. In the course of a second admonition, May 2d, the preacher,
Master Chatillon, proposed to her to submit the question of the truth of
her visions to persons of her own party. She did not give in to the
snare. "As to this," she said, "I depend on my Judge, the King of heaven
and earth." She did not say this time, as before, "On God and the Pope."

"Well, the Church will give you up, and you will be in danger of fire,
both soul and body. You will not do what we tell you until you suffer
body and soul."

They did not stop at vague threats. On the third admonition, which took
place in her chamber, May 11th, the executioner was sent for, and she
was told that the torture was ready. But the manoeuvre failed. On the
contrary, it was found that she had resumed all, and more than all, her
courage. Raised up after temptation, she seemed to have mounted a step
nearer the source of grace. "The angel Gabriel," she said, "has appeared
to strengthen me; it was he--my saints have assured me so. God has been
ever my master in what I have done; the devil has never had power over
me. Though you should tear off my limbs and pluck my soul from my body,
I would say nothing else." The spirit was so visibly manifested in her
that her last adversary, the preacher Chatillon, was touched, and became
her defender, declaring that a trial so conducted seemed to him null.
Cauchon, beside himself with rage, compelled him to silence.

The reply of the University arrived at last. The decision to which it
came on the twelve articles was that this girl was wholly the devil's;
was impious in regard to her parents; thirsted for Christian blood, etc.
This was the opinion given by the faculty of theology. That of law was
more moderate, declaring her to be deserving of punishment, but with two
reservations: (1) In case she persisted in her nonsubmission; (2) if
she were in her right senses.

At the same time the university wrote to the Pope, to the cardinals, and
to the King of England, lauding the Bishop of Beauvais and setting
forth, "there seemed to it to have been great gravity observed, and a
holy and just way of proceeding, which ought to be most satisfactory to
all."

Armed with this response, some of the assessors[80] were for burning her
without further delay; which would have been sufficient satisfaction for
the doctors, whose authority she rejected, but not for the English, who
required a retraction that should defame King Charles. They had recourse
to a new admonition and a new preacher, Master Pierre Morice, which was
attended by no better result. It was in vain that he dwelt upon the
authority of the University of Paris, "which is the light of all
science."

"Though I should see the executioner and the fire there," she exclaimed,
"though I were in the fire, I could only say what I have said."

It was by this time the 23d of May, the day after Pentecost; Winchester
could remain no longer at Rouen, and it behooved to make an end of the
business. Therefore it was resolved to get up a great and terrible
public scene, which should either terrify the recusant into submission,
or, at the least, blind the people. Loyseleur, Chatillon, and Morice
were sent to visit her the evening before, to promise her that, if she
would submit and quit her man's dress, she should be delivered out of
the hands of the English, and placed in those of the Church.

This fearful farce was enacted in the cemetery of St. Ouen, behind the
beautifully severe monastic church so called, and which had by that day
assumed its present appearance. On a scaffolding raised for the purpose
sat Cardinal Winchester, the two judges, and thirty-three assessors, of
whom many had their scribes seated at their feet. On another scaffold,
in the midst of _huissiers_[81] and torturers, was Jeanne, in male
attire, and also notaries to take down her confessions, and a preacher
to admonish her; and, at its foot, among the crowd, was remarked a
strange auditor, the executioner upon his cart, ready to bear her off as
soon as she should be adjudged his.

The preacher on this day, a famous doctor, Guillaume Erard, conceived
himself bound, on so fine an opportunity, to give the reins to his
eloquence; and by his zeal he spoiled all. "O noble house of France," he
exclaimed, "which wast ever wont to be protectress of the faith, how
hast thou been abused to ally thyself with a heretic and schismatic!" So
far the accused had listened patiently; but when the preacher, turning
toward her, said to her, raising his finger: "It is to thee, Jeanne,
that I address myself; and I tell thee that thy King is a heretic and
schismatic," the admirable girl, forgetting all her danger, burst forth
with, "On my faith, sir, with all due respect, I undertake to tell you,
and to swear, on pain of my life, that he is the noblest Christian of
all Christians, the sincerest lover of the faith and of the Church, and
not what you call him."

"Silence her," called out Cauchon.

The accused adhered to what she had said. All they could obtain from her
was her consent to submit herself to the Pope. Cauchon replied, "The
Pope is too far off." He then began to read the sentence of
condemnation, which had been drawn up beforehand, and in which, among
other things, it was specified: "And furthermore, you have obstinately
persisted, in refusing to submit yourself to the holy Father and to the
council," etc. Meanwhile, Loyseleur and Erard conjured her to have pity
on herself; on which the Bishop, catching at a shadow of hope,
discontinued his reading. This drove the English mad; and one of
Winchester's secretaries told Cauchon it was clear that he favored the
girl--a charge repeated by the Cardinal's chaplain. "Thou art a liar,"
exclaimed the Bishop. "And thou," was the retort, "art a traitor to the
King." These grave personages seemed to be on the point of going to
cuffs on the judgment-seat.

Erard, not discouraged, threatened, prayed. One while he said, "Jeanne,
we pity you so!" and another, "Abjure or be burned!" All present evinced
an interest in the matter, down even to a worthy catchpole (huissier),
who, touched with compassion, besought her to give way, assuring her
that she should be taken out of the hands of the English and placed in
those of the Church. "Well, then," she said, "I will sign." On this
Cauchon, turning to the Cardinal, respectfully inquired what was to be
done next. "Admit her to do penance," replied the ecclesiastical prince.

Winchester's secretary drew out of his sleeve a brief revocation, only
six lines long--that which was given to the world took up six pages--and
put a pen in her hand, but she could not sign. She smiled and drew a
circle: the secretary took her hand and guided it to make a cross.

The sentence of grace was a most severe one: "Jeanne, we condemn you,
out of our grace and moderation, to pass the rest of your days in
prison, on the bread of grief and water of anguish, and so to mourn your
sins."

She was admitted by the ecclesiastical judge to do penance, no doubt,
nowhere save in the prisons of the Church. The ecclesiastic _in pace_,
however severe it might be, would at the least withdraw her from the
hands of the English, place her under shelter from their insults, save
her honor. Judge of her surprise and despair when the Bishop coldly
said, "Take her back whence you brought her."

Nothing was done; deceived on this wise, she could not fail to retract
her retractation. Yet, though she had abided by it, the English in their
fury would not have allowed her to escape. They had come to St. Ouen in
the hope of at last burning the sorceress, had waited panting and
breathless to this end; and now they were to be dismissed on this
fashion, paid with a slip of parchment, a signature, a grimace. At the
very moment the Bishop discontinued reading the sentence of
condemnation, stones flew upon the scaffolding without any respect for
the Cardinal. The doctors were in peril of their lives as they came down
from their seats into the public place; swords were in all directions
pointed at their throats. The more moderate among the English confined
themselves to insulting language--"Priests, you are not earning the
King's money." The doctors, making off in all haste, said tremblingly,
"Do not be uneasy, we shall soon have her again."

And it was not the soldiery alone, not the English mob, always so
ferocious, which displayed this thirst for blood. The better born, the
great, the lords, were no less sanguinary. The King's man, his tutor,
the Earl of Warwick, said like the soldiers: "The King's business goes
on badly; the girl will not be burned."

According to English notions, Warwick was the mirror of worthiness, the
accomplished Englishman, the perfect gentleman. Brave and devout, like
his master, Henry V, and the zealous champion of the Established Church,
he had performed the pilgrimage to the Holy Land, as well as many other
chivalrous expeditions. With all his chivalry, Warwick was not the less
savagely eager for the death of a woman, and one who was, too, a
prisoner of war. The best and the most looked-up-to of the English was
as little deterred by honorable scruples as the rest of his countrymen
from putting to death on the award of priests, and by fire, her who had
humbled them by the sword.

The Jews never exhibited the rage against Jesus which the English did
against the Pucelle. It must be owned that she had wounded them cruelly
in the most sensible part--in the simple but deep esteem they have for
themselves. At Orleans the invincible men-at-arms, the famous archers,
Talbot at their head, had shown their backs; at Jargeau, sheltered by
the good walls of a fortified town, they had suffered themselves to be
taken; at Patay they had fled as fast as their legs would carry them,
fled before a girl. This was hard to be borne, and these taciturn
English were forever pondering over the disgrace. They had been afraid
of a girl, and it was not very certain but that, chained as she was,
they felt fear of her still, though, seemingly, not of her, but of the
devil, whose agent she was. At least, they endeavored both to believe
and to have it believed so.

But there was an obstacle in the way of this, for she was said to be a
virgin; and it was a notorious and well-ascertained fact that the devil
could not make a compact with a virgin. The coolest head among the
English, Bedford,[82] the regent, resolved to have the point cleared up;
and his wife, the Duchess, intrusted the matter to some matrons, who
declared Jeanne to be a maid; a favorable declaration which turned
against her by giving rise to another superstitious notion; to wit, that
her virginity constituted her strength, her power, and that to deprive
her of it was to disarm her, was to break the charm, and lower her to
the level of other women.

The poor girl's only defence against such a danger had been wearing male
attire; though, strange to say, no one had ever seemed able to
understand her motive for wearing it. All, both friends and enemies,
were scandalized by it. At the outset, she had been obliged to explain
her reasons to the woman of Poitiers; and when made prisoner, and under
the care of the ladies of Luxemburg, those excellent persons prayed her
to clothe herself as honest girls were wont to do. Above all, the
English ladies, who have always made a parade of chastity and modesty,
must have considered her so disguising herself monstrous and
insufferably indecent. The Duchess of Bedford sent her female attire;
but by whom? By a man, a tailor. The fellow, with impudent familiarity,
was about to pass it over her head, and, when she pushed him away, laid
his unmannnerly hand upon her--his tailor's hand on that hand which had
borne the flag of France. She boxed his ears.

If women could not understand this feminine question, how much less
could priests! They quoted the text of a council held in the fourth
century, which anathematized such changes of dress; not seeing that the
prohibition specially applied to a period when manners had been barely
retrieved from pagan impurities. The doctors belonging to the party of
Charles VII, the apologists of the Pucelle, find exceeding difficulty in
justifying her on this head. One of them--thought to be Gerson--makes
the gratuitous supposition that the moment she dismounted from her
horse, she was in the habit of resuming woman's apparel; confessing that
Esther and Judith had had recourse to more natural and feminine means
for their triumphs over the enemies of God's people. Entirely
preoccupied with the soul, these theologians seem to have held the body
cheap; provided the letter, the written law, be followed, the soul will
be saved; the flesh may take its chance. A poor and simple girl may be
pardoned her inability to distinguish so clearly.

On the Friday and the Saturday the unfortunate prisoner, despoiled of
her man's dress, had much to fear. Brutality, furious hatred, vengeance,
might severally incite the cowards to degrade her before she perished,
to sully what they were about to burn. Besides, they might be tempted to
varnish their infamy by a "reason of state," according to the notions of
the day--by depriving her of her virginity they would undoubtedly
destroy that secret power of which the English entertained such great
dread, who perhaps might recover their courage when they knew that,
after all, she was but a woman. According to her confessor, to whom she
divulged the fact, an Englishman, not a common soldier, but a
_gentleman_, a lord, patriotically devoted himself to this
execution--bravely undertook to violate a girl laden with fetters, and,
being unable to effect his wishes, rained blows upon her.

"On the Sunday morning, Trinity Sunday, when it was time for her to
rise--as she told him who speaks--she said to her English guards, 'Leave
me, that I may get up.' One of them took off her woman's dress, emptied
the bag in which was the man's apparel, and said to her, 'Get up.'
'Gentlemen,' she said, 'you know that dress is forbidden me; excuse me,
I will not put it on.' The point was contested till noon; when, being
compelled to go out for some bodily want, she put it on. When she came
back, they would give her no other, despite her entreaties."

In reality, it was not to the interest of the English that she should
resume her man's dress, and so make null and void a retractation
obtained with such difficulty. But at this moment, their rage no longer
knew any bounds. Saintrailles had just made a bold attempt upon Rouen.
It would have been a lucky hit to have swept off the judges from the
judgment seat, and have carried Winchester and Bedford to Poitiers; the
latter was, subsequently, all but taken on his return, between Rouen and
Paris. As long as this accursed girl lived, who beyond a doubt continued
in prison to practise her sorceries, there was no safety for the
English; perish she must.

The assessors, who had notice instantly given them of her change of
dress, found some hundred English in the court to obstruct their
passage; who, thinking that if these doctors entered they might spoil
all, threatened them with their axes and swords, and chased them out,
calling them "traitors of Armagnacs." Cauchon, introduced with much
difficulty, assumed an air of gayety to pay his court to Warwick, and
said with a laugh, "She is caught."

On the Monday he returned, along with the Inquisitor and eight
assessors, to question the Pucelle, and ask her why she had resumed that
dress. She made no excuse, but, bravely facing the danger, said that the
dress was fitter for her as long as she was guarded by men, and that
faith had not been kept with her. Her saints, too, had told her "that it
was great pity she had abjured to save her life." Still, she did not
refuse to resume woman's dress. "Put me in a seemly and safe prison,"
she said; "I will be good, and do whatever the Church shall wish."

On leaving her the Bishop encountered Warwick and a crowd of English;
and to show himself a good Englishman he said in their tongue,
"Farewell, farewell." This joyous adieu was about synonymous with "Good
evening, good evening; all's over."

On the Tuesday, the judges got up at the Archbishop's palace a court of
assessors as they best might; some of them had assisted at the first
sittings only, others at none; in fact, composed of men of all sorts,
priests, legists, and even three physicians. The judges recapitulated to
them what had taken place, and asked their opinion. This opinion, quite
different from what was expected, was that the prisoner should be
summoned, and her act of abjuration be read over to her. Whether this
was in the power of the judges is doubtful. In the midst of the fury and
swords of a raging soldiery, there was in reality no judge, and no
possibility of judgment. Blood was the one thing wanted; and that of the
judges was, perhaps, not far from flowing. They hastily drew up a
summons, to be served the next morning at eight o'clock; she was not to
appear, save to be burned.

Cauchon sent her a confessor in the morning, brother Martin l'Advenu,
"to prepare her for her death, and persuade her to repentance. And when
he apprised her of the death she was to die that day, she began to cry
out grievously, to give way, and tear her hair: 'Alas! am I to be
treated so horribly and cruelly? must my body, pure as from birth, and
which was never contaminated, be this day consumed and reduced to ashes?
Ha! ha! I would rather be beheaded seven times over than be burned on
this wise! Oh! I make my appeal to God, the great judge of the wrongs
and grievances done me!'"

After this burst of grief, she recovered herself and confessed; she then
asked to communicate. The brother was embarrassed; but, consulting the
Bishop, the latter told him to administer the sacrament, "and whatever
else she might ask." Thus, at the very moment he condemned her as a
relapsed heretic, and cut her off from the Church, he gave her all that
the Church gives to her faithful. Perhaps a last sentiment of humanity
awoke in the heart of the wicked judge; he considered it enough to burn
the poor creature, without driving her to despair, and damning her.
Besides, it was attempted to do it privately, and the eucharist was
brought without stole and light. But the monk complained, and the Church
of Rouen, duly warned, was delighted to show what it thought of the
judgment pronounced by Cauchon; it sent along with the body of Christ
numerous torches and a large escort of priests, who sang litanies, and,
as they passed through the streets, told the kneeling people, "Pray for
her."

After partaking of the communion, which she received with abundance of
tears, she perceived the Bishop, and addressed him with the words,
"Bishop, I die through you." And, again, "Had you put me in the prisons
of the Church, and given me ghostly keepers, this would not have
happened. And for this I summon you to answer before God."

Then, seeing among the bystanders Pierre Morice, one of the preachers by
whom she had been addressed, she said to him, "Ah, Master Pierre, where
shall I be this evening?"

"Have you not good hope in the Lord?"

"Oh! yes; God to aid, I shall be in paradise."

It was nine o'clock: she was dressed in female attire, and placed on a
cart. On one side of her was brother Martin l'Advenu; the constable,
Massieu, was on the other. The Augustine monk, Brother Isambart, who had
already displayed much charity and courage, would not quit her.

Up to this moment the Pucelle had never despaired, with the exception,
perhaps, of her temptation in the Passion Week. While saying, as she at
times would say, "These English will kill me," she in reality did not
think so. She did not imagine that she could ever be deserted. She had
faith in her King, in the good people of France. She had said expressly:
"There will be some disturbance, either in prison or at the trial, by
which I shall be delivered, greatly, victoriously delivered." But though
King and people deserted her, she had another source of aid, and a far
more powerful and certain one from her friends above, her kind and dear
saints. When she was assaulting St. Pierre, and deserted by her
followers, her saints sent an invisible army to her aid. How could they
abandon their obedient girl, they who had so often promised her "safety
and deliverance"?

What then must her thoughts have been when she saw that she must die;
when, carried in a cart, she passed through a trembling crowd, under the
guard of eight hundred Englishmen armed with sword and lance? She wept
and bemoaned herself, yet reproached neither her King nor her saints.
She was only heard to utter, "O Rouen, Rouen! must I then die here?"

The term of her sad journey was the old market-place, the fish-market.
Three scaffolds had been raised; on one was the episcopal and royal
chair, the throne of the Cardinal of England, surrounded by the stalls
of his prelates; on another were to figure the principal personages of
the mournful drama, the preacher, the judges, and the bailiff, and,
lastly, the condemned one; apart was a large scaffolding of plaster,
groaning under a weight of wood--nothing had been grudged the stake,
which struck terror by its height alone. This was not only to add to the
solemnity of the execution, but was done with the intent that, from the
height to which it was reared, the executioner might not get at it save
at the base, and that to light it only, so that he would be unable to
cut short the torments and relieve the sufferer, as he did with others,
sparing them the flames.

On this occasion the important point was that justice should not be
defrauded of her due or a dead body be committed to the flames; they
desired that she should be really burned alive, and that, placed on the
summit of this mountain of wood, and commanding the circle of lances and
of swords, she might be seen from every part of the market-place. There
was reason to suppose that being slowly, tediously burned, before the
eyes of a curious crowd, she might at last be surprised into some
weakness, that something might escape her which could be set down as a
disavowal, at the least some confused words which might be interpreted
at pleasure, perhaps low prayers, humiliating cries for mercy, such as
proceed from a woman in despair.

The frightful ceremony began with a sermon. Master Nicolas Midy, one of
the lights of the University of Paris, preached upon the edifying text:
"When one limb of the Church is sick, the whole Church is sick." He
wound up with the formula: "Jeanne, go in peace; the Church can no
longer defend thee."

The ecclesiastical judge, the Bishop of Beauvais, then benignly
exhorted her to take care of her soul and to recall all her misdeeds, in
order that she might awaken to true repentance. The assessors had ruled
that it was the law to read over her abjuration to her; the Bishop did
nothing of the sort. He feared her denials, her disclaimers. But the
poor girl had no thought of so chicaning away life; her mind was fixed
on far other subjects. Even before she was exhorted to repentance, she
had knelt down and invoked God, the Virgin, St. Michael, and St.
Catharine, pardoning all and asking pardon, saying to the bystanders,
"Pray for me!" In particular, she besought the priests to say each a
mass for her soul. And all this so devoutly, humbly, and touchingly
that, sympathy becoming contagious, no one could any longer contain
himself; the Bishop of Beauvais melted into tears, the Bishop of
Boulogne sobbed, and the very English cried and wept as well, Winchester
with the rest.

Might it be in this moment of universal tenderness, of tears, of
contagious weakness, that the unhappy girl, softened, and relapsing into
the mere woman, confessed that she saw clearly she had erred, and that,
apparently, she had been deceived when promised deliverance? This is a
point on which we cannot implicitly rely on the interested testimony of
the English. Nevertheless, it would betray scant knowledge of human
nature to doubt, with her hopes so frustrated, her having wavered in her
faith. Whether she confessed to this effect in words is uncertain; but I
will confidently affirm that she owned it in thought.

Meanwhile the judges, for a moment put out of countenance, had recovered
their usual bearing, and the Bishop of Beauvais, drying his eyes, began
to read the act of condemnation. He reminded the guilty one of all her
crimes, of her schism, idolatry, invocation of demons, how she had been
admitted to repentance, and how, "seduced by the Prince of Lies, she had
fallen, O grief! 'like the dog which returns to his vomit.' Therefore,
we pronounce you to be a rotten limb, and, as such, to be lopped off
from the Church. We deliver you over to the secular power, praying it at
the same time to relax its sentence and to spare you death and the
mutilation of your members."

Deserted thus by the Church, she put her whole trust in God. She asked
for the cross. An Englishman handed her a cross which he made out of a
stick; she took it, rudely fashioned as it was, with not less devotion,
kissed it, and placed it under her garments, next to her skin. But what
she desired was the crucifix belonging to the Church, to have it before
her eyes till she breathed her last. The good huissier Massieu and
Brother Isambart interfered with such effect that it was brought her
from St. Sauveur's. While she was embracing this crucifix, and Brother
Isambart was encouraging her, the English began to think all this
exceedingly tedious; it was now noon at least; the soldiers grumbled,
and the captains called out: "What's this, priest; do you mean us to
dine here?"

Then, losing patience, and without waiting for the order from the
bailiff, who alone had authority to dismiss her to death, they sent two
constables to take her out of the hands of the priests. She was seized
at the foot of the tribunal by the men-at-arms, who dragged her to the
executioner with the words, "Do thy office." The fury of the soldiery
filled all present with horror; and many there, even of the judges, fled
the spot, that they might see no more.

When she found herself brought down to the market-place, surrounded by
English, laying rude hands on her, nature asserted her rights and the
flesh was troubled. Again she cried out, "O Rouen, thou art then to be
my last abode!" She said no more, and, in this hour of fear and trouble,
did not sin with her lips.

She accused neither her King nor her holy ones. But when she set foot on
the top of the pile, on viewing this great city, this motionless and
silent crowd, she could not refrain from exclaiming, "Ah! Rouen, Rouen,
much do I fear you will suffer from my death!" She who had saved the
people, and whom that people deserted, gave voice to no other sentiment
when dying--admirable sweetness of soul!--than that of compassion for
it.

She was made fast under the infamous placard, mitred with a mitre on
which was read, "Heretic, relapser, apostate, idolater."

And then the executioner set fire to the pile. She saw this from above
and uttered a cry. Then, as the brother who was exhorting her paid no
attention to the fire, forgetting herself in her fear for him, she
insisted on his descending.

The proof that up to this period she had made no express recantation is,
that the unhappy Cauchon was obliged--no doubt by the high satanic will
which presided over the whole--to proceed to the foot of the pile,
obliged to face his victim to endeavor to extract some admission from
her. All that he obtained was a few words, enough to rack his soul. She
said to him mildly what she had already said: "Bishop, I die through
you. If you had put me into the Church prisons, this would not have
happened." No doubt hopes had been entertained that, on finding herself
abandoned by her King, she would at last accuse and defame him. To the
last, she defended him: "Whether I have done well or ill, my King is
faultless; it was not he who counselled me."

Meanwhile the flames rose. When they first seized her, the unhappy girl
shrieked for holy _water_--this must have been the cry of fear. But,
soon recovering, she called only on God, on her angels and her saints.
She bore witness to them, "Yes, my voices were from God, my voices have
not deceived me." The fact that all her doubts vanished at this trying
moment must be taken as a proof that she accepted death as the promised
deliverance; that she no longer understood her salvation in the Judaic
and material sense, as until now she had done, that at length she saw
clearly; and that, rising above all shadows, her gifts of illumination
and of sanctity were at the final hour made perfect unto her.

The great testimony she thus bore is attested by the sworn and compelled
witness of her death, by the Dominican who mounted the pile with her,
whom she forced to descend, but who spoke to her from its foot, listened
to her, and held out to her the crucifix.

There is yet another witness of this sainted death, a most grave
witness, who must himself have been a saint. This witness, whose name
history ought to preserve, was the Augustine monk already mentioned,
Brother Isambart de la Pierre. During the trial he had hazarded his life
by counselling the Pucelle, and yet, though so clearly pointed out to
the hate of the English, he persisted in accompanying her in the cart,
procured the parish crucifix for her, and comforted her in the midst of
the raging multitude, both on the scaffold where she was interrogated
and at the stake.

Twenty years afterward, the two venerable friars, simple monks, vowed to
poverty and having nothing to hope or fear in this world, bear witness
to the scene we have just described: "We heard her," they say, "in the
midst of the flames invoke her saints, her archangel; several times she
called on her Saviour. At the last, as her head sunk on her bosom, she
shrieked, 'Jesus!'"

"Ten thousand men wept. A few of the English alone laughed, or
endeavored to laugh. One of the most furious among them had sworn that
he would throw a fagot on the pile. Just as he brought it she breathed
her last. He was taken ill. His comrades led him to a tavern to recruit
his spirits by drink, but he was beyond recovery. 'I saw,' he exclaimed,
in his frantic despair, 'I saw a dove fly out of her mouth with her last
sigh.' Others had read in the flames the word 'Jesus,' which she so
often repeated. The executioner repaired in the evening to Brother
Isambart, full of consternation, and confessed himself; he felt
persuaded that God would never pardon him. One of the English King's
secretaries said aloud, on returning from the dismal scene: 'We are
lost; we have burned a saint.'"

Though these words fell from an enemy's mouth, they are not the less
important, and will live, uncontradicted by the future. Yes, whether
considered religiously or patriotically, Jeanne d'Arc was a saint.

Where find a finer legend than this true history? Still, let us beware
of converting it into a legend; let us piously preserve its every trait,
even such as are most akin to human nature, and respect its terrible and
touching reality.[83]




CHARLES VII ISSUES HIS PRAGMATIC SANCTION

EMANCIPATION OF THE GALLICAN CHURCH

A.D. 1438

W. H. JERVIS R. F. ROHRBACHER


  "No two words," says Smedley, "convey less distinct meaning
  to English ears than 'pragmatic sanction.' Perhaps 'a
  well-considered ordinance' may in some degree represent
  them, _i.e._, an ordinance which has been fully discussed by
  men practised in state affairs." Carlyle defines "pragmatic
  sanction" as "the received title for ordinances of a very
  irrevocable nature, which a sovereign makes in affairs that
  belong wholly to himself, or what he reckons his own
  rights." A dictionary definition calls it "an imperial edict
  operating as a fundamental law." The term was probably first
  applied to certain decrees of the Byzantine emperors for
  regulating their provinces and towns, and later it was given
  to imperial decrees in the West. In the present case it is
  applied to the limitations set to the power of the pope in
  France.

  In the Council of Constance, 1414-1418, at which decrees
  were passed subordinating the pope as well as the whole
  Church to the authority of a general council, Gallican or
  French opinion on this subject won its first great victory.
  But this triumph introduced into the Western Church an
  element of strife which resulted in calamities scarcely less
  grave than those of the Great Schism of 1378-1417, during
  which different parties adhered to rival popes. From the
  Council of Constance may be dated the formal divergence of
  the Gallican from the Ultramontane or strictly Roman church
  government.

  Pope Martin V, who was elected by the Council of Constance
  after it had deposed John XXIII, Gregory XII, and Benedict
  XIII, is generally considered to have assented to all its
  decrees. In 1431, on the death of Martin V, Eugenius IV
  succeeded to the papal throne. A council had been convened
  at Pavia in 1423. After a few weeks it was transferred to
  Siena, and subsequently to Basel. Fearing that it would
  follow the policy of Constance, Eugenius (1431) attempted to
  dissolve it and to have it reconvened at Bologna under his
  own eye. A rupture followed between Pope and council,
  resulting in years of confused strife.

  In all this confusion our historians, Jervis and Rohrbacher,
  distinguish the leading events, the most significant of
  which was the issuing of the Pragmatic Sanction by Charles
  VII of France. This ordinance is known, from the place of
  its promulgation, as the Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges, and
  is sometimes called the "Palladium of France," also the
  "Magna Charta of the Gallican Church."


W. HENLEY JERVIS

The position assumed by the Gallican Church at this junction was
peculiar and in some respects questionable. It declared decidedly in
favor of the Council of Basel; many French prelates repaired thither,
and ambassadors were sent by the King, Charles VII, to Pope Eugenius, to
beseech him to support the authority of the synod, and to protest
against its dissolution. The fathers stood firm at their posts,
appealing to the principles solemnly asserted at Constance, that the
pope is bound in certain specified cases to submit to an ecumenical
council, and that the latter cannot be translated, prorogued, or
dissolved without its own consent. The gift of infallibility, they
affirmed, resides in the collective Church. It does not belong to the
popes, several of whom have erred concerning the faith. The Church alone
has authority to enact laws which are binding on the whole body of the
faithful.

Now, the authority of general councils is identical with that of the
Church. This was expressly determined by the Council of Constance, and
acknowledged by Pope Martin V. The pope is the ministerial head of the
Church, but he is not its absolute sovereign; on the contrary, facts
prove that he is subject to the jurisdiction of the Church; for
well-known instances are on record of popes being deposed on the score
of erroneous doctrine and immoral life, whereas no pope has ever
attempted to condemn or excommunicate the Church. Both the pope and the
Church have received authority to bind and loose; but the Church has
practically exerted that authority against the pope, whereas the latter
has never ventured to take any such step against the Church. In fine,
the words of Christ himself are decisive of the question--"If any man
neglect to hear the Church, let him be unto you as a heathen man and a
publican." This injunction was addressed to St. Peter equally with the
rest of the disciples.

The council proceeded to cite Eugenius by a formal monition to appear in
person at Basel; and on his failing to comply, they signified that on
the expiration of a further interval of sixty days ulterior means would
be put in force against him. Their firmness, added to the pressing
solicitations of the emperor Sigismund, at length induced the Pope to
yield. He reconciled himself with the council in December, 1433;
acknowledged that it had been legitimately convoked; approved its
proceedings up to that date; and cancelled the act by which he had
pronounced its dissolution.

Elated by their triumph, the Basilian fathers commenced in earnest the
task of Church reform, and passed several decrees of a character
vexatious to the Pope, particularly one for the total abolition of
annates. A second breach was the consequence. Eugenius, under pretence
of furthering the negotiation then pending for the reunion of the Greek
and Latin branches of the Church, published in 1437 a bull dissolving
the Council of Basel, and summoning another to meet at Ferrara. The
assembly at Basel retorted by declaring the Pope contumacious, and
suspending him from the exercise of all authority. Both parties
proceeded eventually to the last extremities. The council, after
proclaiming afresh, as "Catholic verities," that a general council has
power over the pope, and cannot be transferred or dissolved but by its
own act, passed a definitive sentence in its thirty-fourth session, June
25, 1439, deposing Eugenius from the papal throne. The Pope retaliated
by stigmatizing the Fathers of Basel as schismatical and heretical,
cancelling their acts, and excommunicating their president, the Cardinal
Archbishop of Arles.

Meanwhile an energetic and independent line of action was adopted by the
Government in France. The Crown, in concert with the heads of the
Church, availed itself of a train of events, which had so seriously
damaged the prestige of the papacy to make a decisive advance in the
path of practical reform and to establish the long-cherished Gallican
privileges on a secure basis. For this purpose Charles VII assembled a
great national council at Bourges, in July, 1438, at which he presided
in person, surrounded by the princes of his family and by all the most
eminent dignitaries spiritual and temporal; and here was promulgated the
memorable ordinance known as the "Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges."

The French Church, it must be observed, did not recognize the deposition
of Pope Eugenius, but adhered to his obedience, rejecting Felix V, whom
the Council of Basel elected to succeed him, as a pretender. It
continued, nevertheless, to support the council and to assert its
supreme legislative authority. Hence there arises a considerable
difficulty _in limine_ as to the character of the proceedings at
Bourges. For the deposition of Eugenius was either a rightful and valid
exercise of conciliar authority or it was not. If it was not--if the
council had wrongfully or uncanonically condemned the successor of
Peter--how could it be infallible? and when should its legislation in
any other particulars be indisputable? On the other hand, if the
deposition was a valid one, with what consistency could the French
continue to regard Eugenius as their legitimate pastor? It was a knotty
dilemma.

The position, however, though logically open to objections, was not
without its practical advantages. For, since France maintained a good
understanding with both the contending parties, both found it conducive
to their interests to send deputations to the Council of Bourges: Pope
Eugenius, with a view to obtain its support for the rival council which
he had opened at Ferrara; the Fathers of Basel, in order to make known
their decrees, which, as agreeing with the received doctrine of Gallican
theologians, would, it was hoped, meet with a cordial welcome throughout
France. The assembly at Bourges did not fail to profit by these
exceptional circumstances. It accepted the decrees of Basel, yet not
absolutely, but after critical examination and with certain
modification; a course which, by implication, asserted a right to
legislate for the concerns of the French Church even independently of a
general council acknowledged to be orthodox. The following explanation
of this proceeding was inserted in the preamble of the celebrated
statute agreed upon by the authorities at Bourges. It is there stated
that this policy was adopted, "not from any hesitation as to the
authority of the Council of Basel to enact ecclesiastical decrees, but
because it was judged advisable, under the circumstances and
requirements of the French realm and nation." So that it appears, on the
whole, that while the French professed great zeal on this occasion for
the dogma of the superiority of a general council over the pope, the
principle practically illustrated at Bourges was that of a supremacy of
a national council over every other ecclesiastical authority. Such were
the anomalies which arose out of the strange necessities of the time.

The Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges embraces twenty-three articles. The
first treats of the authority of general councils, and of the time and
manner of convening and celebrating them. The second relates to
ecclesiastical elections, which are enjoined to be made hereafter in
strict accordance with the canons, by the cathedral, collegiate, and
conventual chapters. Reserves, annates, and "expective graces" are
abolished; the rights of patrons are to be respected, provided their
nominees be graduates of the universities and otherwise well qualified.
The pope retains only a veto in case of unfitness or uncanonical
election, and the nominations to benefices "_in curia vacantia_,"
_i.e._, of which the incumbents may happen to die at Rome or within two
days' journey of the pontifical residence. The king and other princes
may occasionally _recommend_ or _request_ the promotion of persons of
special merit, but without threats or violent pressure of any kind.

Other articles regulate the order of ecclesiastical appeals, which, with
the exception of the "_causa majores_" specified by law, and those
relating to the elections in cathedral and conventual churches, are
henceforth to be decided on the spot by the ordinary judges; appeals are
to be carried in all cases to the court immediately superior; no case to
be referred to the pope "_omisso medio_," _i.e._, without passing
through the intermediate tribunals. The remaining clauses consist of
regulations for the performance of divine service, and various matters
of discipline. The reader will remember that Pope Eugenius, on the
occasion of his temporary reconciliation with the Council of Basel in
1433, expressed his approbation of all its synodal acts up to that date;
and this sanction of their validity is held by Gallicans to extend to
the period of the second and final rupture in 1437. It follows that the
provisions of the Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges, so far as they coincide
with the decrees of Basel prior to 1437, were authorized by the holy
see; and this includes them all, with two exceptions.

The Pragmatic Sanction was registered by the Parliament of Paris on
July 13, 1439; becoming thereby part of the statute law of France. Its
publication caused universal satisfaction throughout the kingdom. At
Rome, on the other hand, it was indignantly censured and resolutely
opposed. Eugenius IV vainly strove to obtain the King's consent to an
alteration of some of its details. Nicholas V protested against it
without effect; but the superior genius and subtle measures of Pius II
were more successful. This Pontiff denounced the Pragmatic at the
Council of Mantua in 1460 as "a blot which disfigured the Church of
France; a decree which no ecumenical council would have passed nor any
pope have confirmed; a principle of confusion in the ecclesiastical
hierarchy. Since it had been in force, the laity had become the masters
and judges of the clergy; the power of the spiritual sword could no
longer be exerted except at the good pleasure of the secular authority.
The Roman pontiff, whose diocese embraced the world, whose jurisdiction
is not bounded even by the ocean, possessed only such extent of power in
France as the parliament might see fit to allow him." The ambassadors of
Charles VII, however, reminded his holiness that the Pragmatic Sanction
was founded on the canons of Constance and Basel, which had been
ratified by his predecessors; and when the Pope proceeded to threaten
France with the interdict, and to prohibit all appeal from his decisions
to a future council, the King caused his procureur-general, Jean Dauvet,
to publish an official protest against these acts of violence,
concluding with a solemn appeal to the judgment of the Church Catholic
assembled by the representation. While awaiting that event, Charles
declared himself resolved to uphold the laws and regulations which had
been sanctioned by previous councils.

Louis XI, urged by alternate menaces, entreaties, and flattery from
Rome, revoked the Pragmatic Sanction shortly after his accession. This
step accorded well with his own arbitrary temper; for he could not
endure the privilege of free election by the cathedral and monastic
chapters; nor was he less jealous of the influence exerted, under the
shelter of that privilege, by the high feudal nobility in the disposal
of church preferment. He seems to have expected, moreover, that while
ostensibly conceding the right of patronage to the apostolic see, he
should be able to retain the real power in his own hands. The event
disappointed his calculations. No sooner was the decree of Bourges
rescinded than the Pope resumed and enforced his claim to the provision
of benefices in France. Simony and the whole train of concomitant abuses
reappeared more scandalously than ever; and Louis found himself despised
by his subjects as the dupe of papal artifice.

The parliamentary courts, meanwhile, assumed a determined attitude in
defence of the right of election guaranteed by the Pragmatic Sanction.
They pronounced the abolition of that act illegal, and treated it as
null and void; they insisted on their own authority in entertaining
appeals against ecclesiastical abuses; they eagerly supported anyone who
showed a disposition to withstand the pretensions of Rome in the matter
of patronage. The King, smarting under the trickery of the Pope, made no
attempt to restrain them in this line of conduct; and the result was
that the repeal of the Pragmatic Sanction was never fully executed,
having never been legalized by the forms of the constitution. On the
other hand, the popes so far maintained the advantage they had extorted
from Louis that the ancient franchise of the Church as to elections
became virtually extinct in France.

Things remained in this unsettled state during the reigns of Louis XI,
Charles VIII, and Louis XII. The latter Prince, on coming to the throne,
published an edict reestablishing the Pragmatic Sanction; and this step,
added to his ambitious enterprises in Italy, brought him into hostile
collision with Pope Julius II. The King, unwilling to make war on the
head of the Church without some semblance of ecclesiastical sanction,
convoked a council at Tours in September, 1510, and consulted the clergy
on a series of questions arising out of the disturbed state of his
relations with Rome. They decided, in accordance with the known views
and wishes of the sovereign, that it is lawful for an independent
prince, if unjustly attacked, to defend himself against the pope by
force of arms; to withdraw for a time from his obedience; to take
possession of the territory of the Church, not with the purpose of
retaining it, but as a temporary measure of self-protection; and to
resist the pretensions of the pontiff to powers not rightfully belonging
to him. Citations to appear in Rome might, under such circumstances, be
safely disregarded; as also papal censures, which would be null and
void. If the emergency should arise, the council added, the king ought
to be governed by the ancient principles of ecclesiastical law, as
confirmed and reenacted by the Pragmatic Sanction.

The Gallican clergy sent a deputation to Pope Julius on this occasion to
entreat him to adopt a more conciliatory policy toward the princes of
Christendom; and they determined, in case their advice should be
fruitless, to demand the convocation of a general council to take
cognizance of the Pope's conduct, and prescribe the measures necessary
for the guidance and welfare of the Church. An ecclesiastical congress,
calling itself a council-general, but altogether unworthy of that august
title, was held, in fact, in the following year at Pisa, under the
auspices of the King of France and the emperor Maximilian. The Pope
refused to appear there, and convoked a rival synod at Rome, summoning
the cardinals who had authorized the meeting at Pisa to present
themselves at his court within sixty days. On the expiration of this
term he publicly excommunicated them, degraded them from their dignity,
and deprived them of their preferments.

Thus the Western Church once more exhibited the spectacle of a "house
divided against itself," as during the scandalous strife between the
synods of Basel and Florence; and for some time a formal schism appeared
imminent. The so-called Council of Pisa consisted of the four rebellious
cardinals, twenty Gallican prelates, several abbots and other
dignitaries, the envoys of the King of France, deputies from some of the
French universities, and a considerable number of doctors of the Faculty
of Paris. This assembly justified its position on the ground that there
are extraordinary cases in which a council may be called without the
intervention of the pope; and that, since the present Pontiff had
neglected to obey the decree of the Council of Constance which enjoined
a similar celebration at the interval of every ten years, the cardinals
were bound to take the initiative in the matter, according to a solemn
engagement which they had made in the conclave when Julius was elected.
After repeating the stereotyped formula concerning the supreme authority
of general councils, and the imperative necessity of a reformation of
the Church in its head and in its members, the fathers addressed
themselves professedly to the herculean task thus indicated; but little
or nothing was effected of any practical importance.


RENE FRANCOIS ROHRBACHER[84]

Charles held an assembly at Bourges in the month of July, 1438. He
attended this himself, with the Dauphin, his son, afterward Louis XI,
many princes of the blood, and other nobles, with a great number of
bishops and doctors of the Church. The deputies of Pope Eugenius IV and
those of the prelates of Basel were heard one after another.

The result of this Assembly of Bourges was an ordinance and twenty-three
articles which were called the "Pragmatic Sanction," a name introduced
under the ancient emperors. In this were adopted, sometimes with
modifications, most of the decrees of Basel. Among them the first was
conceived in these terms: "General councils shall be held every ten
years, and the pope, according to the opinion of the council which is
closing, shall designate the place of the next council, which cannot be
changed except for most important reasons and by the advice of the
cardinals. As to the authority of the general council, the decrees
published at Constance are renewed, by which it is said that the general
council holds its power immediately from Jesus Christ; that all persons,
even of papal dignity, are subject to it in that which regards the
faith, the extirpation of schism, and the reformation of the Church in
the head and in the members; and that all must obey it, even the pope,
who is punishable if he transgresses it. Consequently, the Council of
Basel states that it is legitimately assembled in the Holy Ghost, and
that no one, not even the pope, can dissolve, transfer, nor prolong it,
without the consent of the fathers of the council."

The other articles may be reduced principally to the following
propositions: Canonical elections shall be held, and the pope shall not
reserve the bishoprics and other elective benefices. Expectant pardons
shall be abolished. Graduates shall be preferred to others in the
conferring of benefices, and for this reason they shall suggest their
degrees during Lent. All ecclesiastical causes of the provinces at a
distance of four days' journey from Rome shall be tried in the place
where they arise, except major causes and those of churches which are
immediately dependent on the holy see. In the case of appeals, the order
of the tribunals shall be preserved. No one shall ever appeal to the
pope without passing previously through the intermediate tribunal. If
anyone, believing himself injured by an intermediate tribunal subject to
the pope, makes an appeal to the holy see, the pope shall name the
judges from the same places, unless there should be important reasons
for bringing the cause directly to Rome. Frivolous appeals are punished.
The celebration of divine service is regulated and spectacles in
churches are forbidden. The abuse of ecclesiastical censures is
repressed, and it is declared that no one is obliged to shun
excommunicated persons, unless they have been proclaimed by name, or
else that the censure shall be so notorious that it cannot be denied or
excused. Such are the principal matters of the Pragmatic Sanction of
Bourges. It was registered at the Parliament of Paris, July 13, 1439;
but the King ordered its execution from the day of its date, 1438.

The Pragmatic Sanction of Bourges had a little defect; it was radically
null; for every contract is null which is not consented to by both of
the contracting parties. Now the Pragmatic Sanction was a contract
between the churches of France and the pope to regulate their mutual
relations. The consent of the pope to it was therefore absolutely
necessary, the more especially as he was the superior. For if one must
admit that a general council is superior to the pope, the Assembly of
Bourges was certainly not a general council. Moreover, the first use
that it made of its Pragmatic Sanction was to break it--and happily. In
its first articles, it had recognized the Council of Basel as ecumenical
and as superior to Pope Eugenius IV, with obligation to everyone to obey
its decrees. Now, the following year, 1439, the Council of Basel deposes
Eugenius IV, and substitutes for him Felix V, with obligation to
everyone, under penalty of anathema, to reject the first and submit to
the second. Nevertheless France does neither the one nor the other; she
continues to recognize Eugenius IV, and derides the pope of Ripaille and
of Basel, as she will declare in a new assembly of Bourges in 1440.
Above certain laws which men write on sheets of paper, with a
goose-quill and ink, they bear in themselves another law, written by
the hand of God, and which is good sense. Happy the nations which never
depart from this living and general law, or which, at least, know enough
to return to it promptly!

Accordingly, September 2, 1440, in the new Assembly of Bourges, King
Charles VII published a declaration by which he commanded all his
subjects to yield obedience to Pope Eugenius, with prohibition to
recognize another pope or to circulate among the public any letters or
despatches bearing the name of any other one whomsoever who pretended to
the pontificate. Nevertheless, Monsieur de Savoie, for so Charles VII
called the antipope, was united to him by ties of blood. This
declaration of the King and of the Assembly of Bourges was religiously
observed in all France, except in the University of Paris, where they
declared openly enough for the antipope. The reason of this is very
simple: the doctors of the Church in Paris dominated in the mob of
Basel, the antipope was of their own creation, and their colleagues of
Paris could not fail to recognize him.

As for King Charles VII, at the close of the year 1441 he sent an
embassy to Pope Eugenius to ask the convocation of a general council
which should put an end to the troubles of Christendom. The principal
orator was the Bishop of Meaux, Pierre de Versailles, formerly Bishop of
Digne, and originally a monk of the Abbey of St. Denis. He had an
audience in full consistory December 16th, and he spoke to the Pope in
the following terms:

"The most Christian King, our master, implores your assistance, most
holy Father, or rather it is the entire people of the faithful who
address to you these words of Scripture: '_Be our leader and our
prince._' Not that any one among us doubts that you have not the
princedom in the Church; for we know that the state of the Church was
constituted monarchical by Jesus Christ himself; but we ask you to be
_our prince_ by functions of zeal and by considerateness. We pray you to
manage wisely the boat of St. Peter, in the midst of the tempests by
which it is buffeted. The princes of the Church, most holy Father, ought
not to resemble those of the nations. The latter have frequently no
other rule of government than their own will; on the contrary, the
princes of the Church ought to temper the use of their authority; and it
is for that that the holy fathers have established laws and canons.
Now, here is the source of the ills which afflict the Church. There are
two extremes: one consists in exercising ecclesiastical authority as the
princes of the nations exercise theirs, without rule and without
measure; the other is the enterprise of those who, in order to correct
its abuses, have desired to annihilate authority, who have denied that
supreme power rests in the Church, who have given this power to the
multitude, who have changed the entire ecclesiastical order in
destroying the monarchy which God placed there, to substitute for it
democracy or aristocracy, who have arrived, not only with respect to the
leader but also with respect to doctrine, at the point of causing an
execrable schism among the faithful.

"These considerations, most holy Father, have touched the most Christian
King; and to mitigate these two extremes, he has resolved to solicit the
convocation of a general council. That of Basel pushed the second
extreme too far when it undertook to suppress the truth as to the
supreme power in one alone. That of Florence, which you are now holding,
has well elucidated this truth, as may be seen in the decree concerning
the Greeks; but it has determined upon nothing to temper the use of this
power. This has caused many to believe it too near to the first
extremity. A third will be able, therefore, to take the just mean and
restore everything to order.

"I shall be told, no doubt, that there is no more need of general
councils; that there have been enough of them up to this time; that the
Roman Church suffices to terminate all controversies; that a prince does
not willingly intrust his rights to the multitude; that we would be
again exposed, by the convocation of another council, to the movements
which agitated the assembly at Basel; but, in order to answer that, it
is sufficient to cast our eyes upon the present state of the Church.
There should rest in you, most holy Father, and in all other prelates,
two kinds of authority; one of divine power and institution, the other
of confidence in the people and of good reputation. The first, although
it cannot fail you, has, however, to be amenable to the second, and you
will obtain this by means of a general council, not such a one as that
of Basel, but such as the most Christian King asks; that is to say, a
council which shall be held at your order, and which shall be regulated
according to the decrees of the holy fathers. Such an assembly will not
be a confused multitude; and your monarchical power, which comes from
heaven, which is attested by the Gospel, which is recognized by the
saints and by the universal Church, will not be exposed to any danger."

The orator then shows how dangerous it is to refuse the convocation of
this council, dwelling long upon the enterprises of the prelates of
Basel, whom he emphatically blames, even to the extent of saying that,
from their practice and their maxims, there is no more peace possible in
the Church, and that a great many are asking if this schism be not that
great apostasy of which St. Paul spoke to the Thessalonians, and which
should open the door to the Antichrist. He finishes the address by this
declaration: "I have desired to say all this in public, most holy
Father, in order to make known to you the upright intentions of the King
my master in the present affair. He does not attach himself to flesh and
blood, but he hears the voice of the celestial Father. From this source
he learns to recognize you and to revere you as the sovereign pontiff
and the head of all Christians, the vicar of Jesus Christ, conformably
with the doctrine of the saints and of the whole Church. And because he
sees that these truths are obscured to-day, he asks for the call of the
general council. In this he equally manifests his justice and his piety.

"As for your person, most holy Father, he has sentiments for you which
pass the limits of ordinary filial affection. He always speaks of you
with consideration. He does not like to have others speak otherwise. He
conceives the most favorable hopes of you. He counts upon it that, after
having reconciled all the orientals to the Roman Church, you will also
reestablish the affairs of the Occident."

This discourse certainly did honor to the good sense of France. In spite
of the intrigues of the learned doctors of the university, the King and
the episcopacy early and clearly remarked the revolutionary and
anarchistic tendency of Basel. As for the amicably regulating relation
of the churches of France with the holy see to remedy certain abuses,
the thing was not difficult. It would have been sufficient to send some
more bishops to Florence like the Bishop of Meaux. All would have been
very quickly arranged, to the satisfaction of everybody, and the
example of France would have drawn the rest of the Occident. But to
desire a third council was not of the same wisdom. Thus the Pope took
good care not to consent to it.

In 1444 Eugenius IV created the Dauphin of France, who was afterward
King Louis XI, grand gonfalonier of the Roman Church, granting him a
pension of fifteen thousand florins, to be taken annually from the
apostolic chamber. The Dauphin made an expedition to the gates of Basel,
where he overcame a corps of Swiss and spread consternation among those
who were still at the pretended council. This expedition was followed by
a long truce between France and England; an event which was considered
as the prelude to a good peace. In order to obtain from God this good,
so necessary and so much desired, there were public fetes at Paris,
among others a solemn procession in which were carried all the holy
relics of the city.

In November, 1446, King Charles VII, being at Tours, made with his
council a plan of accommodation between the two parties that divided the
Church. It arranged that all the censures published on one side and the
other should be revoked; that Pope Eugenius should be recognized by all
as before the schism; that Monsieur de Savoie, called Felix by his
adherents, should renounce the popedom; that he should hold the highest
rank in the Church, next to the person of the Pope, and that his
partisans should be also maintained in their dignities, grades, and
benefices.




CHRONOLOGY OF UNIVERSAL HISTORY

EMBRACING THE PERIOD COVERED IN THIS VOLUME

A.D. 1301-1438

JOHN RUDD, LL.D

Events treated at length are here indicated in large type; the numerals
following give volume and page.

Separate chronologies of the various nations, and of the careers of
famous persons, will be found in the INDEX VOLUME, with volume and page
references showing where the several events are fully treated.

A.D.

1301. In Hungary the crown becomes elective; end of the Arpad dynasty.

Dante begins writing his _Divine Comedy_, See "DANTE COMPOSES THE DIVINA
COMMEDIA," vii, 1.

1302. Philip the Fair convenes the first meeting of the States-General
of France. See "THIRD ESTATE JOINS IN THE GOVERNMENT OF FRANCE," vii,
17.

Dante and his party banished from Florence. See "DANTE COMPOSES THE
DIVINA COMMEDIA," vii, 1.

Comyn is appointed regent by the Scots, who make another effort to
regain their independence.

Pope Boniface VIII issues a bull against Philip the Fair, who burns it,
accuses him of simony and heresy, and refuses to acknowledge him as
pope.

Battle of Courtrai; the Flemings defeat the French. See "WAR OF THE
FLEMINGS WITH PHILIP THE FAIR OF FRANCE," vii, 23.

1303. Pope Boniface VIII is surprised at Anagni by William de Nogaret,
King Philip's adviser; after being kept for some days a prisoner he is
rescued and allowed to return to Rome, where he dies.

Scotland submits to Edward I of England.

Andronicus Palaeologus, the Byzantine Emperor, engages the Catalan Grand
Company to aid him against the Turks.[85]

1304. Roger di Flor defeats the Mongols, enters Philadelphia, and
stations himself at Ephesus.

1305. Wallace, "Hero of Scotland," is executed. See "EXPLOITS AND DEATH
OF WILLIAM WALLACE, THE HERO OF SCOTLAND," vi, 369.

Beginning of the so-called Babylonish Captivity, being the establishment
of the papal court at Lyons, France.

1306. A grandson of the first claimant, Robert Bruce, is crowned King of
Scotland; he dispossesses the English of a great part of Scotland.

On complaint of the nobility and gentry the use of sea-coal is
prohibited in London.

1307. Death of Edward I; his son, Edward II, succeeds to the English
throne.

Charges against the Knights Templars. See "EXTINCTION OF THE ORDER OF
KNIGHTS TEMPLARS," vii, 51.

1308. Albert of Austria assassinated by his nephew; Henry VII, Count of
Luxemburg, elected emperor of Germany.

Origin of the Swiss confederations according to common traditions.[86]
See "FIRST SWISS STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY," vii, 28.

1309. Pope Clement V removes the papal court from Rome to Avignon,
France.

Rhodes captured from the Turks by the Knights of St. John.

1310. Fifty Knights Templars are burned in Paris.

Expedition of Henry VII of Germany into Italy to restore the imperial
authority. He obtains the throne of Bohemia for his son John,
inaugurating the Luxemburg dynasty.

1311. Fifteenth general council (Council of Vienne); it suppresses the
order of Knights Templars, and condemns the Beghards (Beguins), a
begging order of monks and nuns.

Matteo Visconti secures the sovereignty of Milan.

Walter de Brienne quarrels with the Catalans and is defeated and slain
by them; they conquer the duchy of Athens and appoint Roger Deslau grand
duke.

1312. Henry VII unsuccessful in an attempt on Florence.

Gaveston, a foreigner and favorite of the King, and who for some years
had made himself obnoxious to the barons and people of England, is made
prisoner and beheaded; peace ensues between Edward II and his barons.

Robert, King of Naples, seizes the principal forts in Rome; Henry VII
is, notwithstanding, crowned emperor in the Lateran Church by three
cardinals.

1313. In conjunction with the Genoese and Sicilians, Emperor Henry VII
prepares to attack Robert of Naples, but dies suddenly.

Birth of Boccaccio.

1314. Defeat of the English by the Scots under Robert Bruce. See "BATTLE
OF BANNOCKBURN," vii, 41.

Louis of Bavaria and Frederick, son of the late Albert of Austria, are
elected by opposite parties to the crown of Germany; they make war on
each other.

Ireland invaded by Edward Bruce, a Scottish adventurer, and a younger
brother of Robert Bruce.

Louis X succeeds his father, Philip IV, in France.

Molay, grand master of the Knights Templars, is burned at the stake in
Paris. See "EXTINCTION OF THE ORDER OF KNIGHTS TEMPLARS," vii, 51.

1315. Louis Hutin, King of France, emancipates all serfs within the
royal domains on payment of a just surrender charge.

A great victory achieved by the Swiss over the Austrians, under Leopold
(brother of Frederick the Handsome) at Morgarten.

1316. Edward Bruce crowned king of Ireland.

Establishment of the Salic law excluding females and their descendants
from the throne of France.

A predominance of French cardinals, created by Pope Clement V, secures
the election of another French pope, and the continuance of the papal
see at Avignon. The new pope, John XXII, appoints eight more cardinals,
of whom seven are French.

1317. Birger, King of the Swedes, murders his two brothers and causes a
rebellion of his people.

1318. Battle of Dundalk; Edward Bruce defeated and slain by Lord
Birmingham; end of the war in Ireland.

Giotto, a friend of Dante, famous in Italy; he was the first painter of
portraits from life.

1319. Pope John XXII excommunicates Robert Bruce of Scotland; the Scotch
Parliament resists all papal interference in its affairs.

1320.[87] The Old English poem _Cursor Mundi_ composed. It was founded
on Caedmon's paraphrase of the book of Genesis.

1321. Death of Dante while in exile at Ravenna.

1322. Philip V dies; he is succeeded by his brother, Charles IV, on the
throne of France.

Louis the Bavarian triumphs over his rival Frederick of Austria, who is
captured.

Queen Isabella, while resident in the Tower of London, first sees
Mortimer, who is brought there a prisoner.

Sir John Mandeville, an English exile in France, sets out on his eastern
travels.

1323. Louis of Bavaria invests his son with the margraviate of
Brandenburg.

1324. Commencement of Queen Isabella's guilty intimacy with Mortimer.

Birth of Wycliffe.[88]

Pope John XXII excommunicates Louis the Bavarian.

1325. Birth of John Gower, poet, and friend of Chaucer.

1326. Burgesses are first admitted into the Scotch Parliament.

Isabella, Queen of Edward II, and Earl Mortimer invade England; the King
is captured and imprisoned in Kenilworth castle.

1327. King Edward II is deposed by parliament; Edward III, his son,
succeeds. Edward II is brutally murdered by his keepers.

Louis V, the Bavarian, of Germany heads an expedition into Italy; he
proclaims the deposition of Pope John XXII; he is forced to retreat
after being crowned in Rome.

1328. Independence of Scotland recognized by Edward III of England.

Accession of Philip VI of France, the first of the house of Valois.

Birth of Chaucer.[88]

1329. Death of Robert Bruce; his infant son, David, succeeds to the
Scotch throne.

1330. Orkham, Sultan of the Turks, captures Nicaea.

Queen Isabella and Mortimer are surprised in Nottingham castle[89]; he
is executed at Tyburn; Isabella is confined during her life at Castle
Rising.

1331. John Kempe takes his servants and apprentices from Flanders to
join the weaving colony already founded at Norwich, England.

1332. Edward Balliol claims the crown of Scotland; he invades that
country with an English army. The young King, David, takes refuge in
France.

Lucerne joins the Swiss confederacy.

1333. Edward III of England invades Scotland; he defeats the Scotch at
Halidon Hill and captures Berwick, which is annexed to England.

Casimir the Great, last king of the Piast line, succeeds to the throne
of Poland.

1334. Denmark in a state of anarchy; Gerard, Count of Holstein,
exercises a disputed power as regent.

1335. The house of Austria becomes possessed of Carinthia.

1336. Birth of Timur (Tamerlane) the Tartar.

1337. Edward III of England obtains the support of Van Artevelde; he
obtains money by grants from parliament and confiscating the wealth of
the Lombard merchants. See "JAMES VAN ARTEVELDE LEADS A FLEMISH REVOLT,"
vii, 68.

Birth of Froissart, the chronicler, at Valenciennes.

1338. Beginning of the wars of Edward III against France; he sails with
a fleet of five hundred ships; lands his army at Antwerp. See "BATTLE OF
SLUYS AND CRECY," vii, 78.

Declaration of the Electors at Rense that Germany is an independent
empire over which the Pope has no jurisdiction; the diet at Frankfort
ratifies the manifesto.

1339. France invaded by Edward III of England; beginning of the Hundred
Years' War.

Genoa elects its first doge, Simone Boccanera.

A body of disbanded mercenaries form themselves into the first
_condottiere_ company known in Italy. The word means a captain or
leader, the _condottieri_ those under the leader. They were free lances,
open to serve under any flag.

1340. Edward destroys a large French fleet at Sluys; beginning of
England's naval power. See "BATTLE OF SLUYS AND CRECY," vii, 78.

War between the Hanseatic League and Denmark; the Danes defeated.

1341. Death of John III of Brittany; his brother, John of Montfort, and
his niece, Jeanne de Penthievre, wife of Charles of Blois, contest the
succession; England supports the former, France the latter.

Edward Balliol retires on the return of David II to Scotland.

Petrarch is crowned with laurel at Rome. See "MODERN RECOGNITION OF
SCENIC BEAUTY," vii, 93.

1342. Edward III pursues his campaign in Brittany; he relieves
Hennebonne, besieged by the French.

Walter de Brienne, Duke of Athens, becomes sovereign lord of Florence.

Accession of Louis, called the Great, to the throne of Hungary, on the
death of King Charles Robert, his father.

1343. Expulsion from Florence of the Duke of Athens; popular government
restored.

A truce of three years arranged between England and France by the
mediation of the papal legates.

1344. Breach of the truce between England and France; Earl Derby defeats
Count de Lisle and reduces a great part of Perigord.

A Turkish fleet is destroyed at Pallene by the Knights of Rhodes, who
assist in the capture of Smyrna by the Venetians and the King of Cyprus.

Masham, an Englishman, first discovers the Madeira Islands.

In England, parliament, by the Statute of Provisors, forbids the
interference of the pope in bestowing benefices and livings in England.

1345. Fall and death of James Van Artevelde at Ghent.

1346. Battle of Crecy; cannon said to have been first used by the
English. See "BATTLES OF SLUYS AND CRECY," vii, 78.

At the instance of Pope Clement VI, Charles of Luxemburg (Charles IV) is
elected emperor of Germany in opposition to Louis the Bavarian.

David Bruce invades England; he is vanquished and made prisoner at
Neville's Cross.

Servia at the zenith of her power; the ruler, Stephen Dushan, assumes
the imperial title.

1347. Calais captured by Edward III.

Death of Louis the Bavarian; he is succeeded by Charles IV, whose title
is disputed until 1349.

Queen Joanna I of Naples has her dominions invaded by Louis the Great of
Hungary to avenge the murder of her husband, Andrew, brother of Louis,
supposedly at her instigation. See "RIENZI'S REVOLUTION IN ROME," vii,
104.

1348. About this time begins the Renaissance in Italy. See "BEGINNING
AND PROGRESS OF THE RENAISSANCE," vii, 110.

Founding of the University of Prague, the first in Germany.

Pope Clement VI purchases Avignon from Queen Joanna I of Naples.

The plague stalks in Europe. See "THE BLACK DEATH RAVAGES EUROPE," vii,
130.

1349. Institution (or revival, see A.D. 1192) of the Order of the Garter
in England.

Dauphiny annexed to France on condition that the King's eldest son
should be called the dauphin.

1350. Death of Philip VI; his son, John the Good, succeeds to the French
throne.

1351. Zurich joins the Swiss confederation.

Paganino Doria, commanding the Genoese fleet, plunders many Venetian
towns on the Adriatic.

1352. A statute of praemunire still further limits the papal power in
England.

Naval battle in the Bosporus between the Genoese, under Paganino Doria,
and the Venetians, Byzantines, and Catalans under Niccola Pisano; the
latter are defeated, and concede the entire command of the Black Sea to
the Genoese.

1353. Alliance of Genoa with Louis of Hungary; their fleet, under
Antonino Grinaldi, defeated; in despair the Genoese place themselves
under the protection of John Visconte.

Bern joins the league of Swiss cantons.

1354. Downfall and death of Rienzi. See "RIENZI'S REVOLUTION IN ROME,"
vii, 104.

Paganino Doria captures or destroys the Venetian fleet in the Morea;
their admiral, Pisano, is captured.

Beginning of Turkish dominion in Europe. See "FIRST TURKISH DOMINION IN
EUROPE," vii, 136.

1355. King Charles of Navarre is treacherously seized and imprisoned in
France; his brother Philip, and Geoffry d'Harcourt, make an alliance
with Edward III; the war is renewed.

Marino Falieri, Doge of Venice, beheaded. See "CONSPIRACY AND DEATH OF
MARINO FALIERI AT VENICE," vii, 154.

1356. Battle of Poitiers; John II, King of France, taken prisoner by
Edward, the Black Prince; the Dauphin, Charles, escapes and assumes the
government of France during his father's captivity.

Emperor Charles defines the duties of the electors of Germany. See
"CHARLES IV OF GERMANY PUBLISHES HIS GOLDEN BULL," vii, 160.

Wycliffe publishes his _Last Age of the Court_.

1357. London enthusiastically welcomes the Prince of Wales (the Black
Prince) on his return with his prisoners; King Edward III concludes a
treaty with the captive French King, which the Dauphin rejects.

Popular movement in Paris under Stephen Marcel; meeting of the
States-general of France.

1358. Violent commotions in France. See "INSURRECTION OF THE JACQUERIE
IN FRANCE," vii, 164.

By a treaty of peace the Venetians resign Dalmatia and Istria to the
King of Hungary; they agree to style their doge Duke of Venice only.

1359. Edward III again invades France, his terms of peace not being
accepted.

1360. England and France conclude the treaty of Bretigny; King John II
is set at liberty on payment of a heavy ransom.

Outbreak of the Children's Plague in England.

1361. End of the first ducal house of Burgundy.

Adrianople is conquered by Sultan Amurath I of Turkey.

All military operations in Europe suspended by the virulence of the
plague.

1362. Edward III grants Aquitaine to his son, the Black Prince; he also
celebrates his fiftieth birthday by a general amnesty and a confirmation
of Magna Charta.

Conjectured beginning of Langland's _Vision of Piers Plowman_, a noted
allegorical and satirical poem.[90]

1363. Disbanded English soldiers enter the service of the Pisans, and
obtain a victory for them over the Florentines.

1364. Death of King John the Good of France, in Savoy palace, London;
his son, Charles V, succeeds; Du Guesclin, his general, defeats the
English and the army of Charles the Bad at Cocherel. Du Guesclin is
afterward defeated and captured by the English, under Sir John Chandos;
besides the capture of Du Guesclin, Charles of Blois is slain. The house
of Montfort secures Brittany.

Treaty of union between Bohemia and Austria.

Chaucer writes his _Canterbury Tales_.

1365. Pedro the Cruel, the epithet "cruel" being given him mainly for
the murder of his brother, Don Fadrique, becomes so odious to his
subjects that Henry of Trastamare, his brother, revives his claim to the
throne of Leon and Castile; Du Guesclin takes command of his forces.

University of Vienna founded.

1366. Pedro the Cruel driven from his throne.

Pope Urban V claims the tribute which had previously been paid by
England; an act of parliament resists the demand; it further declares
the concessions made by King John to be illegal and invalid.

Tamerlane (Timur the Tartar), reviver of the great Mongol empire,
inaugurates his conquests.

1367. Edward the Black Prince, having espoused the cause of Pedro the
Cruel, attacks and dethrones Henry of Trastamare; Pedro is restored to
the throne, but refuses the stipulated pay to his allies, who leave him
to his fate.

Passage of the Kilkenny Statute; it forbade any Englishman to use an
Irish name, to speak the Irish language, to adopt the Irish dress, or to
allow the cattle of an Irishman to graze on his lands; it also made it
high treason to marry a native.

1369. King Charles V breaks the Anglo-French treaty; the Hundred Years'
War reopened.

1370. End of the Piast dynasty, Poland, caused by the death of Casimir
the Great; Louis the Great, King of Hungary, succeeds.

Timur the Tartar extends his domains. See "CONQUESTS OF TIMUR THE
TARTAR," vii, 169.

1371. Robert II ascends the throne and founds the Stuart dynasty in
Scotland, on the death of David Bruce.[91]

A petition of the English Parliament to the King that he employ no
churchmen in any office of the state, and threatening to resist by force
the oppressions of papal authority.

1373. Henry of Castile invades Portugal, besieges Lisbon, and compels
Ferdinand to sign a treaty of peace.

Birth of John Huss.[92]

1374. A strange plague, the dancing mania, appears in Europe. See
"DANCING MANIA OF THE MIDDLE AGES," vii, 187.

Wycliffe is appointed one of the seven ambassadors to represent to the
Pope the grievances of the Church of England.

1375. A general council of citizens of Florence declares "liberty
paramount to every other consideration"; it appoints the "Seven Saints
of War," which effectually resist aggression.

1376. Death of Edward the Black Prince. Gregory XI abandons Avignon as
the papal residence.

1377. Rome again becomes the home of the papal court.

Gregory XI orders proceedings against Wycliffe, the English reformer.

Death of Edward III; his grandson, Richard II, succeeds to the English
throne.

1378. Wenceslaus becomes emperor of Germany on the death of his father,
Charles IV.

Rival popes elected. See "ELECTION OF ANTIPOPE CLEMENT VII: BEGINNING OF
THE GREAT SCHISM," vii, 201.

1379. Pietro Doria, at the head of the Genoese fleet, defeats the
Venetian fleet off Pola; Chioggia is captured and Venice threatened.

A poll-tax imposed on the people of England; this led directly to a
revolution.

War of the rival papal factions in Rome.

Revolt of the White Hoods (_Les Chaperons blancs_) in Flanders; the
workmen of Ghent, when they revolted against the Duke of Burgundy,
adopted a white hood as their badge.

1380. Establishment in Germany of post messengers.

Surrender of the Genoese fleet and army at Chioggia. See "GENOESE
SURRENDER TO VENETIANS," vii, 213.

1381. Overthrow of Joanna I of Naples by Charles Durazzo (Charles the
Little).

An act of parliament surreptitiously obtained against heretics in
England.

Exasperated by the poll-tax the people of England revolt. See "REBELLION
OF WAT TYLER," vii, 217.

Insurrection of the Maillotins against the new tax on bread in Paris.
They were so called because they armed themselves with _maillets de fer_
("iron malls") when they attacked the arsenal, put to death the
officers, and set the prisoners at large.

Philip van Artevelde rises to power in Flanders.

1382. Queen Joanna I of Naples is put to death in prison.

"WYCLIFFE TRANSLATES THE BIBLE INTO ENGLISH." See vii, 227.

Led by Philip van Artevelde the people of Ghent triumph over their
ruler, Count Louis II; Bruges is captured and looted by them; Artevelde
is acclaimed governor; a French army advances and defeats the forces of
Artevelde, who is slain, and Louis is restored.

1384. Flanders is incorporated in the dukedom of Burgundy; Artois and
Franche Comte are also acquired by Philip the Bold of Burgundy.

1385. Scotland fruitlessly invaded by Richard II of England.

John the Great ascends the throne of Portugal; he defeats the Castilians
at Aljubarota.

1386. Victory of the Swiss over the Austrians at Sempach. See "THE SWISS
WIN THEIR INDEPENDENCE," vii, 238.

Hedvige, Queen of Poland, marries Duke of Jagellon, of Lithuania,
uniting the states and establishing the Jagellon dynasty; as sovereign
of Poland he is styled Ladislaus II. The Lithuanians abandon paganism.

Founding of the University of Heidelberg.

A regency, that of the Duke of Gloucester, is imposed upon Richard II of
England.

1387. Consultation of Richard II at Nottingham with the judges; the
regency commission is declared a criminal act.

A brother of Emperor Wenceslaus, Sigismund, becomes king of Hungary.

Birth of Fra Angelico (Guido di Pietri), the great friar-painter.

1388. Battle of Otterburne (Chevy Chase); an English-Scotch encounter
in a private feud, not a national quarrel; the Earl of Douglas slain;
Henry Percy captured by the Scots.

At Naefels the Austrians are defeated by the Swiss.

1389. Bulgaria and Servia conquered by the Turks under Amurath I at the
decisive battle of Kosovo; he is slain.

Death of Pope Urban VI; Boniface succeeds; the schism continues.

Albert, King of Sweden, defeated and made prisoner by Queen Margaret,
who reigns over the three Scandinavian kingdoms.

1390. War of Florence with Milan.

Robert III ascends the throne of Scotland.

1392. Fits of insanity seize the young King of France, Charles VI; cards
are invented, or introduced, to amuse him during his lucid intervals.

1394. Birth of Prince Henry of Portugal, known as the "Navigator."

1395. Milan is created a hereditary duchy by Emperor Wenceslaus for
Giovanni Galeazzo Visconti.

1396. Battle of Nicopolis; the Christian defenders of Hungary suffer a
great defeat at the hands of the Turkish sultan Bajazet I.

1397. Scandinavia united under one crown. See "UNION OF DENMARK, SWEDEN,
AND NORWAY," vii, 243.

1398. Mortimer, Earl of March, presumptive heir to the English throne
and governor of Ireland, slain by a rebel force in that island.

Froissart writes his _Chronicles_.

1399. Deposition of Richard II of England; Henry Bolingbroke founds the
house of Lancaster. See "DEPOSITION OF RICHARD II," vii, 251.

After a long struggle for the possession of Naples between Ladislaus and
Louis II of Anjou, it ends in the triumph of Ladislaus.

1400. A great revolt of the Welsh is headed by Owen Glendower.

Emperor Wenceslaus is deposed.

Rupert of the Palatinate elected to the throne of Germany.

1401. Parliament ordains the burning of Lollards in England. Barcelona
bank (earliest existing bank) established.

1402. Battle of Homildon Hill; victory of the Percys, a noble northern
English family, over the Scots.

License by royal letters-patent given to the "_Confrerie de la Passion_"
to exhibit sacred dramas, or _Mysteries_, in France.

"DISCOVERY OF THE CANARY ISLANDS AND THE AFRICAN COAST." See vii, 266.

Tamerlane (Timur the Tartar) defeats and captures Bajazet at Angora.

1403. Battle of Shrewsbury; Henry IV defeats the Percys, who had allied
themselves with Glendower to place the Earl of March on the English
throne; Harry Percy (Hotspur) slain.

1404. Queen Margaret of Sweden claims Schleswig and Holstein on the
death of Gerard VI.

1405. Pisa sold to Florence by the Visconti.

An English act of parliament prohibits anyone not possessing twenty
shillings a year in land from apprenticing his sons to any trade.

Venice conquers Verona and Padua.

Prince James Stuart, afterward James I, heir to the crown of Scotland,
captured by the English.

1406. Pisa compelled to submit to Florence after a year of war.

Gerson, chancellor of the University of Paris, proposes a general
council to terminate the schism in the Church.[93]

1407. France distracted by the animosities of her leading families;
Louis, Duke of Orleans, is assassinated by John the Fearless, Duke of
Burgundy.

1408. Valentina, widow of the Duke of Orleans, demands justice on her
husband's assassins; the Duke of Burgundy declared an enemy of the
state; he occupies Paris and drives out the royal court.

1409. Council of Pisa; both popes refuse to appear; they are deposed and
Alexander V is elected.

University of Leipsic founded.

1410. Death of Rupert of the Palatinate, Emperor of Germany.

Jagellon (Ladislaus II), King of Poland, vanquishes the Teutonic
Knights.

1411. Battle of Harlow; defeat of the Scotch Lord of the Isles and the
highland clans.

Sigismund elected emperor of Germany.

John Huss excommunicated and forbidden to preach.

University of St. Andrew's, Scotland, founded.

1412. For insulting the chief justice of England the Prince of Wales is
committed to prison.

Birth of Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid of Orleans.

1413. Death of Henry IV; Henry V ascends the English throne; he discards
his dissolute associates and reforms his conduct.

Ladislaus takes forcible possession of Rome and most of the papal
states.

1414. The Seventeenth general council. See "COUNCIL OF CONSTANCE," vii,
284.

Joanna II succeeds her brother Ladislaus of Naples on his death.

1415. "TRIAL AND BURNING OF JOHN HUSS." See vii, 294.

John the Great of Portugal conquers Ceuta; he discards the use of the
Julian period and introduces the computation of time from the Christian
era.

Brandenburg is acquired by the house of Hohenzollern. See "THE HOUSE OF
HOHENZOLLERN ESTABLISHED IN BRANDENBURG," vii, 305.

"BATTLE OF AGINCOURT." See vii, 320.

1416. Jerome of Prague burned.

Alfonso the Wise, so called for his patronage of letters, ascends the
throne of Aragon on the death of his father, Ferdinand the Just.

1417. Pope Martin V elected by the Council of Constance; end of the
schism.

Sir John Oldcastle, the "Good Lord Cobham," after four years' hiding is
captured and burned as a heretic in London.

Gypsies appear in Transylvania; they are believed to have been low-caste
Hindus expelled by Timur in the fourteenth century.

1418. Close of the Council of Constance. See "COUNCIL OF CONSTANCE,"
vii, 284.

A great massacre in Paris of the Armagnacs by the populace, the
partisans of John the Fearless of Burgundy; the Dauphin and his
adherents transfer their seat of government to Poitiers.

1419. Surrender of Rouen to the English.

John the Fearless, beguiled by a treaty, meets the Dauphin, who has him
assassinated.

Storming of the town-hall of Prague by the Hussites; outbreak of the
Hussite wars.

Madeira first reached by the Portuguese, who sail under the command of
Henry the Navigator.

1420. Henry V, King of England, made successor to the French throne. See
"BATTLE OF AGINCOURT," vii, 320.

Sigismund besieges the Hussites in Prague; he is defeated by them, led
by John Ziska.

Joanna II of Naples, who summons to her aid Alfonso V of Aragon, is
attacked by Louis III of Anjou.

1421. Second crusade against the Bohemian Hussites.

1422. Death of Henry V of England and Charles VI of France; the former
is succeeded by his infant son; he is proclaimed King of England and
France; his uncles, the Duke of Gloucester, regent in England, and the
Duke of Bedford in France; Charles VII, son of Charles VI, is proclaimed
by the French.

Constantinople besieged by Amurath II, Sultan of Turkey.

1423. Frederick the Warlike, Margrave of Misnia, assumes the electorate
of Saxony and establishes the house of Wettin.

1424. James I of Scotland, released after a captivity of nineteen years,
marries a daughter of the Earl of Somerset; he assumes the government of
Scotland.

John Ziska is succeeded by Procopius the Great as head of the Taborites,
a division of the Hussites.

1425. Accession of John Palaeologus II as emperor of Byzantium.

John and Hulbert van Eyck, masters of the early Flemish school, invent
painting in oil.

1426. Luebeck and the Baltic Hanse Towns support the Duke of Holstein
against Eric XIII of Sweden.

Great Hussite victory at Aussig.

1427. The Hussites extend their conquests in Saxony and Meissen; they
gain a victory at Mies.

1428. Orleans, France, besieged by the English.

Death of John de' Medici, founder of the illustrious family at Florence.

1429. Coronation of Charles VII of France at Rheims.

Jeanne d'Arc relieves Orleans. See "JEANNE D'ARC'S VICTORY AT ORLEANS,"
vii, 333.

Refusal of the Hussites to treat for peace with Emperor Sigismund.

Antipope Clement VIII abdicates and ends the Great Schism.

1430. Institution of the Golden Fleece by Philip, Duke of Burgundy, on
his marriage with Isabella, daughter of King John of Portugal, and in
commemoration of the manufacturing prosperity of the Netherlands.

1431. Jeanne d'Arc dishonorably and inhumanly burned at Rouen. See
"TRIAL AND EXECUTION OF JEANNE D'ARC," vii, 350.

Council of Basel. Pope Martin V succeeded by Eugenius IV.

1432. Prince Henry's navigators discover and take possession of the
Azores for the Portuguese.

Opening of the trade of the north to the English and Dutch by the wars
of the Hanse Towns, and Holstein, with Denmark.

1433. Treaty of the Council of Basel with the section of the Hussites
called Calixtines; this satisfies them and they secede from the Hussite
league.

1434. Cosmo de' Medici recalled to Florence; his party triumphant.

Organization of the national church (Utraquist) in Bohemia.

First exploration of the west coast of Africa by the Portuguese.

The Calixtines join the imperial army and defeat the Taborites at
Bohmisch-Brod.

1435. Treaty of Arras between France and Burgundy; the latter withdraws
from the English party.

Death of the Duke of Bedford.

1436. A settlement effected between Emperor Sigismund and the Hussites
by the treaty of Iglau; he is recognized as king of Bohemia.

Charles VII, the French King, recovers Paris from the English.

Eric, by a treaty of peace, relinquishes the greater part of Schleswig
to the Duke of Holstein and makes concessions at Stockholm which restore
tranquillity in Sweden.

1437. Death of Emperor Sigismund; election of Albert of Austria to the
throne of Hungary.

Murder of James I; his son, James II, succeeds him on the throne of
Scotland.

Pope Eugenius IV is summoned to appear before the Council of Basel to
answer various charges brought against him; he issues a bull dissolving
the council; he calls another at Ferrara, whither he invites the Greek
Emperor to attend and arrange for the union of the two churches.

1438. Pragmatic Sanction of Charles VII; it secures the liberty of the
Gallican Church. See "CHARLES VII ISSUES HIS PRAGMATIC SANCTION," vii,
370.

Coronation of Albert II, King of Hungary; recognized by the Diet of
Frankfort.

     [1] See _Dante Composes the Divina Commedia_, page 1.

     [2] See _Extinction of the Order of Knights Templars_,
         page 51.

     [3] See _The Third Estate Joins in the Government of
         France_, page 17.

     [4] See _War of the Flemings with Philip the Fair_, page
         23.

     [5] See _First Swiss Struggle for Liberty_, page 28.

     [6] See _The Swiss Win Their Independence_, page 238.

     [7] See _Battle of Bannockburn_, page 41.

     [8] See _Beginning and Progress of the Renaissance_, page
         110.

     [9] See _Crowning of Petrarch at Rome_, page 93.

     [10] See _Rienzi's Revolution in Rome_, page 104.

     [11] See _Conspiracy and Death of Marino Falieri at
          Venice_, page 154.

     [12] See _Genoese Surrender to Venetians_, page 213.

     [13] See _Rise of the Hanseatic League_, vol. vi, page
          214.

     [14] See _Union of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway_, page
          243.

     [15] See _Charles IV of Germany Publishes His Golden
          Bull_, page 160.

     [16] See _The Black Death Ravages Europe_, page 130.

     [17] See _Dancing Mania of the Middle Ages_, page 187.

     [18] See _James van Artevelde Leads a Flemish Revolt_,
          page 68.

     [19] See _Edward III of England Assumes the Title of King
          of France_, page 68.

     [20] See _Battles of Sluys and Crecy_, page 78.

     [21] See _Insurrection of the Jacquerie in France_, page
          164.

     [22] See _Rebellion of Wat Tyler_, page 217.

     [23] See _Turks Seize Gallipoli_, page 147.

     [24] See _Conquests of Timur the Tartar_, page 169.

     [25] See _Wycliffe Translates the Bible into English_,
          page 227.

     [26] See _Election of Antipope Clement VII_, page 201.

     [27] See _Trial and Burning of John Huss_, page 294.

     [28] See _Council of Constance_, page 284.

     [29] See _The Hussite Wars_, page 294.

     [30] See _The House of Hohenzollern Established in
          Brandenburg_, page 305.

     [31] See _Deposition of Richard II_, page 251.

     [32] See _Battle of Agincourt_, page 320.

     [33] See _English Conquest of France_, page 320.

     [34] See _Jeanne d'Arc's Victory at Orleans_, page 333.

     [35] See _Trial and Execution of Jeanne d'Arc_, page 350.

     [36] See _Charles VII Issues his Pragmatic Sanction_,
          page 370.

     [37] See _Discovery of the Canary Islands: Beginning of
          Negro Slave Trade_, page 266.

     [38] "I am not going to lose the men for the old women."

     [39] "The coward who the great refusal made."

     [40] "The beams on the low shores now lost and dead."

     [41] "A death-like shade--Like that beneath black boughs
          and foliage green O'er the cold stream in Alpine
          glens display'd."

     [42] "O'er all the sandy desert falling slow, Were
          shower'd dilated flakes of fire, like snow On Alpine
          summits, when the wind is low."

     [43] "So will a greater fame redound to thee, To have
          formed a party by thyself alone."

     [44] Translated by Charles Leonard-Stuart.

     [45] This Emperor was Albert I, son of Rudolph I.

     [46] James van Artevelde was called "the Brewer of
          Ghent," because, although born an aristocrat, he was
          enrolled in the Guild of Brewers.

     [47] Translated from the French by Thomas Johnes.

     [48] Lord Berners' account of the advance of the Genoese
          is somewhat different from this; he describes them
          as _leaping_ forward with a _fell_ cry. The whole
          passage is so spirited and graphic that we give it
          entire:

          "Whan the genowayes were assembled toguyder and
          beganne to aproche, they made a great leape and crye
          to abasshe thenglysshmen, but they stode styll and
          styredde nat for all that. Than the genowayes agayne
          the seconde tyme made another leape and a fell crye
          and stepped forwarde a lytell, and thenglysshmen
          remeued nat one fote; thirdly agayne they leapt and
          cryed, and went forthe tyll they came within shotte;
          than they shotte feersly with their crosbowes. Than
          thenglysshe archers stept forthe one pase and lette
          fly their arowes so hotly and so thycke that it
          semed snowe. Whan the genowayes felte the arowes
          persynge through heedes, armes, and brestes, many of
          them cast downe their crosbowes and did cutte their
          strynges and retourned dysconfited. Whan the frenche
          kynge sawe them flye away, he said, Slee these
          rascals, for they shall lette and trouble us without
          reason; than you shoulde haue sene the men of armes
          dasshe in among them and kylled a great nombre of
          them; and euerstyll the englysshmen shot where as
          they sawe thyckest preace, the sharpe arowes ranne
          into the men of armes and into their horses, and
          many fell horse and men amonge the genowayes, and
          whan they were downe they coude nat relyne agayne;
          the preace was so thycke that one ouerthrewe a
          nother. And also amonge the englysshemen there were
          certayne rascalles that went a fote with great
          knyues, and they went in among the men of armes and
          slewe and murdredde many as they lay on the grounde,
          both erles, barownes, knyghts, and squyers, whereof
          the kyng of Englande was after dyspleased, for he
          had rather they had been taken prisoners."

     [49] His blindness was supposed to be caused by poison,
          which was given to him when engaged in the wars of
          Italy.

     [50] The following is Lord Berners' version of this
          narration: "In the mornyng the day of the batayle
          certayne frenchemen and almaygnes perforce opyned
          the archers of the princes batayle, and came and
          fought with the men at armes hande to hande. Than
          the second batayle of thenglyshe men came to socour
          the prince's batayle, the whiche was tyme, for they
          had as than moche ado, and they with the prince sent
          a messangar to the kynge who was on a lytell
          wyndmill hill. Than the knyght sayd to the kyng, Sir
          therle of Warwyke and therle of Cafort [Stafford]
          Sir Reynolde Cobham and other such as be about the
          prince your sonne are feersly fought with all, and
          are sore handled, wherefore they desire you that you
          and your batayle woll come and ayde them, for if the
          frenchemen encrease as they dout they woll your
          sonne and they shall have moche a do. Than the kynge
          sayde, is my sonne deed or hurt or on the yerthe
          felled? No, sir, quoth the knight, but he is hardely
          matched wherfore he hath nede of your ayde. Well
          sayde the kyng, retourne to hym and to them that
          sent you hyther, and say to them that they sende no
          more to me for any adventure that falleth as long as
          my sonne is alyve; and also say to them that they
          suffer hym this day to wynne his spurres, for if God
          be pleased, I woll this iourney be his and the
          honoure therof and to them that be aboute hym. Than
          the knyght retourned agayn to them and shewed the
          kynges wordes, the which greatly encouraged them,
          and repoyned in that they had sende to the kynge as
          they dyd."

     [51] Translated from the German by B. G. Babington.

     [52] Thucydides, in his account of the earlier plague in
          Athens, B.C. 430, says, "It was supposed that the
          Peloponnesians had poisoned the cisterns."

     [53] Translated from the French by Charles
          Leonard-Stuart.

     [54] Osman is the real Turkish name, which has been
          corrupted into Othman. The descendants of his
          subjects style themselves Osmanlis--corrupted into
          Ottoman.

     [55] Edebali, a Mussulman prophet and saint, whose
          daughter Osman married.

     [56] A criminal tribunal, of which Steno himself was
          president.

     [57] "Jacques Bonhomme." Froissart takes this for the
          name of an individual, but it is the common
          nickname--like "Hodge" or "Giles"--of the French
          peasantry. It is said that the term was applied by
          the lords of the manor to their villeins or serfs,
          in derision of their awkwardness and patient
          endurance of their lot. The "King who came from
          Clermont"--the leader of the Jacquerie--was William
          Karl or Callet.

     [58] A most wonderful scene. The B'hagiratha or Ganges
          issues from under a very low arch at the foot of the
          grand snow-bed. The illiterate mountaineers compare
          the pendent icicles to Mahodeva's hair. Hindoos of
          research may formerly have been here; and if so, one
          cannot think of any place to which they might more
          aptly give the name of a cow's mouth than to this
          extraordinary _debouche_.

     [59] Translated from the German by B. G. Babington.

     [60] "Chorus Sancti Viti, or St. Vitus' dance; the
          lascivious dance, Paracelsus calls it, because they
          that are taken with it can do nothing but dance till
          they be dead or cured. It is so called for that the
          parties so troubled were wont to go to St. Vitus for
          help; and, after they had danced there awhile, they
          were certainly freed. 'Tis strange to hear how long
          they will dance, and in what manner, over stools,
          forms, and tables. One in red clothes they cannot
          abide. Musick above all things they love; and
          therefore magistrates in Germany will hire musicians
          to play to them, and some lusty, sturdy companions
          to dance with them. This disease hath been very
          common in Germany, as appears by those relations of
          Schenkius, and Paracelsus in his book of madness,
          who brags how many several persons he hath cured of
          it. Felix Platerus (_de Mentis Alienat._ cap. 3)
          reports of a woman in Basel whom he saw, that danced
          a whole month together. The Arabians call it a kind
          of palsie. Bodine, in his fifth book, speaks of this
          infirmity; Monavius, in his last epistle to
          Scoltizius, and in another to Dudithus, where you
          may read more of it."--_Burton's Anatomy of
          Melancholy._

     [61] The Bishop Theodoret of Cyrus in Syria states that,
          at the festival of St. John, large fires were
          annually kindled in several towns, through which
          men, women, and children jumped; and that young
          children were carried through by their mothers. He
          considered this custom as an ancient Asiatic
          ceremony of purification, similar to that recorded
          of Ahaz, in II Kings, xvi. 3. Zonaras, Balsamon, and
          Photius speak of the St. John's fires in
          Constantinople, and the first looks upon them as the
          remains of an old Grecian custom. Even in modern
          times fires are still lighted on St. John's Day in
          Brittany and other remote parts of Continental
          Europe, through the smoke of which the cattle are
          driven in the belief that they will thus be
          protected from contagious and other diseases, and in
          these practices protective fumigation originated.
          That such different nations should have had the same
          idea of fixing the purification by fire on St.
          John's Day is a remarkable coincidence, which
          perhaps can be accounted for only by its analogy to
          baptism.

     [62] Beckmann makes many other observations on this
          well-known circumstance. The priest named is the
          same who is still known in the nursery tales of
          children as the _Knecht Ruprecht_.

     [63] _Dass dir Sanct Veitstanz ankomme_ ("May you be
          seized with St. Vitus' dance").

     [64] "This proceeding was, however, no invention of his,
          but an imitation of a usual mode of enchantment by
          means of wax figures (_peri cunculas_). The witches
          made a wax image of the person who was to be
          bewitched; and in order to torment him, they stuck
          it full of pins, or melted it before the fire. The
          books on magic, of the Middle Ages, are full of such
          things; though the reader who may wish to obtain
          information on this subject need not go so far back.
          Only eighty years since, the learned and celebrated
          Storch, of the school of Stahl, published a treatise
          on witchcraft, worthy of the fourteenth
          century."--_Treatise on the Diseases of Children._

     [65] Some authorities give twenty-nine.

     [66] Selden, in his _Table Talk_, says: "There was once,
          I am sure, a parliamentary pope. Pope Urban was made
          pope in England by act of parliament, against Pope
          Clement: the act is not in the _Book of Statutes_,
          either because he that compiled the book would not
          have the name of the Pope there, or else he would
          not let it appear that they meddled with any such
          thing; but it is upon the rolls."

     [67] A groat equalled fourpence, or eight cents.

     [68] In Walsingham may be seen a long account of the
          death of the Archbishop, page 250. His head was
          carried in triumph through the streets on the point
          of a lance, and fixed on London bridge. That it
          might be the better known, the hat or bonnet worn by
          him was nailed to the skull.

     [69] When Tresilian, one of the judges, tried the
          insurgents at St. Alban's, he impanelled three
          juries of twelve men each. The first was ordered to
          present all whom they knew to be the chiefs of the
          tumult, the second gave their opinion on the
          presentation of the first, and the third pronounced
          the verdict of guilty or not guilty. It does not
          appear that witnesses were examined. The juries
          spoke from their personal knowledge. Thus each
          convict was condemned on the oaths of thirty-six
          men. At first, on account of the multitude of
          executions, the condemned were beheaded: afterward
          they were hanged and left on the gibbet as objects
          of terror; but as their bodies were removed by their
          friends, the King ordered them to be hanged in
          chains, the first instance in which express mention
          of the practice is made. According to Holinshed the
          executions amounted to fifteen hundred.

     [70] The readers, as might be expected, often
          surreptitiously copied portions of special interest.
          One is reminded of the story in ancient Irish
          history of a curious decision arising out of an
          incident of this kind nearly a thousand years
          before, which seems to have influenced the history
          of Christianity in Britain. St. Columb, on a visit
          to the aged St. Finian in Ulster, had permission to
          read in the Psalter belonging to his host. But every
          night while the good old saint was sleeping, the
          young one was busy in the chapel writing by a
          miraculous light till he had completed a copy of the
          whole Psalter. The owner of the Psalter, discovering
          this, demanded that it should be given up, as it had
          been copied unlawfully from his book; while the
          copyist insisted that, the materials of labor being
          his, he was entitled to what he had written. The
          dispute was referred to Diarmad, the King at Tara,
          and his decision (genuinely Irish) was given in St.
          Finian's favor. "To every book," said he, "belongs
          its son-book [copy], as to every cow belongs her
          calf." Columb complained of the decision as unjust,
          and the dispute is said to have been one of the
          causes of his leaving Ireland for Iona.

     [71] Oliver Wendell Holmes: _Autocrat of the
          Breakfast-table._

     [72] A town in Schwyz. The name means a "hermitage." St.
          Meinrad, according to legend, lived there (ninth
          century) as a hermit. It is a celebrated pilgrim
          resort.--ED.

     [73] He descended from Henry III both by father and
          mother. But he could not claim by the father's side,
          because the young Earl of March was sprung from the
          Duke of Clarence, the elder brother of John of
          Gaunt; nor by the mother's side, because she was
          sprung from Edmund of Lancaster, a younger brother
          of Edward I. It was pretended that Edmund was the
          elder brother, but deformed in body, and therefore
          set aside with his own consent. If we may believe
          Hardyng, Henry on September 21st produced in council
          a document to prove the seniority of Edmund over
          Edward, but that the contrary was shown by a number
          of unanswerable authorities.

     [74] Charles IV.

     [75] Allusion to John Ziska, leader of the Hussites, who
          waged a fierce war against Wenzel and the empire.

     [76] Head of the House of Hohenzollern, Burggraves of
          Nuremberg.

     [77] This was the Dauphin, afterward Charles VII, whose
          brother Jean, Duke of Burgundy, had, in 1407,
          procured the murder of the Duke of Orleans.

     [78] To _houspiller_ is to maul, pull about, abuse,
          "worry like a dog"; hence the name _houspilleur_.

     [79] The English cardinal, most powerful ecclesiastic of
          the time.

     [80] Assistant judges.

     [81] Tipstaffs, constables.

     [82] The Duke of Bedford (John of Lancaster), third son
          of Henry IV of England, was regent of England and
          France, which office he assumed on the death of
          Henry V, in 1422.

     [83] The memory of Jeanne d'Arc was long and shamefully
          traduced by descendants of those enemies of France
          whom she baffled. Even Shakespeare (_Henry VI_) is
          so unjust to her--refining upon the brutal calumnies
          of the historians--as to grieve his most loving
          critics. It remained for the opening years of the
          twentieth century to see the Maid canonized by the
          Church which, as the agent of her country's foes,
          was instrumental in her destruction.--ED.

     [84] Translated by Chauncey C. Starkweather, M.A., LL.B.

     [85] The Catalan Grand Company was a formidable body of
          mercenary soldiers; it arose in Sicily during the
          wars that followed the Sicilian Vespers.

     [86] See 1291.

     [87] Date uncertain.

     [88] Date uncertain.

     [89] A specimen of an early speaking-tube exists,
          connecting the room said to have been occupied by
          Isabella with the old brewhouse, now a tavern, by
          means of which Mortimer was wont to communicate with
          his mistress. The castle stands upon a mount of 280
          feet, sheer rock, and the brewhouse is at its base.
          A peculiarity of the tube, bored through the live
          rock, is an elbow-joint, which is a puzzle to
          scientists.

     [90] Date uncertain.

     [91] Often erroneously given as 1370, neglecting the fact
          that, by the old manner of reckoning, the year began
          on March 25th.

     [92] Date uncertain.

     [93] By the French it is claimed that Jean Charlier de
          Gerson was the author of _de Imitatione Christi_,
          usually attributed to Thomas a Kempis.


     END OF VOLUME VII





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