09350
THE WANING OF THE MIDDLE AGES
THE WANING OF
THE MIDDLE AGES
A STUDY OF THE FORMS OF LIFE,
THOUGHT AND ART IN FRANCE AND
THE NETHERLANDS IN THE
AND XVTH CENTURIES
BY
J. HUIZINGA
PROFESSOR IN THE UNIVERSITY OF LEIDEN
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD & CO.
1924
I4tt riflitt nurntcCl
otw? jPnurrfedf in Great JBrit&irt by
Butler & T*mer L*tdL*
PREFACE
History has always been far more engrossed by problems
of origins than by those of decline and fall. When studying
any period, we are always looking for the promise of what the
next is to bring. Ever since Herodotus, and earlier still, the
questions imposing themselves upon the mind have been
concerned with the rise of families, nations, kingdoms, social
forms or ideas. So, in medieval history, we have been search-
ing so diligently for the origins of modern culture, that at
times it would seem as though what we call the Middle Ages
had been little more than the prelude to the Renaissance.
But in history, as in nature, birth and death are equally
balanced. The decay of overripe forms of civilization is as
suggestive a spectacle as the growth of new ones. And it
occasionally happens that a period in which one had, hitherto,
been mainly looking for the coming to birth of new things,
suddenly reveals itself as an epoch of fading and decay.
The present work deals with the history of the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries regarded as a period of termination,
as the close of the Middle Ages. Such a view of them pre-
sented itself to the author of this volume, whilst endeavouring
to arrive at a genuine understanding of the art of the brothers
Van Eyck and their contemporaries, that is to say, to grasp
its meaning by seeing it in connection with the entire life of
their times. Now the common feature of the various mani-
festations of civilization of that epoch proved to be inherent
rather in that which links them to the past than in the germs
which they contain of the future. The significance, not of
the artists alone, but also of theologians, poets, chroniclers,
princes and statesmen, could be best appreciated by con-
sidering them, not as the harbingers of a coming culture, but
as perfecting and concluding the old.
This English edition is not a simple translation of the original
vi Preface
Dutch, (second edition 1921, first 1919), but the result of a
work of adaptation, reduction and consolidation under the
author's directions. The references, here left out, may be
found in full in the original.
Verse quotations are given in the original French throughout
the work. In order to avoid an undue increase in length,
quotations in prose are, as a rule, given in translations only,
except in the concluding chapters where the literary expression
as such is discussed, and the actual language becomes important.
Here the old French prose also is set out in full.
The author wishes to express his sincere thanks to Sir J.
Bennell Rodd, whose kind interest in the book gave ric to
this edition, and to the translator, Mr. F. Hopman, of Leiden,
whose clear insight into the exigencies of translation rendered
the recasting possible, and whose endless patience with the
wishes of an exacting author made the difficult task a work of
friendly co-operation.
LEIDEN, j\ jj
April, 1924.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I THE VIOLENT TENOR OF LIFE .... 1
II PESSIMISM AND THE IDEAL OF THE SUBLIME LIFE . 22
III THE HIERARCHIC CONCEPTION OF SOCIETY . . 46
IV THE IDEA OF CHIVALRY 50
V THE DKEAM OF HEROISM AND OF LOVE . . .66
VI ORDERS OF CHIVALRY AND Vows 74
VII THE POLITICAL AND MILITARY VALUE OP CHIVALROUS
IDEAS 82
VIII LOVE FORMALIZED 95
IX THE CONVENTIONS OF LOVE 107
X THE IDYLLIC VISION OF LIFE 115
XI THE VISION OF DEATH 124
XII RELIGIOUS THOUGHT CRYSTALLIZING INTO IMAGES . 136
XIII TYPES OF RELIGIOUS LIFE 160
XIV RELIGIOUS SENSIBILITY AND RELIGIOUS IMAGINATION 173
XV SYMBOLISM IN ITS DECLINE 182
XVI THE EFFECTS OF REALISM 195
XVII RELIGIOUS THOUGHT BEYOND THIS LIMITS OF IMAGINA-
TION 201
XVIII THE FORMS OF THOUGHT AND PRACTICAL LIFE , . 206
XIX ART AND LIFE 222
XX THE ^ESTHETIC SENTIMENT 243
XXI VERBAL AND PLASTIC EXPRESSION COMPARED. I . 252
XXII VERBAL AND PLASTIC EXPRESSION COMPARED. II . 270
XXIII THE ADVENT OF THE NEW FORM . . . .297
BIBLIOGRAPHY 309
INDK2C 319
via
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT OF PHILIP THE GOOD, DUKE OF BURGUNDY.
By Roams VAN DEB WEYDEN . . .. Frontispiece
Antwerp, The Museum.
CHARLES THE BOLD AND HIS COURT ..... 30
From a MS. in the British Museum (after P. Dwricv> " La Miniature
Flamande ").
MINIATURE FROM " LE JOUVENCEL." By ALBXANDBB BEJONQ. 62
From a MS. at Munich (Library of the University).
THE BISHOP AND THE SQUIRE ...... 130
From the Death-dance printed by Cfuyot Merchant, Paris, 1485.
THE MADONNA OF MELON. By JEHAN FOTTCQUBT . . . 142
Antwerp, The Museum.
" APRIL." By THE BBOTHBBS VAN LIMBURG .... 238
From foe Calendar of foe " Tree riches heures du Due dc Itorry, 11 in the, ,1/Wfl
Conde at ChantiUy. (from the edition of P. Durrieu, Librairic l*l**n,
Paris.)
PORTRAIT OF THE CHANCELLOR ROLEST. By Rooimt VAN
DEE WBYDEN ......... 242
Beaume, The Hospital.
PORTRAIT OF GIOVANNI ARNOLFINL By JAN VAN Evcic . 252
Berlin, State Museum.
"LEAL SOUVENIR." By JAN VAN EVCK ..... 254
London, The National QaUery.
THE MADONNA OF THE CHANCELLOR KOLIN. By JAN VAN
ETOK ........... 25$
Paris, The Louvre.
THE ANNUNCIATION. By JAN VAN EYCK . 2CO
Pefrograd, The Hermitage.
MINIATURE FROM "LE CUER D'AMOURS ESPRIS." . . 200
By an Unknown Master in a M8. in the State Library, Vienna.
" SEPTEMBER." By THE BBOXHBBB VAN LXMBURQ , . ,270
From* the Calendar ojihe " Tr is riches heurea du Dw de Berry/' in the Mwf*
Condea* OhontiKy. (From the edition of P. Durrieu, Itfrratne Pton,
Jrons.)
LYSBET VAN DUVENVOOIUOE. ByAKUNKWOWNMABSlB. . 280
Collection Tewrira de Mattoe, Vogetemang, Holland.
viii
THE
WANING OF THE MIDDLE AGES
CHAPTER I
THE VIOLENT TENOR OF LITE
To the world when it was half a thousand years younger,
the outlines of all things seemed more clearly marked than
to us. The contrast between suffering and joy, between
adversity and happiness, appeared more striking. All expe-
rience had yet to the minds of men the directness and absolute-
ness of the pleasure and pain of child-life. Every event, every
action, was still embodied in expressive and solemn forms,
which raised them to the dignity of a ritual. For it was not
merely the great facts of birth, marriage and death which,
by the sacredness of the sacrament, were raised to the rank
of mysteries ; incidents of less importance, like a journey, a
task, a visit, were equally attended by a thousand formalities :
benedictions, ceremonies, formulae.
Calamities and indigence were more afflicting than at present ;
it was more difficult to guard against them, and to find solace.
Illness and health presented a more striking contrast ; the
cold and darkness of winter were more real evils. Honours
and riches were relished with greater avidity and contrasted
more vividly with surrounding misery. We, at the present
day, can hardly understand the keenness with which a fur
coat, a good fire on the hearth, a soft bed, a glass of wine,
were formerly enjoyed.
Then, again, all things in life were of a proud or cruel pub-
licity. Lepers sounded their rattles and went about in pro-
cessions, beggars exhibited their deformity and their misery
in churches. Every order and estate, every rank and pro-
fession, was distinguished by its costume. The great lords
I B
The Waning of the Middle Ages
never moved about without a glorious display of arms and
liveries, exciting fear and envy. Executions and other
public acts of justice, hawking, marriages and funerals, were
all announced by cries and processions, songs and muic.
The lover wore the colours of his lady ; companions the emblem
of their confraternity; parties and servants the badges or
blazon of their lords. Between town and country, too, the
contrast was very marked. A medieval town did not lose
itself in extensive suburbs of factories and villas ; girded by
its walls, it stood forth as a compact whole, bristling with
innumerable turrets. However tall and threatening the
houses of noblemen or merchants might be, in the aspect of
the town the lofty mass of the churches always remained
dominant.
The contrast between silence and sound, darkness and light,
like that between summer and winter, was more strongly
marked than it is in our lives. The modern town hardly
knows silence or darkness in their purity, nor tho effect of a
solitary light or a single distant cry.
All things presenting themselves to the mind in violent
contrasts and impressive forms, lent a tone of excitement and
of passion to everyday life and tended to produce that per-
petual oscillation between despair and distracted joy, between
cruelty and pious tenderness which characterize life in the
Middle Ages.
One sound rose ceaselessly above the noises of buy life
and lifted all things unto a sphere of order and serenity : tho
sound of bells. The bells were in daily life like good ftpirits,
which by their famUiar voices, now called upon tho citizens
to mourn and now to rejoice, now warned them o danger,
now exhorted them to piety. They were known by thoir
names : big Jacqueline, or the bell Roland. Every one knew
the difference in meaning of the various ways of ringing*
However continuous the ringing of the bells, people would
seem not to have become blunted to the effect of thoir
sound.
Throughout the famous judicial duel between two citizens
of Valenciennes, in 1455, the big bell, " which is MdeouB to
hear," says Chastellain, never stopped ringing. What in-
toxication the pealing of the bells of all the churches, and of
The Violent Tenor of Life
all the monasteries of Paris, must have produced, sounding
from morning till evening, and even during the night, when a
peace was concluded or a pope elected.
The frequent processions, too, were a continual source of
pious agitation. When the times were evil, as they often were,
processions were seen winding along, day after day, for weeks
on end. In 1412 daily processions were ordered in Paris, to
implore victory for the king, who had taken up the oriflamme
against the Armagnacs. They lasted from May to July, and
were formed by ever-varying orders and corporations, going
always by new roads, and always carrying different relics.
The Burgher of Paris calls them " the most touching proces-
sions in the memory of men." People looked on or followed,
"weeping piteously, with many tears, in great devotion."
All went barefooted and fasting, councillors of the Parlement
as well as the poorer citizens. Those who could afford it,
carried a torch or a taper* A great many small children were
always among them. Poor country-people of the environfl
of Paris came barefooted from afar to join the procession.
And nearly every day the rain came down in torrents.
Then there were the entries of princes, arranged with all the
resources of art and luxury belonging to the age. And, lastly,
most frequent of all, one might almost say, uninterrupted,
the executions. The cruel excitement and coarse compassion
raised by an execution formed an important item in the spiritual
food of the common people. They were spectacular plays
with a moral. For horrible crimes the law invented atrocious
punishments. At Brussels a young incendiary and murderer
is placed in the centre of a circle of burning fagots and straw,
and made fast to a stake by means of a chain running round
an iron ring. He addresses touching words to the spectators,
" and he so softened their hearts that every one burst into
tears and his death was commended as the finest that was ever
seen." During the Burgundian terror in Paris in 1411, one
of the victims, Messire Mansart du Bois, being requested by
the hangman, according to custom, to forgive him, is not only
ready to do so with all his heart, but begs the executioner to
embrace him. " There was a great multitude of people, who
nearly all wept hot tears."
When the criminals were great lords, the common people
The Waning of the Middle Ages
had the satisfaction of seeing rigid justice done, and at the
same time finding the inconstancy of fortune exemplified
more strikingly than in any sermon or picture. The magis-
trate took care that nothing should be wanting to the effect
of the spectacle : the condemned were conducted to the scaf-
fold, dressed in the garb of their high estate. Jean de Mon-
taigu, grand maitre d'hotel to the king, the victim of Jean
sans Peur, is placed high on a cart, preceded by two trumpeters.
He wears his robe of state, hood, cloak, and hose half red
and half white, and his gold spurs, which are left on the feet
of the beheaded and suspended corpse. By special order of
Louis XI, the head of maitre Oudart de Bussy, who had
refused a seat in the Parlement, was dug up and exhibited
in the market-place of Hesdin, covered with a scarlet hood
lined with fur " selon la mode des conseillers de Parlement,"
with explanatory verses.
Barer than processions and executions were the sermons
of itinerant preachers, coming to shake people by their elo-
quence. The modern reader of newspapers can no longer
conceive the violence of impression caused by the spoken
word on an ignorant mind lacking mental food. The Fran-
ciscan friar Richard preached in Paris in 1429 during ten
consecutive days. He began at five in the morning and spoke
without a break till ten or eleven, for the most part in the
cemetery of the Innocents. When, at the close of his tenth
sermon, he announced that it was to be his last, because he
had no permission to preach more, " great and small wept as
touchingly and as bitterly as if they were watching their
best friends being buried ; and so did he." Thinking that he
would preach once more at Saint Denis on the Sunday the
people flocked thither on Saturday evening, and passed the
night in the open, to secure good seats.
AnothOT Minorite friar, Antoine Fradin, whom the magis-
trate of RMS had forbidden to preach, because he inveighed
aamst the bad government, is guided night and day in the
Cordeliers monastery, by women posted axound the building
armed with ashes and stones. In all the towns where the
famous Dominican preacher Vincent Ferrer is expected, the
an b ' and Pes
and bishops, set out to greet him with, joyous songs. He
The Violent Tenor o/ Life
journeys with a numerous and ever-increasing following of
adherents, who every night make a circuit of the town in
procession, with chants and flagellations. Officials are
appointed to take charge of lodging and feeding these multi-
tudes. A large number of priests of various religious orders
accompany him everywhere, to assist him in celebrating mass
and in confessing the faithful. Also several notaries, to
draw up, on the spot, deeds embodying the reconciliations
which this holy preacher everywhere brings about. His
pulpit has to be protected by a fence against the pressure of
the congregation which wants to kiss his hand or habit. Work
is at a stand-still all the time he preaches. He rarely fails
to move his auditors to teats. When he spoke of the Last
Judgment, of Hell, or of the Passion, both he and his hearers
wept so copiously that he had to suspend his sermon till the
sobbing had ceased. Malefactors threw themselves at his
feet, before every one, confessing their great sins. One day,
while he was preaching, he saw two persons, who had been
condemned to death a man and a woman being led to
execution. He begged to have the execution delayed, had
them both placed under the pulpit, and went on with his
sermon, preaching about their sins. After the sermon, only
some bones were found in the place they had occupied, and
the people were convinced that the word of the saint had
consumed and saved them at the same time.
After Olivier Maillard had been preaching Lenten sermons
at Orleans, the roofs of the houses surrounding the place
whence he had addressed the people had been so damaged by
the spectators who had climbed on to them, that the roofer
sent in a bill for repairs extending over sixty-four days.
The diatribes of the preachers against dissoluteness and
luxury produced violent excitement which was translated
into action. Long before Savonarola, started bonfires of
" vanities " at Florence, to the irreparable loss of art, the
custom of these holocausts of articles of luxury and amuse-
ment was prevalent both in France and in Italy. At the sum-
mons of a famous preacher, men and women would hasten
to bring cards, dice, finery, ornaments, and burn them with
great pomp. Renunciation of the sin of vanity in this way
had taken a fixed and solemn form of public manifestation,
6 The Waning of the Middle Ages
in accordance with the tendency of the age to invent a style
for everything.
All this general facility of emotions, of tears and spiritual
upheavals, must be borne in mind in order to conceive fully
how violent and high-strung was life at that period.
Public mourning still presented the outward appearance
of a general calamity. At the funeral of Charles VII, the
people are quite appalled on seeing the cortege of all the court
dignitaries, "dressed in the deepest mourning, which was
most pitiful to see ; and because of the great sorrow and grief
they exhibited for the death of their master, many tears were
shed and lamentations uttered throughout the town." People
were especially touched at the sight of six pages of the king
mounted on horses quite covered with black velvet. One of
the pages, according to a rumour, had neither eaten nor drunk
for four days. " And God knows what doleful and piteous
plaints they made, mourning for their master."
Solemnities of a political character also led to abundant
weeping. An ambassador of the king of France repeatedly
bursts into tears while addressing a courteous harangue to
Philip the Good. At the meeting of the kings of France and
of England at Ardres, at the reception of the dauphin at
Brussels, at the 1 departure of John of Counbre from the court
of Burgundy, all the spectators weep hot tears. Chastellain
describes the dauphin, the future Louis XI, during his volun-
tary exile in Brabant, as subject to frequent fits of weeping.
Unquestionably there is some exaggeration in these descrip-
tions of the chroniclers. In describing the emotion caused
by the addresses of the ambassadors at the peace congress at
Arras, in 1435, Jean Germain, bishop of Chalons, makes the
auditors throw themselves on the ground, sobbing and groan-
ing. Things, of course, did not happen thus, but thus the
bishop thought fit to represent them, and the palpable exag-
geration reveals a foundation of truth. As with the senti-
mentalists of the eighteenth century, tears were considered
fine and honourable. Even nowadays an indifferent spectator
of a public procession sometimes feels himself suddenly moved
to inexplicable teaxs. In an age filled with religious rever-
ence for all pomp and grandeur, this propensity will appear
altogether natural
The Violent Tenor of Life
A simple instance will suffice to show the high degree of
irritability which distinguishes the Middle Ages from our own
time. One can hardly imagine a more peaceful game than
that of chess. Still like the chansons de gestes of some centuries
back, Olivier de la Marche mentions frequent quarrels arising
over it : " le plus saige y pert patience."
A scientific historian of the Middle Ages, relying first and
foremost on official documents, which rarely refer to the
passions, except violence and cupidity, occasionally runs the
risk of neglecting the difference of tone between the life of the
expiring Middle Ages and that of our own days. Such docu-
ments would sometimes make us forget the vehement pathos
of medieval life, of which the chroniclers, however defective
as to material facts, always keep us in mind.
In more than one respect life had still the colours of a fairy-
story ; that is to say, it assumed those colours in the eyes of
contemporaries. The court chroniclers were men of culture,
and they observed the princes, whose deeds they recorded, at
close quarters, yet even they give these records a somewhat
archaic, hieratic air. The following story, told by Chastellain,
serves to prove this. The young count of Gharolais, the later
Charles the Bold, on arriving at Gorcum, in Holland, on his
way from Sluys, learns that his father, the duke, has taken all
his pensions and benefices from him. Thereupon he calls his
whole court into his presence, down to the scullions, and in a
touching speech imparts his misfortune to them, dwelling on
his respect for his ill-informed father, and on his anxiety about
the welfare of all his retinue. Let those who have the means
to live, remain with him awaiting the return of good fortune ;
let the poor go away freely, and let them come back when they
hear that the count's fortune has been re-established : they
will all return to their old places, and the count will reward
them for their patience. " Then were heard cries and sobs,
and with one accord they shouted : ' We all, we all, my lord,
will live and die with thee.' " Profoundly touched, Charles
accepts their devotion : " Well, then, stay and suffer, and I
will suffer for you, rather than that you should be in want."
The nobles then come and offer him what they possess, " one
saying, I have a thousand, another, ten thousand ; I have this,
8 The Waning of the Middle Ages
I have that to place at thy service, and I am ready to share all
that may befall thee." And in this way everything went on
as usual, and there was never a hen the less in the kitchen.
Clearly this story has been more or less touched up. What
interests us is that Chastellain sees the prince and his court
in the epic guise of a popular ballad. If this is a literary man's
conception, how brilliant must royal life have appeared, when
displayed in almost magic splendour, to the naive imagination
of the uneducated !
Although in reality the mechanism of government had
already assumed rather complicated forms, the popular mind
pictures it in simple and fixed figures. The current political
ideas are those of the Old Testament, of the romaunt and the
ballad. The kings of the time are reduced to a certain number
of types, every one of which corresponds, more or less, to a
literary motif. There is the wise and just prince, the prince
deceived by evil counsellors, the prince who avenges the
honour of his family, the unfortunate prince to whom his
servants remain faithful. In the mind of the people political
questions are reduced to stories of adventure. Philip the
Good knew the political language which the people under-
stands. To convince the Hollanders and Frisians that he was
perfectly able to conquer the bishopric of Utrecht, he exhibits,
during the festivities of the Hague, in 1456, precious plate to
the value of thirty thousand silver marks. Everybody may
come and look at it. Amongst other things, two hundred
thousand gold lions have been brought from Lille contained
in two chests which every one may try to lift up. The demon-
stration of the solvency of the state took the form of an enter-
tainment at a fair.
Often we find a fantastic element in the life of princes which
reminds us of the caliph of the Arabian Nights. Charles VI
disguised and mounted with a friend on a single horse wit-'
nesses the entrance of his betrothed and is knocked about in
the crowd by petty constables. Philip the Good, whom the
physicians ordered to have his head shaved, issues a command
to all the nobles to do likewise, and charges Pierre de Hagen^
bach with the cropping of any whom he finds recalcitrant. In
the midst of coolly calculated enterprises princes sometimes
act with an impetuous temerity, which endangers their lives
The Violent Tenor of Life 9
and their policy. Edward III does not hesitate to expose his
life and that of the prince of Wales in order to capture some
Spanish merchantmen, in revenge for deeds of piracy. Philip
the Good interrupts the most serious political business to
make the dangerous crossing from Rotterdam to Sluys for the
sake of a mere whim. On another occasion, mad with rage
in consequence of a quarrel with his son, he leaves Brussels
in the night alone, and loses his way in the woods. The knight
Philippe Pot, to whom fell the delicate task of pacifying him
on his return, lights upon the happy phrase : " Good day, my
liege, good day, what is this ? Art thou playing King Arthur,
now, or Sir Lancelot ? "
The custom of princes, in the fifteenth century, frequently
to seek counsel in political matters from ecstatic preachers
and great visionaries, maintained a kind of religious tension
in state affairs which at any moment might manifest itself in
decisions of a totally unexpected character.
At the end of the fourteenth century and at the beginning
of the fifteenth, the political stage of the kingdoms of Europe
was so crowded with fierce and tragic conflicts that the peoples
could not help seeing all that regards royalty as a succession
of sanguinary and romantic events : in England, King Richard
II dethroned and next secretly murdered, while nearly at the
same time the highest monarch in Christendom, his brother-
in-law Wenzel, king of the Romans, is deposed by the electors ;
in France, a mad king and soon afterwards fierce party strife,
openly breaking out with the appalling murder of Louis of
Orleans in 1407, and indefinitely prolonged by the retaliation
of 1419 when Jean sans Peur is murdered at Montereau. With
their endless train of hostility and vengeance, these two
murders have given to the history of Prance, during a whole
century, a sombre tone of hatred. For the contemporary
mind cannot help seeing all the national misfortunes which
the struggle of the houses of Orleans and of Burgundy was to
unchain, in the light of that sole dramatic motive of princely
vengeance. It finds no explanation for historic events save
in personal quarrels and motives of passion.
In addition to all these evils came the increasing obsession
of the Turkish peril, and the still vivid recollection of the
catastrophe of Nicopolis in 1396, where a reckless attempt
10 The Waning of the Middle Ages
to save Christendom had ended in the wholesale slaughter
of French chivalry. Lastly, the great schism of the West
had lasted already for a quarter of a century, unsettling all
notions about the stability of the Church, dividing every land
and community. Two, soon three, claimants contending for
the papacy ! One of them, the obstinate Aragonese Peter
of Luna, or Benedict XIII, was commonly called in France " le
Pappe. de la Lune." What can an ignorant populace have
imagined when hearing such a name ?
The familiar image of Fortune's wheel from which kings
are falling with their crowns and their sceptres took a living
shape in the person of many an expelled prince, roaming from
court to court, without means, but full of projects and still
decked with the splendour of the marvellous East whence he
had fled the king of Armenia, the king of Cyprus, before
long the emperor of Constantinople. It is not surprising that
the people of Paris should have believed in the tale of the
Gipsies, who presented themselves in 1427, "a duke and a
count and ten men, all on horseback," while others, to the
number of 120, had to stay outside the town. They came
from Egypt, they said ; the pope had ordered them, by way
of penance for their apostasy, to wander about for seven years,
without sleeping in a bed ; there had been 1,200 of them, but
their king, their queen and all the others had died on the way ;
as a mitigation the pope had ordered that every bishop and
abbot was to give them ten pounds tournois. The p6ople of
Paris came in great numbers to see them, and have their
fortunes told by women who eased thenf of their money " by
magic art or in other ways."
The inconstancy oithe fortune of princes was strikingly
embodied in the person of King Ben6. Having aspired to the
crowns of Hungaiy, of Sicily, and of Jerusalem, he had lost all
his opportunities, and reaped nothing but a series of defeats,
and imprisonments, chequered by perilous escapes. The royal
poet, a lover of the arts, consoled himself for all his dis-
appointments on his estates in Anjou and in Ptovence his
cruel fate had not cured him of his predilection for pastoral
enjoyment. He had seen all his children* die but one a
daughter for whom was reserved a fate even harder than his
own. Mamed at sixteen to an imbecile bigot, Bfexury VI of
The Vioknt Tenor of Life 11
England, Margaret of Anjou, full of wit, ambition and passion,
after living for many years in that hell of hatred and of perse-
cution, the English court, lost her crown when the quarrel
between York and Lancaster at last broke out into civil war.
Having found refuge, after many dangers and suffering, at
the court of Burgundy, she told Chastellain the story of her
adventures : how she had been forced to commit herself and
her young son to the mercy of a robber, how at mass she had
had to ask a Scotch archer a penny for her offering, " who
reluctantly and with regret took a groat scots for her out of
his purse and lent it her." The good historiographer, moved
by so much misfortune, dedicated to her "a certain little
treatise on fortune, based on its inconstancy and deceptive
nature," which he entitled Le Temple de Bocace. He could
not guess that still graver calamities were in store for the
unfortunate queen. At the battle of Tewkesbury, in 1471,
the fortunes of Lancaster went down for ever. Her only son
perished there, probably slaughtered after the battle. Her
husband was secretly murdered ; she herself was imprisoned
in the Tower of London, where she remained for five years,
to be at last given up by Edward IV to Louis XI, who made
her renounce her father's inheritance as the price of her
liberty.
An atmosphere of passion and adventure enveloped the
lives of princes. It was not popular fancy alone which lent
it that colour.
A present-day reader, studying the history of the Middle
Ages based on official documents, will never sufficiently realize
the extreme excitability of the medieval soul. The picture
drawn mainly from official records, though they may be the
most reliable sources, will lack one element : that of the
vehement passion possessing princes and peoples alike. To
be sure, the passionate element is not absent from modern
politics, but it is now restrained and diverted for the most
part by the complicated mechanism of social life. Five
centuries ago it still made frequent and violent irruptions into
practical politics, upsetting rational schemes. In princes this
violence of sentiment is doubled by pride and the conscious-
ness of power, and therefore operates with a twofold impetus.
It is not surprising, says Ghastellain, that princes often live
12 The Waning of the Middle Ages
in hostility, " for princes are men, and their affairs are high
and perilous, and their natures are subject to many passions,
such as hatred and envy ; their hearts are veritable dwelling-
places of these, because of their pride in reigning."
In writing the history of the house of Burgundy, the leit-
motiv should constantly keep before our minds the spirit of
revenge. Nobody, of course, will now seek the explanation
of the whole conflict of power and interests, whence proceeded
the secular struggle between Prance and the house of Austria,
in the family feud between Orleans and Burgundy. All
sorts of causes of a general nature political, economic,
ethnographic have contributed to the genesis of that great
conflict. But we should never forget that the apparent
origin of it, and the central motive dominating it, was, to the
men of the fifteenth century and even later, the thirst for
revenge. To them Philip the Good is always, in the first
place, the avenger, " he who, to avenge the outrage done to
the person of Duke John, sustained the war for sixteen years."
He had undertaken it as a sacred duty: "with the most
violent and deadly hatred he would give himself up to revenge
the dead, as far as ever God would permit him, and he would
devote to it body and soul, substance and lands, submitting
everything to Fortune, considering it more a salutary task and
agreeable to God to undertake it, than to leave it."
Bead the long list of expiatory deeds which the treaty of
Arras demanded in 1436 chapels, monasteries, churches,
chapters to be founded, crosses to be erected, masses to be
chanted then one realizes the immensely high rate at which
men valued the need of vengeance and of reparations to out-
raged honour. The Burgundians were not alone in thinking
after this fashion ; the most enlightened man of his century,
Aeneas Sylvius, in one of his letters praises Philip above all
the other princes of his time, for his ajoxiety to avenge his
father.
According to La Maxche, this duty of honour and revenge
was to the duke's subjects also the cardinal point of poli cy
All the dominions of the duke, he says, were clamouring for
vengeance along with him. We shall find it difficult to believe
tbos, wten we remember, for instance, the commercial relations
between Flaaders and England, a more important political
The Violent Tenor of Life 13
factor, it would seem, than the honour of the ducal family.
But to understand the sentiment of the age itself, one should
look for the avowed and conscious political ideas. There can be
no doubt that no other political motive could be better under-
stood by the people than the primitive motives of hatred and
of vengeance. Attachment to princes had still an emotional
character ; it was based on the innate and immediate senti-
ments of fidelity and fellowship, it was still feudal sentiment
at bottom. It was rather party feeling than political. The
last three centuries of the Middle Ages are the time of the
great party struggles. From the thirteenth century onward
inveterate party quarrels arise in nearly all countries : first
in Italy, then in France, the Netherlands, Germany and
England. Though economic interests may sometimes have
been at the bottom of these quarrels, the attempts which
have been made to disengage them often smack somewhat
of arbitrary construction. The desire to discover economic
causes is to some degree a craze with us, and sometimes
leads us to forget a much simpler psychological explanation
of the facts.
In the feudal age the private wars between two families
have no othey discernible reason than rivalry of rank and
covetousness of possessions. Racial pride, thirst of ven-?
geance, fidelity, are their primary and direct motives. There
are no grounds to ascribe another economic basis to them than
mere greed of one's neighbour's riches. Accordingly as the
central power consolidates and extends, these isolated quarrels
unite, agglomerate to groups ; large parties are formed, are
polarized, so to say ; while their members know of no other
grounds for their concord or enmity than those of honour,
tradition and fidelity. Their economic differences are often
only a consequence of their relation towards their rulers.
Every page of medieval history proves the spontaneous and
passionate character of the sentiments of loyalty and devotion
to the prince. At Abbeville, in 1462, a messenger comes at
night, bringing the news of a dangerous illness of the duke of
Burgundy. His son requests the good towns to pray for him.
At once the aldermen order the bells of the church of Saint
Vulfran to be rung ; the whole population wakes up and goes
to church, where it remains all night in prayer, kneeling or
14 The Waning of (he Middle Ages
prostrate on the ground, with "grandes allumeries merveil-
leuses," while the bells keep tolling.
It might be thought that the schism, which had no dogmatic
cause, could hardly awaken religious passions in countries
distant from Avignon and of Rome, in which the two popes
were only known by name. Yet in fact it immediately
engendered a fanatical hatred, such as exists between the
faithful and infidels. When the town of Bruges went over to
the " obedience " of Avignon, a great number of people left
their house, trade or prebend, to go and live according to their
party views in some diocese of the Urbanist obedience : Lidge,
Utrecht, or elsewhere. In 1382 the oriflamme, which might
only be unfurled in a holy cause, was taken up against the
Flemings, because they were Urbanists, that is, infidels.
Pierre Salmon, a ^French political agent, arriving at Utrecht
about Easter, could not find a priest there willing to admit
him to the communion service, " because they said I was a
schismatic and believed in Benedict the anti-pope."
The emotional character of party sentiments and of fidelity
was further heightened by the powerfully suggestive effect of
all the outward signs of these divergences : liveries, colours,
badges, party cries. During the first years of the war between
the Armagnacs and the Burgundians, these signs succeeded
eacli other in Paris with a dangerous alternation : a purple
hood with the cross of Saint Andrew, white hoods, then violet
ones. Even priests, women and children wore distinctive
signs. The images of saints were decorated with them; it
was asserted that certain priests, during mass and in baptizing,
refused to make the sign of the cross in the orthodox way, but
made it in the form of a Saint Andrew cross.
In the blind passion with which people followed their lord
or their party, the unshakable sentiment of right, character-
istic of the Middle Ages, is trying to find expression. Man at'
that time is convinced that right is absolutely fixed and
certain. Justice should prosecute the unjust everywhere and
to the end. Reparation and retribution have to be extreme,
and assume the character of revenge. la this exaggerated
need of justice, primitive barbarism, pagan at bottom, blends
with the Christian conception of society. The Church, on
the one hand, had inculcated gentleness and clemency, and
The Violent Tenor of Life 15
tried, in tliat way, to soften judicial morals. On the other
hand, in adding to the primitive need of retribution the horror
of sin, it had, to a certain extent, stimulated the sentiment of
justice. And sin, to violent and impulsive spirits, was only
too frequently another name for what their enemies did. The
barbarous idea of retaliation was reinforced by fanaticism.
The chronic insecurity made the greatest possible severity
on the part of the public authorities desirable ; crime came to
be regarded as a menace to order and society, as well as an
insult to divine majesty. Thus it was natural that the late
Middle Ages should become the special period of judicial
cruelty. That the criminal deserved his punishment was not
doubted for a moment. The popular sense of justice always
sanctioned the most rigorous penalties. At intervals the
magistrate undertook regular campaigns of severe justice,
now against brigandage, now against sorcery or sodomy.
What strikes us in this judicial cruelty and in the joy the
people felt at it, is rather brutality than perversity. Torture
and executions are enjoyed by the spectators like an enter-
tainment at a fair. The citizens of Mons bought a brigand,
at far too high a price, for the pleasure of seeing him quartered,
" at which the people rejoiced more than if a new holy body
had risen from the dead." The people of Bruges, in 1488,
during the captivity of Maximilian, king of the Romans,
cannot get their fill of seeing the tortures inflicted, on a high
platform in the middle of the market-place, on the magistrates
suspected of treason. The unfortunates are refused the death-
blow which they implore, that the people may feast again
upon their torments.
Both in France and in England, the custom existed of
refusing confession and the extreme unction to a criminal
condemned to death. Sufferings and fear of death were to
be aggravated by the certainty of eternal damnation. In
vain had the council of Vienne in 1311 ordered to grant them
at least the sacrament of penitence. Towards the end of the
fourteenth century the same custom still existed. Charles V
himself, moderate though he was, had declared that no change
would be made in his lifetime. The chancellor Pierre d'Orge-
mont, whose " forte cervelle," says Philippe de M&zi&res, was
more difficult to turn than a mill-stone, remained deaf to
16 The Waning of the Middle Ages
the humane remonstrances of the latter. It was only after
Gerson had joined his voice to that of M6zi&res that a royal
decree of the 12th of February, 1397, ordered that confession
should be accorded to the condemned. A stone cross erected
by the care of Pierre de Craon, who had interested himself in
the decree, marked the place where the Minorite friars might
assist penitents going to execution. And even then the bar-
barous custom did not disappear. Etienne Ponchier, bishop
of Paris, had to renew the decree of 1311 in 1500.
In 1427 a noble brigand is hanged in Paris. At the moment
when he is going to be executed, the great treasurer of the
regent appears on the scene and vents his hatred against him ;
he prevents his confession, in spite of his prayers ; he climbs
the ladder behind him, shouting insults, beats him with a
stick, and gives the hangman a thrashing for exhorting the
victim to think of his salvation. The hangman grows nervous
and bungles his work ; the cord snaps, the wretched criminal
falls on the ground, breaks a leg and some ribs, and in this
condition has to climb the ladder again.
The Middle Ages knew nothing of all those ideas which have
rendered our sentiment of justice timid and hesitating: doubts
as to the criminal's responsibility ; the conviction that society
is, to a certain extent, the accomplice of the individual ; the
desire to reform instead of inflicting pain ; and, we may even
add, the fear of judicial errors. Or rather these ideas were
implied, unconsciously, in the very strong and direct feeling
of pity and of forgiveness which alternated with extreme
severity. Instead of lenient penalties, inflicted with hesita-
tion, the Middle Ages knew but the two extremes : the ful-
ness of cruel punishment, and mercy. When the condemned
criminal is pardoned, the question whether he deserves it for
any special reasons is hardly asked ; for mercy has to be gratui-
tous, like the mercy of God. In practice, it was not always
pure pity which determined the question of pardon. The
princes of the fifteenth century were very liberal of " lettres
de remission " for misdeeds of all sorts, and contemporaries
thought it quite natural, that they were obtained by the inter-
cession of noble relatives. The majority of these documents,
however, concern poor common people.
The contrast of cruelty and of pity recurs at every turn in
The Violent Tenor of Life 17
the manners and customs of the Middle Ages. On the one
hand, the sick, the poor, the insane, are objects of that deeply
moved pity, born of a feeling of fraternity akin to that which
is so strikingly expressed in modern Russian literature ; on
the other hand, they are treated with incredible hardness or
cruelly mocked. The chronicler Pierre de Fenin, having
described the death of a gang of brigands, winds up naively :
" and people laughed a good deal, because they were all poor
men." In 1425, an " esbatement " takes place in Paris, of
four blind beggars, armed with sticks, with which they hit
each other in trying to kill a pig, which is the prize of the
combat. On the evening before they are led through
the town, " all armed, with a great banner in front, on which
was pictured a pig, and preceded by a man beating a drum."
In the fifteenth century, female dwarfs were objects of
amusement, as they still were at the court of Spain when
Velazquez painted their infinitely sad faces. Madame d'Or,
the blond dwarf of Philip the Good, was. famous. She was
made to wrestle, at a court festival, with the acrobat Hans.
At the wedding-feasts of Charles the Bold, in 1468, Madame
de Beaugrant, the female dwarf of Mademoiselle of Burgundy,
enters dressed like a shepherdess, mounted on a golden Eon,
larger than a horse ; she is presented to the young duchess
and placed on the table. As to the fate of these small creatures,
the account-books are more eloquent for us than any senti-
mental complaint could be. They tell us of a dwarf-girl
whom a duchess caused to be fetched from her home, and how
her parents came to visit her from time to time and receive a
gratuity. " Au p&re de Belon la folle, qui estoit venu veoir
ea fille. . . . 27s. 6eZ." The poor fellow perhaps went home
well pleased and much elated about the court function of his
daughter. That same year a locksmith of Blois furnished two
iron collars, the one " to make fast Belon, the fool, and the
other to put round the neck of the monkey of her grace the
Duchess."
In the harshness of those times there is something ingenuous
which almost forbids us to condemn it. When the massacre of
the Armagnacs was in full swing in 1418, the Parisians founded
a brotherhood of Saint Andrew in the church of Saint Eustache :
everyone, priest or layman, wore a wreath of red roses, so that
o
18 The Waning of the Middle Ages
the church was perfumed by them, " as if it had been washed
with rose-water." The people of Arras celebrate the annul-
ment of the sentences for witchcraft, which during the whole
year 1461 had infested the town like an epidemic, by joyous
festivals and a competition in acting "folies moralisees," of
which the prizes were a gold fleur-de-lis, a brace of capons,
etc. ; nobody, it seems, thought any more of the tortured
and executed victims.
So violent and motley was life, that it bore the mixed smell
of blood and of roses. The men of that time always oscillate
between the fear of hell and the most naive joy, between
cruelty and tenderness, between harsh asceticism and insane
attachment to the delights of this world, between hatred and
goodness, always miming to extremes.
After the close of the Middle Ages the mortal sins of pride,
anger and covetousness have never again shown the unabashed
insolence with which they manifested themselves in the life
of preceding centuries. The whole history of the house of
Burgundy is like an epic of overweening and heroic pride,
which takes the form of bravura and ambition with Philippe
le Hardi, of hatred and envy with Jean sans Peur, of the lust
of vengeance and fondness for display with Philip the Good,
of foolhardy temerity and obstinacy with Charles the Bold.
Medieval doctrine found the root of all evil either in the
sin of pride or in cupidity. Both opinions were based on
Scripture texts : A superbia initium sum/psit omnis perditio.
Radix omnium malorum est cupiditas. It seems, nevertheless,
that from the twelfth century downward people begin to find the
principle of evil rather in cupidity than in pride. The voices
which condemn blind cupidity, " la cieca cupidigia " of Dante,
become louder and louder. Pride might perhaps be called the
sin of the feudal and hierarchic age. Very little property is,
in the modern sense, liquid, while power is not yet associated,
predominantly, with money ; it is still rather inherent in the
person and depends on a sort of religious awe which he inspires ;
it makes itself felt by pomp and magnificence, or a numerous
train of faithful followers. Feudal or hierarchic thought ex-
presses the idea of grandeur by visible signs, lending to it
a symbolic shape, of homage paid kneeling, of ceremonial
reverence. Pride, therefore, is a symbolic sin, and from the
The Violent Tenor of Life 19
fact that, in the last resort, it derives from the pride of Lucifer,
the author of all evil, it assumes a metaphysical character.
Cupidity, on the other hand, has neither this symbolic
character nor these relations with theology. It is a purely
worldly sin, the impulse of nature and of the flesh. In the
later Middle Ages the conditions of power had been changed
by the increased circulation of money, and an illimitable field
opened to whosoever was desirous of satisfying his ambitions
by heaping up wealth. To this epoch cupidity becomes the
predominant sin. Riches have not acquired the spectral
impalpability which capitalism, founded on credit, will give
them later ; what haunts the imagination is still the tangible
yellow gold. The enjoyment of riches is direct and primitive ;
it is not yet weakened by the mechanism of an automatic
and invisible accumulation by investment ; the satisfaction
of being rich is found either in luxury and dissipation, or in
gross avarice.
Towards the end of the Middle Ages feudal and hierarchic
pride had lost nothing, as yet, of its vigour ; the relish for
pomp and display is as strong as ever. This primitive pride
has now united itself with the growing sin of cupidity, and it
is this mixture of the two which gives the expiring Middle
Ages a tone of extravagant passion that never appears again.
A furious chorus of invectives against cupidity and avarice
rises up everywhere from the literature of that period.
Preachers, moralists, satirical writers, chroniclers and poets
speak with one voice. Hatred of rich people, especially of the
new rich, who were then very numerous, is general. Official
records confirm the most incredible cases of unbridled avidity
told by the chronicles. In 1436 a quarrel between two beggars,
in which a few drops of blood had been shed, had soiled the
church of the Innocents at Paris. The bishop, Jacques du
Chfitelier, "a very ostentatious, grasping man, of a more
worldly disposition than his station required/' refused to
consecrate the church anew, unless he received a certain sum
of money from the two poor men, which they did not possess, so
that the service was interrupted for twenty-two days. Even
worse happened under his successor, Denys de Moulins.
During four months of the year 1441, he prohibited both
burials and processions in the cemetery of the Innocents, the
20 The Waning of the Middle Ages
most favoured of all, because the church could not pay the
tax he demanded. This Denys de Moulins was reputed " a
man who showed very little pity to people, if he did not receive
money or some equivalent ; and it was told for truth that he
had more than fifty lawsuits before the Parlement, for nothing
could be got out of him without going to law."
A general feeling of impending calamity hangs over all.
Perpetual danger prevails everywhere. To realize the continu-
ous insecurity in which the lives of great and small alike were
passed, it suffices to read the details which Monsieur Pierre
Champion has collected regarding the persons mentioned by
Villon in his Testament, or the notes of Monsieur A. Tuetey
to the diary of a Burgher of Paris. They present to us an
interminable string of lawsuits, crimes, assaults and perse-
cutions. A chronicle like that of Jacques du Clercq, or a diary
such as that of the citizen of Metz, Philippe de Vigneulles,
perhaps lay too much stress on the darker side of contemporary
lif e, but every investigation of the careers of individual persons
seems to confirm them, by revealing to us strangely troubled
lives.
In reading the chronicle of Mathieu d'Escouchy, simple,
exact, impartial, moralizing, one would think that the author
was a studious, quiet and honest man. His character was
unknown before Monsieur du Fresne de Beaucourt had elicited
the history of his life from the archives. But what a life
it was, that of this representative of " col&rique Picardie."
Alderman, then, towards 1445 provost, of P6ronne, we find
him from the outset engaged in a family quarrel with Jean
Froment, the city syndic. They harass each other recipro-
cally with lawsuits, for forgery and murder, for " exces et
attemptaz." The attempt of the provost to get the widow
of his enemy condemned for witchcraft costs him dear.
Summoned before the Parlement of Paris himself, d'Escouchy
is imprisoned. We find him again in prison as an accused
on five more occasions, always in grave criminal causes, and
more than once in heavy chains, A son of Froment wounds
him in an encounter. Each of the parties hires brigands to
assail the other. After this long feud ceases to be mentioned
in the records, others arise of similar violence. All this does
not check the career of d'Escouchy : he becomes bailiff, provost
The Violent Tenor of Life 21
of Eibemont, "procureur du roi" at Saint Quentin; he is
ennobled. He is taken prisoner at Montlhery, then comes
back maimed from a later campaign. Next he marries, but
not to settle down to a quiet life. Once more, he appears
accused of counterfeiting seals, conducted to Paris " comme
larron et murdrier," forced into confessions by torture, pre-
vented from appealing, condemned; then rehabilitated and
again condemned, till the traces of this career of hatred and
persecutions disappear from the records.
Is it surprising that the people could see their fate and that
of the world only as an endless succession of evils ? Bad
government, exactions, the cupidity and violence of the great,
wars and brigandage, scarcity, misery and pestilence to this
is contemporary history nearly reduced in the eyes of the
people. The feeling of general insecurity which was caused
by the chronic form wars were apt to take, by the constant
menace of the dangerous classes, by the mistrust of justice,
was further aggravated by the obsession of the coming end of
the world, and by the fear of hell, of sorcerers and of devils.
The background of all life in the world seems black. Every-
where the flames of hatred arise and injustice reigns. Satan
covers a gloomy earth with his sombre wings. In vain the
militant Church battles, preachers deliver their sermons ; the
world remains unconverted. According to a popular belief,
current towards the end of the fourteenth century, no one,
since the beginning of the great Western schism, had entered
Paradise.
CHAPTER II
PESSIMISM AND THE IDEAL OF THE SUBLIME
LIFE
At the close of the Middle Ages, a sombre melancholy weighs
on people's souls. Whether we read a chronicle, a poem, a
sermon, a legal document even, the same impression of im-
mense sadness is produced by them all. It would sometimes
seem as if this period had been particularly unhappy, as if it
had left behind only the memory of violence, of covetousness
and mortal hatred, as if it had known no other enjoyment but
that of intemperance, of pride and of cruelty.
Now in the records of all periods misfortune has left more
traces than happiness. Great evils form the groundwork of
history. We are perhaps inclined to assume without much
evidence that, roughly speaking, and notwithstanding all
calamities, the sum of happiness can have hardly changed
from one period to another. But in the fifteenth century, as
in the epoch of romanticism, it was, so to say, bad form to
praise the world and life openly. It was fashionable to see
only its suffering and misery, to discover everywhere signs
of decadence and of the near end in short, to condemn the
times or to despise them.
We look in vain in the French literature of the beginning
of the fifteenth century for the vigorous optimism which will
spring up at the Eenaissance though, by the way, the optimist
tendency of the Renaissance is sometimes exaggerated. The
exulting exclamation of TJlrich von Hutten, which has become
trite from much quoting, " saeculum, literae ! juvat
vivere ! " l expresses the enthusiasm of the scholar rather
than that of the man. With the humanists optimism is
still tempered by the ancient contempt, both Christian and
1 " O world, letters, it is a delight to live ! "
22
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 23
Stoic, for the world. A passage extracted from a letter written
by Erasmus in 1518, may serve better than Hutten's exclama-
tion to show the average valuation put upon life by a humanist.
" I am not so greatly attached to life ; having entered upon
my fifty-first year, I judge I have lived long enough ; and on
the other hand, I see in this life nothing so excellent or agree-
able that a man might wish for it, on whom the Christian
creed has conferred the hope of a much happier life, in store
for those who have attached themselves closely to piety.
Nevertheless, at present, I could almost wish to be rejuvenated
for a few years, for this only reason that I believe I see a golden
age dawning in the near future." He then describes the
concord reigning among the princes of Christendom and their
inclination to peace which was so dear to him personally
then he continues : " Everything confirms my hope that not
only good morals and Christian piety will be reborn and flourish,
but also pure and true literature and good learning." Thanks
to the protection of princes, be it understood. " It is to their
pious feelings that we are indebted for seeing everywhere, as
at a given signal, illustrious spirits awakening and conspiring
to restore good learning."
In short, the appreciation of the joys of life, which Erasmus
manifests, is fairly cool ; moreover, he soon changed his mood
of hopeful expectation, never to find it again. However,
compared with current feeling in the preceding century,
except in Italy, Erasmus's appreciation might rather be called
warm. The men of letters at the court of Charles VII, or at
that of Philip the Good, never tire of inveighing against life
and the age. The note of despair and profound dejection is
predominantly sounded not by ascetic monks, but by the
court poets and the chroniclers laymen, living in aristocratic
circles and amid aristocratic ideas. Possessing only a slight
intellectual and moral culture, being for the most part strangers
to study and learning, and of only a feebly religious temper,
they were incapable of finding consolation or hope in the
spectacle of universal misery and decay, and could only
bewail the decline of the world and despair of justice and of
peace.
No one has been so lavish of complaints of this nature as
Eustache Deschamps :
24 The Waning of the Middle Ages
" Temps de doleur et do temptacion,
Aages de plour, d'envie et de tourment,
Temps de langour et de dampnacion,
Aages meneur pres du definement,
Temps plains d'orreur qui tout fait faussement,
Aage menteur, plain d'orgueil et d'envie,
Temps sanz honeur et sanz vray jugement,
Aage en tristesse qui abrege la vie," *
The ballads he has composed in this spirit may be counted
by the dozen : monotonous and gloomy variations of the same
dismal theme. There must have prevailed among the nobility
a general disposition to melancholy ; otherwise we could not
account for the manifest popularity of these poems.
" Toute teesse deffaut,
Tous cueurs ont prins par assaut
Tristesse et merencolie." 2
Towards the end of the fifteenth century, the tone is still
unchanged ; Jean Meschinot sighs as did Deschamps.
" O miserable et trds dolente vie ! ...
La guerre avons, mortality, famine ;
Le froid, le chaud, le jour, la nuit nous mine ;
Puces, cirons et tant d'autre vermine
Nous guerroyent. Bref, miserere domine
Noz meschans corps, dont le vivre est tres court." 8
He too is convinced that all goes wrong in the world ; there
is no justice any more ; the great exploit the small, and the
small exploit each other. He pretends to have been led by
his hypochondria within an ace of suicide. He depicts him-
self in the following terms :
1 Time of mourning and of temptation, Age of tears, of envy and of tor-
ment, Tune of languor and of damnation, Age of decline nigh to the end,
T*ne Ml of horror which does all things falsely, Lying age, full of pride and
of envy, Time without honour and without true judgment, Age of sadness
which shortens life.
1 All mirth is lost, All hearts have been taken by storm By sadness and
melancholv*
miserable and very sad life 1 ... We suffer from warfare, death
and famtae ; Cold and heat, day and night, sap oar strength ; Fleai
antes aad so much otter vermin Make war upon us. In short, have
.uwd, upon owe wicked persons, whose life is very short.
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 25
"Et je, le pouvre escrivain,
An cueur triste, faible et vain,
Voyant de chascun le deuil,
Soucy me tient en sa main ;
Toujours les larmes a 1'ceil,
Rien fors mourir je ne vueil." *
All that we get to know of the moral state of the nobles
points to a sentimental need of enrobing their souls with the
garb of woe. There is hardly one who does not come forward
to affirm that he has seen nothing but misery during his life
and expects only worse things from the future. Georges
Chastellain, the historiographer of the dukes of Burgundy and
chief of the Burgundian rhetorical school, speaks thus of him-
self in the prologue to his chronicle : " I, man of sadness, born
in an eclipse of darkness, and thick fogs of lamentation." His
successor, Olivier de la Marche, chooses for his device the lament,
" tant a souffert La Marche." 2 It would be interesting to
study from the point of view of physiognomy the portraits
of that time, which for the most part strike us by their sad
expression.
It is curious to notice the variation of meaning which
the word melancholy shows in the fourteenth century. The
ideas of sadness, of reflection, and of fancy, are blended in the
term. For example, in speaking of Philip of Artevelde, lost
in thought, in consequence of a message he had just received,
Froissart expresses himself thus : " Quant il eut merancoliet
une espasse, il s'avisa que il rescriproit aus commissaires dou roi
de France." 8 Deschamps says of something that is uglier
than could be imagined : no artist is " merencolieux " enough
to be able to paint it. The change of meaning evidently
shows a tendency to identify all serious occupation of the
mind with sadness.
The poetry of Bustache Deschamps is full of petty reviling
of life and its inevitable troubles. Happy is he who has no
children, for babies mean nothing but crying and stench ;
1 And I, poor writer, With the sad, feeble and vain heart, When I see
every one mourning, Then Affliction holds me in her hand ; I have always
tears in my eye, I wish for nothing but to die.
8 So much has La Marche suffered.
8 When he had reflected for a space, he resolved to answer the emissaries
of the king of France,
26 The Waning of the Middle Ages
they give only trouble and anxiety ; they have to be clothed
shod, fed ; they are always in danger of falling and hurting
themselves ; they contract some illness and die. When they
grow up, they may go to the bad and be put in prison. Nothing
but cares and sorrows ; no happiness compensates us for our
anxiety, for the trouble and expenses of their education. Is
there a greater evil than to have deformed children ? The
poet has no word of pity for their misfortune ; he holds
" Quo horns de membre contrefais
Est en sa pens6e meffais,
Plains de pechiez et plains de vices." *
Happy are bachelors, for a man who has an evil wife has a
bad time of it, and he who has a good one always fears to lose
her. In other words, happiness is feared together with mis-
fortune. In old age the poet sees only evil and disgust, a
lamentable decline of the body and the mind, ridicule and
insipidity. It comes soon, at thirty for a woman, at fifty for
a man, and neither lives beyond sixty, for the most part. It
is a far cry to the serene ideality of Dante's conception of noble
old age in the Convivio !
The world, says Deschamps, is like an old man fallen into
dotage. He has begun by being innocent, then he has been
wise for a long time, just, virtuous and strong :
** Or est laches, chetis et molz,
Vieulx, convoiteux et mal parlant :
Je ne voy que foles et f olz. . . .
La fin s'approche, en v&ite 1 . . . .
Tout va mal." 2
In another place he laments :
"Pour quoy est si obscurs le temps,
Que li uns 1'autre ne cognoist,
Mais znuent les gouvernements
De mal en pis, si corome on voit t
1 That a man with deformed limbs is misshapen of mind, Full of sins
and full of vices.
* Now the world is cowardly, decayed and weak, Old, covetous, confused
of speech : I see only female and male fools. . . The end approaches, in
sooth. . . . AH goes badly.
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 27
Le temps passe* trop mieulx valoit.
Qui regne ? Tristesse et Emmy ;
n ne court justice ne droit ;
Je ne see* mais desquelz je stty." l
And again :
" Se ce temps tient, je deviendray hennite,
Car je n'i voys fors que dueil et tourment." *
Pessimism of this kind has hardly anything to do with
religion. Deschamps only gives an off-hand pious purport
to his reflections. Despondency and spleen are at the bottom
of them, not piety. A contempt of the world, which is domi-
nated by fear of weariness and of sorrow, of disease and of old
age, is but an asceticism of the blase, born of disillusion and
of satiety. It has nothing in common with religion but its
terminology.
Even in ascetic utterances of a purer and loftier kind such
fear of life, such recoiling before its inevitable sorrows, is not
seldom mingled. The series of arguments which Jean Gerson
propounds in his Discours de V excellence de Virginite, written
for his sisters, with a view to keep them from marrying,
does not essentially differ from Deschamps* gloomy lamenta-
tions. All the evils attaching to wedlock are found there.
The husband may be a drunkard, a spendthrift, a miser. If
he be honest and good, bad harvests, death of cattle, a ship-
wreck may occur, robbing him of all he possesses. What
misery it is to be pregnant ! How many women die in child-
bed. The woman who suckles her baby knows neither rest
nor pleasure. Children may be deformed or disobedient ; the
husband may die, and leave his widow behind in care and
poverty.
Thus, always and everywhere in the literature of the age,
we find a confessed pessimism. As soon as the soul of these
men has passed from childlike mirth and unreasoning enjoy-
1 Why are the times BO dark That men do not know each other, But govern-
ments move From bad to worse, as we see ? The past was much better.
Who reigns ? Affliction and annoyance ; Justice nor law are current ; I
know no more where I belong.
* If the times remain so, I shall become a hermit, For I see nothing but
grief and torment.
28 The Waning of the Middle Ages
ment to reflection, deep dejection about all earthly misery
takes their place and they see only the woe of life. Still this
very pessimism is the ground whence their soul will soar up
to the aspiration of a life of beauty and serenity. For at
all times the vision of a sublime life has haunted the souls of
men, and the gloomier the present is, the more strongly this
aspiration will make itself felt.
Three different paths, at all times, have seemed to lead to
the ideal life. Firstly, that of forsaking the world. The
perfection of life here seems only to be reached beyond the
domain of earthly labour and delight, by a loosening of all
ties. The second path conducts to amelioration of the world
itself, by consciously improving political, social and moral in-
stitutions and conditions. Now, in the Middle Ages, Christian
faith had so strongly implanted in all minds the ideal of
renunciation as the base of all personal and social perfection,
that there was scarcely any room left for entering upon this
path of material and political progress. The idea of a pur-
posed and continual reform and improvement of society did
not exist. Institutions in general are considered as good or
as bad as they can be ; having been ordained by God, they are
intrinsically good, only the sins of men pervert them. What
therefore is in need of remedy is the individual soul. Legisla-
tion in the Middle Ages never aims consciously and avowedly
at creating a new organism ; professedly it is always oppor-
tunistic, it only restores good old law (or at least thinks it
does no more) or mends special abuses. It looks more towards
an ideal past than towards an earthly future. For the true
future is the Last Judgment, and that is near at hand.
It goes without saying that this mental disposition must
have greatly contributed to the general pessimism. If in all
that regards the things of this world there is no hope of improve-
ment and of progress, however slow, those who love the world
too much to give up its delights, and who nevertheless cannot
help aspiring to a better order of things, see nothing before
them but a gulf. We will have to wait till the eighteenth
century for even the Renaissance does not truly bring the
idea of progressbefore men resolutely enter the path of
social optimism ; only then the perfectibility of man and
society is raised to the rank of a central dogma, and the next
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 29
century will only lose the naivet6 of this belief, but not the
courage and optimism which it inspired.
It would be a mistake to think that the medieval mind,
lacking the ideas of progress and conscious reform, had only
known the religious form of the aspiration to ideal life. For
there is a third path to a world more beautiful, trodden in all
ages and civilizations, the easiest and also the most fallacious
of all, that of the dream. A promise of escape from the
gloomy actual is held out to all ; we have only to colour life
with fancy, to enter upon the quest of oblivion, sought in the
delusion of ideal harmony. After the religious and the social
solution we here have the poetical.
A simple tune suffices for the enrapturing fugue to develop
itself ; an outlook on the heroism, the virtue or the happiness
of an ideal past is all that is wanted. The themes are few in
number, and have hardly changed since antiquity ; we may
call them the heroic and the bucolic theme. Nearly all the
literary culture of later ages has been built upon them.
But was it only a question of literature, this third path to
the sublime life, this flight from harsh reality into illusion ?
Surely it has been more. History pays too little attention to
the influence of these dreams of a sublime life on civilization
itself and on the forms of social life. The content of the ideal
is a desire to return to the perfection of an imaginary past.
All aspiration to raise life to that level, be it in poetry only or
in fact, is an imitation. The essence of chivalry is the imita-
tion of the ideal hero, just as the imitation of the ancient sage
is the essence of humanism. Strongest and most lasting of
all is the illusion of a return to nature and its innocent charms
by an imitation of the shepherd's life. Since Theocritus it
has never lost its hold upon civilized society.
Now, the more primitive a society is, the more the need of
conforming real life to an ideal standard overflows beyond
literature into the sphere of the actual. Modern man is a
worker. To work is his ideal. The modern male costume
since the end of the eighteenth century is essentially a work-
man's dress. Since political progress and social perfection
have stood foremost in general appreciation, and the ideal
itself is sought in the highest production and most equitable
distribution of goods, there is no longer any need for playing
30 The Waning of the Middle Ages
the hero or the sage. The ideal itself has become democratic.
In aristocratic periods, on the other hand, to be representative
of true culture means to produce by conduct, by customs, by
manners, by costume, by deportment, the illusion of a heroic
being, full of dignity and honour, of wisdom and, at all events,
of courtesy. This seems possible by the aforesaid imitation
of an ideal past. The dream of past perfection ennobles life
and its forms, fills them with beauty and fashions them anew
as forms of art. Life is regulated like a noble game. Only a
small aristocratic group can come up to the standard of this
artistic game. To imitate the hero and the sage is not every-
body's business. Without leisure or wealth one does not
succeed in giving life an epic or idyllic colour. The aspiration
to realize a dream of beauty in the forms of social life bears
as a vitium originis the stamp of aristocratic exclusiveness.
Here, then, we have attained a point of view from which
we can consider the lay culture of the waning Middle Ages :
aristocratic life decorated by ideal forms, gilded by chival-
rous romanticism, a world disguised in the fantastic gear of
the Round Table.
The quest of the life beautiful is much older than the Italian
quattrocento. Here, as elsewhere, the line of demarcation
between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance has been too
much insisted upon. Florence had but to adopt and develop
ancient motifs which the Middle Ages had known. In spite
of the aesthetic distance separating the Giostre of the Medici
from the barbarous pageantry of the dukes of Burgundy, the
inspiration is the same. Italy, indeed, discovered new worlds
of beauty, and tuned life to a new tone ; but the impulse itself
to force it up to a thing of art, generally taken as typical of
the Renaissance, was not its invention.
In the Middle Ages the choice lay, in principle, only between
God and the world, between contempt or eager acceptance,
at the peril of one's soul, of all that makes up the beauty
and the charm of earthly life. All terrestrial beauty bore the
stain of sin. Even where art and piety succeeded in hallowing
it by placing it in the service of religion, the artist or the lover
of art had to take care not to surrender to the charms of colour
and line. Now, all noble life was in its essential manifestations
full of such beauty tainted by sin. Knightly exercises and
OHABLES THE BOLD AND HIS OOTJET.
From a MS. in the British Museum.
[See page 32.
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 31
courteous fashions with their worship of bodily strength ;
honours and dignities with their vanity and their pomp, and
especially love ; what were they but pride, envy, avarice and
lust, all condemned by religion ! To be admitted as elements
of higher culture all these things had to be ennobled and raised
to the rank of virtue.
It was here that the path of fancy proved its civilizing value*
All aristocratic life in the later Middle Ages is a wholesale
attempt to act the vision of a dream. In cloaking itself in
the fanciful brilliance of the heroism and probity of a past age,
the life of the nobles elevated itself towards the sublime. By
this trait the Renaissance is linked to the times of feudalism.
The need of high culture found its most direct expression
in all that constitutes ceremonial and etiquette. The actions
of princes, even daily and common actions, all assume a quasi-
symbolic form and tend to raise themselves to the rank of
mysteries. Births, marriages, deaths, are framed in an appara-
tus of solemn and sublime formalities. The emotions which
accompany them are dramatized and amplified. Byzantinism
is nothing but the expression of the same tendency, and to
realize that it survived the Middle Ages, it is sufficient to
remember the Roi-Soleil.
The court was pre-eminently the field where this sestheticism
flourished. Nowhere did it attain to greater development
than at the court of the dukes of Burgundy, which was more
pompous and better arranged than that of the kings of 3?rance.
It is well known how much importance the dukes attached to
the magnificence of their household. A splendid court could,
better than anything else, convince rivals of the high rank
the dukes claimed to occupy among the princes of Europe.
"After the deeds and exploits of war, which are. claims to
glory," says Ghastellain, " the household is the first thing that
strikes the eye, and which it is, therefore, most necessary to
conduct and arrange well/' It was boasted that the Burgun-
dian court was the richest and best regulated of all. Charles
the Bold, especially, had the passion of magnificence. The
archaic and idyllic function of justice administered by the
prince in person, even to the humblest of his subjects, was
practised by the duke, who was in the habit of sitting in
audience with great solemnity two or three times a week,
32 The Waning of the Middle Ages
when every one might tender his petition. He would deliver
judgment in the presence of all the noblemen of his household,
seated on a " hautdos " covered with gold-cloth, and assisted
by two " maltres des requetes," the warrant-officer and the
clerk kneeling before him. The noblemen were a good deal
bored, but there was no help for it, says Chastellain, who
expresses some doubt as to the use of these audiences. " It
seemed to be a magnificent and very praiseworthy thing, what-
ever fruit it might bear. But I have neither heard nor seen
such a thing done in my time by a prince or a king."
For amusements, too, Charles felt the need of solemn and
sliowy forms. " He was in the habit of devoting part of his
day to serious occupations, and, with games and laughter
mixed, pleased himself with fine speeches and with exhorting
his nobles, like an orator, to practise virtue. And in this
regard he was often seen sitting in a chair of state, with his
nobles before him, remonstrating with them according to time
and circumstances. And always, as the prince and chief of
all, he was richly and magnificently dressed, more so than all
the others."
This " haute magnificence de cceur pour estre vu et regard^
en singulieres choses," 1 is it not altogether according to the
spirit of the Renaissance, in spite of its naive and somewhat
stiff outward appearance ?
The meals of the duke were ceremonies of a dignity that
was almost liturgic. The descriptions by the master of cere-
monies, Olivier de la Marche, are well worth reading. His
treatise, L'Etat de la Maison du due Charles de Bourgogne,
composed at the request of the king of England, Edward IV,
to serve him for a model, expounds the complicated service
of breadmasters, carvers, cup-bearers, cooks, and the ordered
course of the banquet, which was crowned by all the noblemen
filing past the duke, who was still seated at table, " pour lui
donner gloire."
The kitchen regulations are truly Pantagruelistic. We may
picture them in operation in the kitchen of heroic dimen-
sions, with its seven gigantic chimneys, which can still be seen
in the ducal palace of Dijon. The chief cook is seated on a
1 High magnificence of heart to be seen and regarded in extraordinary
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 33
raised chair, overlooking the whole apartment ; " and he must
hold in his hand a big wooden ladle which serves him for a
double purpose : on the one hand to taste soup and broth,
on the other to chase the scullions from the kitchen to their
work, and to strike them, if need be."
La Marche speaks of the ceremonies which he describes, in
as respectful and quasi-scholastic a tone as if he were treating
of sacred mysteries. He submits to his readers grave questions
of precedence and of service, and answers them most knpwingly.
Why is the chief-cook present at the meals of his lord and
not the " 6cuye^ de la cuisine " ? How, does one proceed to
nominate the chief-cook ? To which he replies in his wisdom :
When the office of chief-cook falls vacant at the court of the
prince, the " riialtres d'hotel " call the " 6cuyers " and all the
kitchen servants to them one by one. Each one solemnly
gives his vote, attested by an oath, and in this way the chief-
cook is elected. Who is to take the chief-cook's place in case
he is absent : the " spit-master," or the " soup-master " ?
Answer : Neither ; the substitute will be designated by elec-
tion. Why do the " panetiers " and cup-bearers form the first
and second ranks, above the carvers and cooks ? Because they
are in charge of bread and wine, to which the sanctity of
the sacrament gives a holy character.
The extreme importance which attaches to questions of
precedence and etiquette can only be explained by the almost
religious significance ascribed to them wherever tradition is
strong, and where a primitive spirit still prevails. They con-
tain, so to say, a ritualistic element. All forms of etiquette are
elaborated so as to constitute a noble game, which, although
artificial, has not yet degenerated altogether into a vain
parade. Sometimes the polite form takes such an importance
that the gravity of the matter in hand is lost sight of.
Before the battle of Cr6cy, four French knights returned
from reconnoitring the English lines. The incident is told by
Proissart. Impatient to hear the news they bring, the king
rides forward to meet them and stops as soon as he sees them.
They force their way through the ranks of the men-at-arms
and reach the king. " What news, my lords ? " asks the king f
Then they look at each other without speaking a word, for not
one is willing to speak before his companions. And one said
D
34 The Waning of the Middle Ages
to the other : " Lord, do you say it, speak to the king. I shall
not speak before you." So, for a time they were debating,
as none would begin to speak " par honneur." Till at last the
king ordered Sir Monne de Basele to tell what he knew.
Messire Gaultier Rallart, " chevalier du guet " at Paris,
in 1418, was in the habit of never going his rounds without
being preceded "by three or four musicians playing brass
instruments, which appeared a strange thing to the people, for
they said that it seemed that he said to malefactors : ' Get
away, for I am coming.' " This case, reported by the Burgher
of Paris, of a chief of police warning malefactors of his approach,
is not an isolated one. Jean de Boye tells the same thing of
Jean Balue, bishop of Evreux in 1465. At night he went his
rounds, "with clarions, trumpets and other instruments of
music, through the streets and on the walls, which was not a
customary thing to do for men of the watch."
Even on the scaffold the honours due to rank are strictly
observed. Thus the scaffold mounted by the Constable of
Saint Pol is richly shrouded with black velvet strewn with
fleurs-de-lis ; the cloth with which his eyes are bandaged, the
cushion on which he kneels, are of crimson velvet, and the
hangman is a fellow who has never yet executed a single
criminal rather a doubtful privilege for the noble victim.
The struggles of politeness, which some forty years ago
were still characteristic of lower-middle-class etiquette, were
extraordinarily developed in the court life of the fifteenth
century. A person of fashion would have considered himself
dishonoured by not according to a superior the place which
belonged to him. The dukes of Burgundy give precedence
scrupulously to their royal relations of France. Jean sans
Peur never fails to show exaggerated respect to his daughter-
in-law, the young princess Michelle of France ; he calls her
Madame ; he bends his knee to the earth before her and at
table always tries to help her, which she will not suffer him
to do. When Philip the Good learns that his cousin, the
dauphin, in consequence of a quarrel with his father, has
removed to Brabant, he at once raises the siege of Deventer,
which formed the first step to his very important scheme of
conquering Friesland. He travels in hot haste to Brussels,
there to receive his royal guest. As the moment of the
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 35
meeting approaches, there follows a veritable race to be the
first in doing homage to the other. At the news that the
dauphin is coming to meet him, the old duke is extremely
vexed ; he sends him " three, four messages, one after the
other, to tell him, that if he should ride forward to meet him,
he had taken an oath, he would quickly return to where he
came from, and would retire before him so quickly and so
far, that the other would not find him for a whole year, nor
would see him, whatever he did ; for, he said, it would mean
to him, the duke, ridicule and shame, which would never cease,
but be imputed to him throughout the world, to all eternity
as a great outrage and a foolish thing; which he was very
anxious to avoid." Out of reverence for the blood of France,
the duke, although in the territory of the Empire, prohibits
his sword to be carried before him, on entering Brussels ;
before reaching the palace, he hastily alights from his horse,
enters the court and passes on quickly on perceiving the king's
son, " who has come down from his apartment, holding the
duchess by the hand, and rapidly goes to him in the inner
court with wide-open arms." At once the old duke bares his
head, kneels down for a moment and passes on quickly. The
duchess holds the dauphin to prevent his advancing a step,
the dauphin vainly seizes the duke to prevent him from kneeling,
and makes a fruitless attempt to make him rise. Both cried
with emotion, says Chastellain, and so did all the spectators.
In the royal receptions of modern times we undoubtedly
find ceremonies bordering on the ludicrous, but we shall look
in vain for this passionate anxiety about formalities, which
attests that towards the close of the Middle Ages a moral
significance still attached to them.
After the young count- of Charolais, out of modesty, has
obstinately refused to use the wash-basin before a meal at
the same time with the queen of England, the court talks the
whole day of the incident; the duke, to whom the case is
submitted, charges two noblemen to argue the case on both
sides. Humble refusals to take precedence of another last
upwards of a quarter of an hour ; the longer one resists, the
more one is praised. People hide their hands to avoid the
honour of a hand-kiss ; the queen of Spain does so on meeting
the young archduke Philippe la Beau ; the latter waits patiently,
36 The Waning of the Middle Ages
for a moment of inattentiveness on the part of the queen, to
seize her hand and kiss it. For once Spanish gravity was at
fault ; the court laughed.
AH the trifling amenities of social intercourse are minutely
regulated. Etiquette not only prescribes which ladies of the
court may hold each other by the hand, but also which lady
is entitled to encourage others to this mark of intimacy, by
beckoning them. This right of beckoning, "hucher," is a
technical question for the old court lady Ali6nor de Poitiers,
who has described the ceremonial of the court of Burgundy,
The departure of a guest is opposed with troublesome insist-
ence. Philip the Good refuses to let the queen of France go
on the day fixed by the king, in spite of the fear which the
poor queen and her train felt for the anger of Louis XI.
Goethe has said that there is not an outward sign of polite*
ness which has not a profound moral foundation, and Emerson
expresses almost the same thought when calling politeness
" virtue gone to seed." It would, perhaps, be an exaggeration
to say that at the end of the Middle Ages people were still
fully conscious of the ethical value of politeness ; but surely
people still felt its aesthetic value, which marks the transition
of these forms from sincere professions of affection to arid
formalities of civility.
It is obvious that this rich adornment of life flourished
nowhere so much as at the court of princes, where people could
devote time to it and had room for it. This same cult of forms,
however, spread downwards from the nobility to the middle
classes, where they lingered on, after having become obsolete
in higher circles. Customs such as that of urging a guest to
have another helping of a dish, or to prolong his visit, of
refusing to take precedence, now hardly fashionable, were in
full bloom in the fifteenth century, scnipulously observed,
though at the same time an object of satire*
Above all, public worship offered ample occasion for lengthy
displays of civility. In the first place, there is the " offirande " }
no one is willing to be the first to place his alms on the altar :
" Passez. Non leray. Or avant !
Certes si ferez, ma cousine.
-Non feray. Huehez no voisine,
Qu'elle doit miens devant offrir.
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 37
Vous ne le devriez souffrir."
Dist la voisine ; " n'appartient
A moy ; off rez, qu'a vous ne tient
Que li prestres ne se delivre." *
When at last the person'of highest rank has led the way, the
same debate will be repeated in connection with the " pax,"
a disc of wood, silver or ivory, that was kissed after the Agnus
Dei. Amid polite refusals to kiss first, the " pax " went from
hand to hand among the notabilities, with the result of a
.prolonged interruption of the service.
" Bespondre doit la juene fame :
Prenez, je ne prendray pas, dame,
Si ferez, prenez, douce amie.
Certes, je ne le prandray mie ;
L'en me tendroit pour une sote.
Baillez, damoiselle Marote.
Non feray, Jhesucrist m'en gart !
Portez a ma dame Ermagart.
Dame, prenez. Saincte Marie,
Portez la paix a la baillie
Non, mais a la gouverneresse." a
Even a holy man like Fran9ois de Paule thought it his duty
to take part in these childish observances ; the witnesses
in the process for his canonization considered this behaviour
a mark of great humility and merit, which shows that satire
can have hardly exaggerated and that the ethical idea of these
forms had not completely disappeared.
With all this business of compliments, attending public
worship became almost like dancing a minuet. For on
leaving the church similar scenes are enacted, in getting a
superior to walk on the right hand, or to be the first to cross a
plank-bridge or enter a narrow lane. Arrived at home, the
whole company has to be invited to enter and drink some wine
1 " Go onI shall not Come forward ! Certainly, you will do so, cousin
I shall not Call to our neighbour, That she should offer before you You
should not suffer it," the neighbour says : " it does not belong To me ; offer,
only for you The priest has to wait."
1 The young woman should answer, Take it, I shall not, lady Yes, do,
take it, dear friend I shall certainly not take it, dear ; People would take
me for a fool Pass it, miss Marote I shall not, Jesus Christ forbid ! Take
it to the lady Ermagart Lady, take it Holy Mary, Take the pax to the
bailiffs wife No, but to the governor's wife.
38 The Waning of the Middle Ages
(as Spanish, courtesy demands to this day). The company
excuse themselves politely, upon which it becomes requisite
to accompany them part of the way, in spite of their repeated
protestations.
These futile forms become touching, and their moral and
civilizing value is better understood, on remembering they
emanated from the passionate soul of a savage race, struggling
to tame its pride and its anger. Quarrels and acts of violence
go hand in hand with the ceremonious abdication of all pride,
of which they are the reverse. Noble families disputed fiercely
for that same precedence in church by which they courteously
pretended to set little store.
Often enough native rudeness pierces through the thin
veneer of politeness. Duke John of Bavaria, the elect of
Lidge, is a guest at Paris. At the festivities given in his
honour by the great nobles, he wins all their money from
them in gaming. One of the princes cannot restrain himself
any longer, and exclaims : " What devil of a priest have we
got here ? " (It is the chronicler of Ltege, Jean de Stavelot,
who reports the fact.) " What, is he to win all our money ?
Whereupon my lord of Liege rose from the table and said
angrily : I am not a priest and I do not want your money.
And he took it and threw it all about the room ; and many
marvelled greatly at his liberality."
The magnificent order maintained at the court of Burgundy,
praised by Christine de Pisan, by Chastellain, and by the
Bohemian nobleman Leon of Eozmital, acquires its full signi-
ficance only when compared with the disorder which reigned
at the court of France, Burgundy's older and more illustrious
model. In a number of his ballads Eustache Deschamps com-
plains of the misery at court, and these complaints are not
merely variations on the familiar theme of disparagement of
court life. Bad fare and poor lodgings ; continual noise and
disorder ; swearing and quarrels ; jealousies and injuries ; in
short, the court is an abyss of sins, the gate of hell.
Neither the sacred respect for royalty, nor the almost
sacramental value attaching to ceremonies, could prevent
decorum from being occasionally ignominiously thrust aside
on the most solemn occasions. At the coronation banquet
of Charles VI, in 1380, the duke of Burgundy seeks, by force,
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 39
to take the place to which he is entitled, as doyen of the peers,
between the king and the duke of Anjou. Already the train
of the duke begins to thrust aside their opponents ; threaten-
ing cries arise, a scuffle is breaking out when the king prevents
it, by doing justice to the claims of the duke of Burgundy.
Even the infractions of solemn forms tended to become
forms themselves. It seems that it was more or less a custom
for the funeral of a king of Prance to be interrupted by a
quarrel, of which the object was the possession of the utensils
of the ceremony. In 1422 the corporation of the " henouars,"
or salt-weighers, of Paris, whose privilege it was to carry the
king's corpse to Saint-Denis, came to blows with the monks
of the abbey, as both parties claimed the pall covering the
bier of Charles VI.
An analogous case occurred in 1461, at the funeral of Charles
YII. In consequence of an altercation with the monks, the
" henouars " put down the coffin when they have come half-
way and refuse to carry it any further, unless they are paid ten
pounds Paris. The Lord Grand Master of the Horse quiets
them by promising to pay them out of his own pocket, but the
delay had been so long that the cortege arrives at Saint-
Denis only towards eight at night. After the interment, a
new conflict arises with regard to the pall of gold-cloth, between
the monks and the Grand Master of the Horse himself.
The great publicity which it was customary to give to all
important events in the life of a king, and which survived to
the times of Louis XIV, sometimes led to a pitiable break-
down of discipline on the most solemn occasions. At the
coronation banquet of 1380, the throng of spectators, guests
and servants was such that the constable and the marshal of
Sancerre had to serve up the dishes on horseback. At the
coronation of Henry VI of England at Paris, in 1431, the people
force their way at daybreak into the great hall where the feast
was to take place, " some to look on, others to regale them-
selves, others to pilfer or to steal victuals or other things."
The members of the Parlement and of the University, the
provost of the merchants and the aldermen, after having
succeeded with great difficulty in entering the hall, find the
tables assigned to them occupied by all sorts of artisans. An
attempt is made to remove them, "but when they had
40 The Waning of the Middle Ages
succeeded in driving away one or two, six or eight sat down on
the other side." At the inauguration of Louis XI, in 1461,
the precaution had been taken of closing the doors of the
cathedral of Reims early and placing a guard there, so that
not more persons should enter the church than the choir could
hold. Nevertheless, the spectators so pressed round the altar
where the king was anointed, that the prelates assisting the
archbishop could scarcely move, and the princes of the blood
were nearly squeezed to death in their seats of honour.
The passionate and violent soul of the age, always vacil-
lating between tearful piety and frigid cruelty, between
respect and insolence, between despondency and wantonness,
could not dispense with the severest rules and the strictest
formalism. All emotions required a rigid system of con-
ventional forms, for without them passion and ferocity would
have made havoc of life. By this sublimating faculty each
event became a spectacle for others ; mirth and sorrow were
artificially and theatrically made up. For want of the faculty
to express emotions in a simple and natural way, recourse
must needs be had to aesthetic representations of sorrow and
of joy.
The ceremonies accompanying birth, marriage and death
fully assumed this character of spectacles. ^Esthetic values
have here taken the place of their old religious (pagan for the
most part) or magic signification.
Nowhere does the formalizing of the emotions assume a
more suggestive appearance than in the sphere of mourning
rites. There is a tendency in primitive times to exaggerate
the expression of grief, like that of joy. Pompous mourning
is the counterpart of immoderate rejoicings and of insane
luxury. At the death of Jean sans Peur the mourning is
organized with incomparable magnificence, in which there
was, no doubt, also a political by-purpose, The retinue
escorting Philip of Burgundy, who went out to meet the kings
of France and of England, carry two thousand black vanes,
to say nothing of the standards and banners seven yards long,
of the same colour. The carriage of the duke and also the
state seats have been painted black for the occasion. At
the meeting of Troyes, Philip wears a mantle of black velvet
Pessimism and the Ideal of the 8ublime Life 41
which is so long as to hang down from his horse to the ground.
For a long time afterwards he and his court only show them-
selves dressed in black.
Amidst the general black of court mourning the red worn
only by the king of France (not even by the queen) must have
made a most startling contrast. In 1393 the Parisians had
the surprise of a pompous funeral all in white : that of the
king of Armenia, Leon de Lusignan, who died in exile.
The manifestations of sorrow at the death of a prince, if
at times purposely exaggerated, undoubtedly often enfolded
a deep and unfeigned grief. The general instability of the
soul, the extreme horror of death, the fervour of family
attachment and loyalty, all contributed to make the decease
of a king or a prince an afflicting event. A savage exuberance
of grief breaks out when the news is brought to Ghent of the
murder of Jean sans Peur. All chronicles confirm it ; Chastel-
lain is diffuse on the subject. His heavy and trailing style is
wonderfully well adapted for reporting the long harangue of
the bishop of Tournay to prepare the young duke for the
awful tidings, as well as for the majestic lamentations of Philip
and of Michelle of France, his consort. Half a century later we
see Charles the Bold, at the death-bed of his father, weeping,
crying out, wringing his hands, falling on the ground, " so
as to make every one wonder at his unmeasured grief."
Whatever may be the share of the court style in these
narratives, what they tell us fits in too well with the over-
strung sensibility of the epoch, and at the same time with the
craving for clamorous mourning as an edifying thing, not to
be substantially true. Primitive custom demanding that the
dead should be publicly and loudly lamented still survived in
considerable strength in the fifteenth century. Noisy mani-
festations of sorrow were thought fine and becoming, and all
things connected with a deceased person had to bear witness
to unmeasured grief.
The extreme fear of announcing a death likewise bears
testimony to the same intermingling of primitive ritual and
passionate emotionalism. The death of her father is kept a
secret from the countess of Charolais, who is pregnant. During
an illness of Philip the Good, the court does not dare to
announce to him a single death touching him at all nearly ;
42 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Adolphus of Cleves is forbidden to go into mourning for his
wife, out of consideration for the duke, who is ill. The chan-
cellor Nicolas Rolin dies : the duke is left in ignorance of his
decease. Yet he begins to suspect it and asks the bishop of
Tournay, who has come to visit him, to tell him the truth.
" My liege, says the bishop in sooth, he is dead, indeed, for
he is old and broken, and cannot live long. Dea ! says the
duke, I do not ask that. I ask if he is truly dead and gone.
H& ! my liege the bishop retorts, he is not dead, but paralysed
on one side, and therefore practically dead. The duke grows
angry. Vechy merveilles ! Tell me clearly, now, whether
he is dead. Only then says the bishop : Yes, truly, my liege,
he is really dead/'
Does not this curious way of announcing a death suggest
some trace of ancient superstition, more even than the wish
to spare a sick man ? The anxiety to exclude systematically
the thought of death denotes a state of mind analogous to
that of Louis XI, who would never again wear the dress he
had on, nor use the horse he was riding at the moment when
evil tidings were announced to him, and who even had a part
of the forest of Loches cut down where the tidings of the death
of a new-born son were brought to him. "Monsieur the
Chancellor," the king writes on May 25, 1483, " I thank you
for the letters etc., but I beg you to send me no more by him
who brought them, for I found his face terribly changed since
I last saw him, and I tell you on my word that he made me
much afraid, and farewell."
The cultural value of mourning is that it gives grief its form
and rhythm. It transfers actual life to the sphere of the
drama. It shoes it with the cothurnus. Mourning at the
court of France or of Burgundy, at the time with which we
are concerned, has to be regarded as a sort of acted elegy.
Funeral ceremonial and funeral poetry, which in primitive
civilizations are still undistinguished (in Ireland, for instance),
had not yet been completely separated. Mourning still con-
tinued a remnant of its poetical functions. It dramatized
the effects of grief.
The nobler the deceased and the survivors are, the more
heroic the mourning. For a whole year the queen of France
may not leave the room in which the death of her consort was
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 43
announced to her. For the princesses the seclusion lasts six
weeks. During all the time that Madame de Charolais is in
mourning for her father, she remains in bed, propped up by
cushions and dressed in bands, coif and mantle. The rooms
are upholstered in black; the floor is covered with a large
black cloth. Ali6nor de Poitiers has described for us all the
gradations of the ceremonial, varying according to rank.
Under this fine outward show the feelings which are thus
exhibited and formalized often tend to disappear. The
pathetic posture belies itself behind the scenes. " State "
and real life are clearly and naively distinguished. Ali&ior,
having described the sumptuous mourning of the countess
of Charolais, adds : " When Madame was * en son particulier *
she by no means always lay in bed, nor confined herself to
one room."
Next to mourning, the lying-in chamber affords ample
opportunity for fine ceremonial and differentiation according
to rank. The colours and materials of coverings and clothes
all have a meaning. Green is the privilege of queens and
of princesses, whereas it was white in preceding ages. " La
chambre verde " was forbidden even to countesses. During
the lying-in of Isabelle de Bourbon, mother of Mary of Bur-
gundy, five large state beds, all draped with an artful fabric
of green curtain, remain empty, like state coaches at funerals,
only to serve for ceremonious use at the baptism, while the
mother reposes on a low couch near the fire. The blinds are
kept closed all the time, and the room is lighted by candles.
Through all the ranks of society a severe hierarchy of material
and colour kept classes apart, and gave to each estate or rank
an outward distinction, which preserved and exalted the
feeling of dignity.
Moreover, outside the sphere of birth, marriage and death,
a strongly felt esthetic need tends to create a solemn and
decorous form for every event and every notable deed. A
sinner who humbles himself, a condemned prisoner who re-
pents, a holy person sacrificing himself, all afford a kind of
public spectacle. Public life in this way almost presents the
appearance of a perpetual " morale en action."
Even intimate relations in medieval society are rather
paraded than kept secret. Not only love, but friendship too,
44 The Waning of the Middle Ages
has its finely made up forms. Two friends dress in the same
way, share the same room, or the same bed, and call one
another by the name of " mignon." It is good form for the
prince to have his minion. We must not let the well-known
case of Henry III of France affect for us the ordinary accept-
ance of the word " mignon " in the fifteenth century. There
have been princes and favourites in the Middle Ages too who
were accused of culpable relations Richard II of England and
Robert de Vere, for instance but minions would not have been
spoken of so freely, if we had to regard this institution as
connoting anything but sentimental friendship. It was a
distinction of which the friends boasted in public. On the
occasion of solemn receptions the prince leans on the shoulder
of the minion, as Charles V at his abdication leaned on William
of Orange. To understand the duke's sentiment towards Cesario
in Twelfth Night, we must recall this form of sentimental
friendship, which maintained itself as a formal institution till
the days of James I and George Villiers.
The complex of all these fine forms, veiling cruel reality
under apparent harmony, made life an art. This art leaves
no traces, and it is for this reason that its cultural importance
has been noticed too little. The tenderness of compliments,
the charming fiction of modesty and altruism, the hieratic
pomp of ceremonies, the pageant of marriage, all this is ephe-
meral and may seem culturally sterile. That which gives
them their style and expression is fashion, not art, and fashion
leaves no monuments behind.
And yet, at the close of the Middle Ages, the connections
between art and fashion were closer than at present. Art had
not yet fled to transcendental heights ; it formed an integral
part of social life. In the domain of costume art and fashion
were still inextricably blended, style in dress stood nearer to
artistic style than later, and the function of costume in social
life, that of accentuating the strict order of society itself,
almost partook of the liturgic. The amazing extravagance
of dress during the last centuries of the Middle Ages was, as
it were, the expression of an overflowing aesthetic craving,
which art alone did not suffice to satisfy.
All relations, all dignities, all actions, all sentiments, had
Pessimism and the Ideal of the Sublime Life 45
found their style. The higher the moral value of a social
function, the nearer its form of expression approached to
pure art. Whereas ceremony and courtesy have no other
expression than conversation and luxury, and pass away
without visible residue, the rites of mourning do not exhaust
themselves in funeral pomp and fictions of etiquette, but leave
a durable and artistic expression in the sepulchral monument.
As in the case of marriage and baptism, the link of mourning
with religion heightens its cultural value.
Still, the richest flower of beautiful forms was reserved for
three other elements of life courage, honour and love.
CHAPTER III
THE HIERARCHIC CONCEPTION OF SOCIETY
When, somewhat more than a hundred years ago, medieval
history began to assert itself as an object of interest and
admiration, the first element of it to draw general attention
and to become a source of enthusiasm and inspiration was
chivalry. To the epoch of romanticism the Middle Ages and
Chivalry were almost synonymous terms. Historical imagina-
tion dwelt by preference on crusades, tournaments, knights-
errant. Since then history has become democratic. Chivalry
is now only seen as a very special efflorescence of civilization,
which, far from having controlled the course of medieval
history, has been rather a secondary factor in the political
and social evolution of the epoch. For us the problems of the
Middle Ages lie first of all in the development of communal
organization, of economic conditions, of monarchic power, of
administrative and judicial institutions ; and, in the second
place, in the domain of religion, scholasticism and art. Towards
the end of the period our attention is almost entirely occupied
by the genesis of new forms of political and economic life
(absolutism, capitalism), and new modes of expression (Renais-
sance). From this point of view feudalism and chivalry appear
as little more than a remnant of a superannuated order already
crumbling into insignificance, and, for the understanding of
the epoch, almost negligible.
^ Nevertheless, an assiduous reader of the chronicles and
literature of the fifteenth century will hardly resist the im-
pression that nobility and chivalry occupy a much more con-
siderable place there than our general conception of the epoch
would imply. The reason of this disproportion lies in the
fact, that long after nobility and feudalism had ceased to be
really essential factors in the state and in society, they con-
tinued to impress the mind as dominant forms of life. The
46
The Hierarchic Conception of Society 47
men of the fifteenth century could not understand that the
real moving powers of political and social evolution might be
looked for anywhere else than in the doings of a warlike or
courtly nobility. They persisted in regarding the nobility
as the foremost of social forces and attributed a very exag-
gerated importance to it, undervaluing altogether the social
significance of the lower classes.
So the mistake, it may be argued, is theirs, and our con-
ception of the Middle Ages is right. This would be so if, to
understand the spirit of an age, it sufficed to know its real and
hidden forces and not its illusions, its fancies and its errors.
But for the history of civilization every delusion or opinion of
an epoch has the value of an important fact. In the fifteenth
century chivalry was still, after religion, the strongest of all
the ethical conceptions which dominated the mind and the
heart. It was thought of as the crown of the whole social
system. Medieval political speculation is imbued to the
marrow with the idea of a structure of society based upon
distinct orders. This notion of " orders " is itself by no means
fixed. The words " estate " and " order," almost synony-
mous, designate a great variety of social realities. The idea
of an " estate " is not at all limited to that of a class ; it extends
to every social function, to every profession, to every group.
Side by side with the French system of the three estates of
the realm, which in England, according to Professor Pollard,
was only secondarily and theoretically adopted after the
French model, we find traces of a system of twelve social
estates. The functions or groupings, which the Middle Ages
designated by the words " estate " and " order," are of very
diverse natures. There are, first of all, the estates of the
realm, but there are also the trades, the state of matrimony
and that of virginity, the state of sin. At court there are the
" four estates of body and mouth " : bread-masters, cup-bearers,
carvers, and cooks. In the Church there are sacerdotal orders
and monastic orders. Finally, there are the different orders
of chivalry. That which, in medieval thought, establishes
unity in the very dissimilar meanings of the word, is the
conviction that every one of these groupings represents a
divine institution, an element of the organism of Creation
emanating from the will of God, constituting an actual entity,
48 The Waning of the Middle Ages
and being, at bottom, as venerable as the angelic hierarchy.
Now, if the degrees of the social edifice are conceived as the
lower steps of the throne of the Eternal, the value assigned
to each order will not depend on its utility, but on its sanctity
that is to say, its proximity to the highest place. Even if the
Middle Ages had recognized the diminishing importance of
the nobility as a limb of the social body, that would not have
changed the conception they had of its high value, no more
than the spectacle of a violent and dissipated nobility ever
hindered the veneration of the order in itself. To the catholic
soul the unworthiness of the persons never compromises the
sacred character of the institution. The morals of the clergy,
or the decadence of chivalrous virtues, might be stigmatized,
without deviating for a moment from the respect due to the
Church or the nobility as such. The estates of society cannot
but be venerable and lasting, because they all have been
ordained by God. The conception of society in the Middle
Ages is statical, not dynamical.
The aspect which society and politics assume under the
influence of these general ideas is bound to be a strange one.
The chroniclers of the fifteenth century have, nearly all, been
the dupes of an absolute misappreciation of their times, of
which the real moving forces escaped their attention. Chas-
tellain, the historiographer of the dukes of Burgundy, may
serve as an instance. A Fleming by birth, he had been face
to face, in the Netherlands, with the power and the wealth of
the commoners, nowhere stronger and more self-conscious
than there. The extraordinary fortune of the Burgundian
branch of Valois transplanted to Flanders was in reality based
on the wealth of the Flemish and Brabant towns. Neverthe-
less, dazzled by the splendour and magnificence of an extrava-
gant court, Chastellain imagined that the power of the house
of Burgundy was especially due to the heroism and the devo-
tion of knighthood.
God, he says, created the common people to till the earth
and to procure by trade the commodities necessary for life ;
he created the clergy for the works of religion ; the nobles that
they should cultivate virtue and maintain justice, so that the
deeds and the morals of these fine personages might be a
pattern to others* All the highest tasks in the state are
The Hierarchic Conception of Society 49
assigned by ChasteUain to the nobility; notably those of
protecting the Church, augmenting the faith, defending the
people from oppression, maintaining public prosperity, com-
bating violence and tyranny, confirming peace. Veracity,
courage, integrity, liberality, appertain properly to the noble
class, and French nobility, according to this pompous pane-
gyrist, comes up to this ideal image. In spite of his general
pessimism, Chastellain does his best tp see his times through
the tinted glasses of this aristocratic conception.
This failing to see the social importance of the common
people, which is proper to nearly all authors of the fifteenth
century, may be regarded as a kind of mental inertia, which
is a phenomenon of frequent occurrence and vital importance
in history. The idea which people had of the third estate had
not yet been corrected and remodelled in accordance with
altered realities. This idea was simple and summary, like
those miniatures of breviaries, or those bas-reliefs of cathedrals,
representing the tasks of the year in the shape of the toiling
labourer, the industrious artisan, or the busy merchant. Among
archaic types like these there is neither place for the figure of
the wealthy patrician encroaching upon the power of the
nobleman, nor for that of the militant representative of a
revolutionary craft-guild. Nobody perceived that the nobility
only maintained itself, thanks to the blood and the riches of
the commoners. No distinction in principle was made, in the
third estate, between rich and poor citizens, nor between
townsmen and country-people. The figure of the poor peasant
alternates indiscriminately with that of the wealthy burgher,
but a sound definition of the economic and political functions
of these different classes does not take shape. In 1412 the
reform programme of an Augustinian friar demanded in all
earnest that every non-noble person in France should either
devote himself to some handicraft or to labour, or be banished
from the kingdom, evidently considering commerce and law
as useless occupations.
Chastellain, who is very naive in political matters and very
susceptible to ethical delusions, attributes sublime virtues
only to the nobility, and only inferior ones to the common
people. " Coming to the third estate, making up the kingdom
as a whole, it is the estate of the good towns, of merchants and
50 The Waning of the Middle Ages
of labouring men, of whom it is not becoming to give such a
long exposition as of the others, because it is hardly possible
to attribute great qualities to them, as they are of a servile
degree." Humility, diligence, obedience to the king, and
docility in bowing " voluntarily to the pleasure of the lords,"
those are the qualities which bring credit to " cestuy bas estat
de Frangois." 1
May not this strange infatuation, by preventing them from
foreseeing future times of economic expansion have contri-
buted to engender pessimism in minds such as that of Chastel-
lain, who could only expect the good of mankind from the
virtues of the nobility?
Chasteflain still calls the rich burghers simply villeins. He
has not the slightest notion of middle-class honour. Duke
Philip the Good was wont to abuse his power by marrying his
archers or other servants of lesser gentility to rich burgher
widows or heiresses. To avoid those alliances, the parents on
their side married their daughters as soon as they reached
marriageable age. Jacques du Clercq mentions the case of a
widow, who for this reason remarried two days after the
burial of her husband. Once the duke, while engaged in such
marriage-broking, met with an obstinate refusal from a rich
brewer of Lille, who felt affronted at such an alliance for his
daughter. The duke secured the person of the young girl ;
the father removed with all his possessions to Tournay, outside
the ducal jurisdiction, in order to be able to bring the matter
before the Parlement of Paris. This brought him nothing
but vexation, and he fell ill with grief. At last he sent his
wife to Lille " in order to beg mercy of the duke and give up
his daughter to him." The latter, in honour of Good Friday,
gave her back to the mother, but with scornful and humilia-
ting words. Chastellain's sympathies are all on the side of his
master, though, on other occasions, he did not at all fear
to record his disapproval of the duke's conduct. For the
injured father he has no other terms than " this rebellious
rustic brewer," " and such a naughty villein too."
There are in the sentiments of the aristocratic class towards
the people two parallel currents. Side by side with this
haughty disdain of the small man, already a little out of date,
1 This low estate of Frenchmen.
The Hierarchic Conception of Society 51
we notice a sympathetic attitude in the nobility, which seems
in absolute contrast with it. Whereas feudal satire goes on
expressing hatred mixed with contempt and sometimes with
fear, as in the Proverbes del Vilain and in the K erelslied, the
song of the Flemish villagers, the code of aristocratic ethics
teaches, on the other hand, a sentimental compassion for the
miseries of the oppressed and defenceless people. Despoiled
by war, exploited by the officials, the people live in the greatest
distress.
" Si fault de faim perir les innocens
Dont les grans loups font chacun jour ventre*e,
Qui amassent a milliers et a cens
Les faulx tr&sors ; c'est le grain, c'est le b!6e, .
Le sang, les os qui ont la terre are*e
Des povres gens, dont leur esperit crie
Vengence a Dieu, v6 a la seignourie." *
They suffer in patience. "The prince knows nothing of
this." If, at times, they murmur, " poor sheep, poor foolish
people," a word from the prince will suffice to appease them.
The devastation and insecurity which in consequence of the
Hundred Years' War had finally spread over almost all France,
gave these laments a sad actuality. From the year 1400
downwards there is no end to the complaints about the fate
of the peasants, plundered, squeezed, maltreated by gangs of
enemies or friends, robbed of their cattle, driven from their
homes. They are expressed by the great Churchmen who
favoured reform, such as Nicolas de Clemanges, in his Liber
de lapsu et reparationejiistitice, or Gerson in his political sermon
Vivat rex, preached on November 7, 1405, in the queen's
palace at Paris, before the regents and the court. " The poor
man " said the brave chancellor " will not have bread to eat,
except perhaps a handful of rye or barley ; his poor wife will
lie in and they will have four or six little ones about the hearth
or the oven, which perchance will be warm ; they will ask for
bread, they will scream, mad with hunger. The poor mother
will but have a very little salted bread to put into their mouths.
1 The innocents must starve With which the big wolves fill their belly
every day, Who by thousands and hundreds hoard Hi-gotten treasures ; it
is the grain, it is the corn, The blood, the bones of poor people, which have
ploughed the earth And therefore their souls call Upon God for vengeance and
woe to lordship.
52 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Now such misery ought to suffice ; but no : the plunderers
will come, who will seek everything. . , . Everything will be
taken, and snapped up ; and we need not ask who pays."
Statesmen, too, make themselves the spokesmen of the
miserable people, and utter their complaints. Jean Jouvenel
laid them before the States of Blois in 1433, and those of Orleans
in 1439. In a petition presented to the king at the meeting
of the States of Tours in 1484, these complaints take the direct
form of a political " remonstrance."
The chroniclers could not help reverting to the subject again
and again : it was bound up with their subject-matter.
The poets in their turn took hold of the motif. Alain
Chartier treats it in his Quadriloge Invectif, and Robert Gaguin
in his Debat du Laboureur, du Prestre et du Gendarme, inspired
by Chartier. A hundred years after La Complainte du pavre
Cowmun et des povres Laboureurs de France of about 1400,
Jean Molinet was to compose a Resource du petit Pewple. Jean
Meschinot never tires of reminding the ruling classes of the
fact that the common people are being neglected.
" O Dieu, voyez du conumin 1'indigence,
Pourvoyez-y & toute diligence :
Las 1 par f aim, f roid, paour et misere tremble.
S'il a peche 1 ou commis negligence
Bncontre vous, il demande indulgence.
N'est-ce pitie* des biens que Ton lui emble T
H n'a plus bled pour porter au molin,
On lui oste draps de laine et de lin,
L'eaue, sans plus, lui demeure pour boire." *
This pity, however, remains sterile. It does not result in
acts, not even in programmes, of reform. The felt need of
serious reform is wanting to it and will be wanting for a long
time. In La Bruyfcre, in F6nelon, perhaps in the elder Mira-
beau, the theme is still the same ; even they have not yet got
beyond theoretical and stereotyped commiseration*
It is natural that the belated chivalrous spirits of the fifteenth
1 O God, see the indigence of the common people, Provide for it with all
speed : Alas I with hunger, cold, fear and misery they tremble, If they
have sinned or are guilty of negligence Toward Thee, they beg indulgence.
Is it not a pity that they are bereft of their goods ? They have no more
corn to take to the mill, Woollen and linen goods are taken from them. Only
water is left to them to drink.
The Hierarchic Conception of Society 53
century join in this chorus of pity for the people. Was it
not the knight's duty to protect the weak? The ideal of
chivalry implied, after all, two ideas which might seem to
concur in forbidding a haughty contempt for the small man ;
the ideas, namely, that true nobility is based on virtue, and
that all men are equal.
We should be careful not to overrate the importance of
these two ideas. They were equally stereotyped and theoreti-
cal. To acknowledge true chivalry a matter of the heart
should not be considered a victory over the spirit of feudalism
or an achievement of the Renaissance. This medieval notion
of equality is by : no means a manifestation of the spirit of
revolt. It does not owe its origin to radical reformers. In
quoting the text of John Ball, who preached the revolt of
1381, " When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the
gentleman ? " one is inclined to fancy that the nobles must
have trembled on hearing it. But, in fact, it was the nobility
themselves who for a long time had been repeating this ancient
theme.
The two ideas of the equality of men and of the nature of
true nobility were commonplaces of courteous literature, just
as they were in the salons of the " ancien r6gime." Both
derived from antiquity. The poetry of the troubadours had
sung and popularized them. Every one applauded them.
u Dont vient a tons souveraine noblesse ?
Du gentil cuer, par de nobles mours.
. . . Nulz n'est villains se du cuer ne lui muet." x
The notion of equality had been borrowed by the Fathers
of the Church from Cicero and Seneca. Gregory the Great,
the great initiator of the Middle Ages, had given a text for
coming ages in his Omnes namque homines natura aequales
sumus. It had been repeated in all keys, but an actual social
purport was not attached to it. It was a moral sentence,
nothing more ; to the men of the Middle Ages it meant the
approaching equality of death, and was far from holding out,
as a consolation for the iniquities of this world, a deceptive
prospect of equality on earth. The thought of equality in
i Whence comes to all sovereign nobility ? From a gentle heart,, adorned
by noble morals. ... No one is a villein unless it comes from his heart.
54 The Waning of the Middle Ages
the Middle Ages is closely akin to a memento mori. Thus we
find it in a ballad by Eustache Desehamps, where Adam
addresses his posterity:
"Enfans, enfans, de moy, Adam, venuz,
Qui apres Dieu suis peres premerain
Cre6 de ltd, tons estes descenduz
Naturelment de ma coste et d'Evain ;
Vo mere fut. Comment est Pun villain
Et 1'autre prant le nom de gentillesce
De vous, freres ? dont vient tele noblesce ?
Je ne le s$ay, se ce n'est des vertus,
Et les villains de tout vice qui blesce :
Vous estes tous d'une pel revestuz.
" Quant Dieu me fist de la boe ou je fus,
Homme mortel, faible, pesant et vain,
Eve de moy, il nous crea tous nuz,
Mais 1'esperit nous inspira a plain
Perpetuel puis eusmes soif et faim,
Labour, dolour, et enfans en tristesce ;
Pour noz peohiez enfantent a destresce
Toutes femmes ; vilment estes conguz,
Vous estes tous d'une pel revestuz.
"Les roys puissans, les contes et les dus,
Le gouverneur du peuple et souverain,
Quant ilz naissent, de quoy sont ilz vestuz ?
D'une orde pel.
. . . Prince, pensez, sans avoir en desdain
Les povres gens, que la mort tient le frain." *
1 Children, descended from me, Adam, Who am the first father, after God,
Created by him, you are all born Naturally of my rib and of Eve ; She was
your mother. How is it that one is a villein And the other assumes the
name of gentility, Of you, brothers ? Whence comes such nobility ? I do
not know, unless it springs from virtues And the villeins from all vice, which
wounds : You are all covered by the same skin.
When God made me out of the mud where I lay, A mortal man, feeble,
heavy and vain, Eve out of me, he created us quite nude, But the spirit
fully inspired us, Afterwards we were perpetually thirsty and hungry, We
laboured, suffered, children were born in sorrow ; For our sins, all women
bear children In pain ; vilely you are conceived. Whence then comes this
name : villein that wounds the hearts ? You are all covered bv the same
skin.
The mighty kings, the counts and the dxikes, The governor of the people
and sovereign, When they are born, with what are they clothed ? By a
dirty skin. . .. . Prince, remember, without disdaining The poor people,
that death holds the reins. .
The Hierarchic Conception of Society 55
Jean le Make de Beiges, in Les Chansons de Namur, pur-
posely mentions the exploits of rustic heroes, to acquaint the
nobles with the fact that those whom they treat as villeins
are sometimes animated by the greatest gallantry. For the
reason of these poetical admonitions on the subject of true
nobility and human equality generally lies in the stimulus they
impart to the nobles to adapt themselves to the true ideal of
knighthood, and thereby to support and to purify the world.
In the virtues of the nobles, says Ohastellain, lies the remedy for
the evils of the time ; the weal of the kingdom, the peace of the
Church, the rule of justice, depend on them. " Two things,"
it is said in Le Livre des Faicts du Mareschal Bowicaut, " have,
by the will of God, been established in the world, like two
pillars to sustain the order of divine and human laws . . .
and without which the world would be like a confused thing
and without any order . . . these two flawless pillars are
Chivalry and Learning, which go very well together.' * * * Learn-
ing, Faith and Chivalry " are the three flowers of the Chapel
des Fleurs-de-lis of Philippe de Vitri; it is the duty of knight-
hood to preserve and protect the two others.
Long after the Middle Ages a certain equivalence of knight-
hood and a doctor's degree was generally acknowledged. This
parallelism indicates the high ethical value attaching to the
idea of chivalry. The two dignities of a knight and of a
doctor are conceived as the sacred forms of two superior
functions, that of courage and of knowledge. By being
knighted the man of action is raised to an ideal level ; by tak-
ing his doctor's degree the man of knowledge receives a badge
of superiority. They are stamped, the one as a hero, the other
as a sage. The devotion to a higher life-work is expressed
by a ceremonial consecration. If as an element of social
life the idea of chivalry has been of much greater importance,
it was because it contained, besides its ethical value, an abun-
dance of aesthetic value of the most suggestive kind.
CHAPTER IV
THE IDEA OP CHIVALRY
Medieval thought in general was saturated in every part
with the conceptions of the Christian faith. In a similar way
and in a ipore limited sphere the thought of all those who lived
in the circles of court or castle was impregnated with the idea
of chivalry. Their whole system of ideas was permeated by
the fiction that chivalry ruled the world. This conception
even tends to invade the transcendental domain. The primor-
dial feat of arms of the archangel Michael is glorified by Jean
Molinet as "the first deed of knighthood and chivalrous
prowess that was ever achieved." Prom the archangel
"terrestrial knighthood and human chivalry" take their
origin, and in so far are but an imitation of the host of the
angels around God's throne.
This illusion of society based on chivalry curiously clashed
with the reality of things. The chroniclers themselves, in
describing the history of their time, tell us far more of covetous-
ness, of cruelty, of cool calculation, of well-understood self-
interest, and of diplomatic subtlety, than of chivalry. None
the less, all, as a rule, profess to write in honour of chivalry,
which is the stay of the world. Froissart, Monstrelet*
d'Escouohy, Chastellain, La Marche, Molinet, all, with the
exception only of Philippe de Commines and Thomas Basin,
open their works by high-sounding declarations of their pur-
pose of glorifying knightly bravery and virtues, of recording
" noble enterprises, conquests, feats of heroism and of arms/'
" the great marvels and the fine feats of arms that have come
to pass because of the great wars." History, to them, is
illumined throughout by this their ideal. Later, when writing,
they forget it more or less. Proissart, himself the author of a
super-romantic epic of chivalry, Meliador, narrates endless
treasons and cruelties, without being aware of the contra-
56
The Idea of Chivalry 57
diction between his general conceptions and the contents of
his narrative. Molinet, in his chronicle, from time to time
remembers his chivalrous intention, and interrupts his matter-
of-fact account pf events, to unbosom himself in a flood of
high-flown terms.
The conception of chivalry constituted for these authors
a sort of magic key, by the aid of which they explained
to themselves the motives of politics and of history. The
confused image of contemporaneous history being much too
complicated for their comprehension, they simplified it, as
it were, by the fiction of chivalry as a moving force (not con-
sciously, of course). A very fantastic and rather shallow
point of view, no doubt. How much vaster is ours, embracing
all sorts of economic and social forces and causes. Still, this
vision of a world ruled by chivalry, however superficial ajid
mistaken it might be, was the best they had in the matter of
general political ideas. It served them as a formula to under-
stand, in their poor way, the appalling complexity of the
world's way. What they saw about them looked primarily
mere violence and confusion. War in the fifteenth century
tended to be a chronic process of isolated raids and incursions ;
diplomacy was mostly a very solemn and very verbose pro-
cedure, in which a multitude of questions about juridical
details clashed with some very general traditions and some
points of honour. All notions which might have enabled
them to discern in history a social development were lacking
to them. Yet they required a form for their political concep-
tions, and here the idea of chivalry came in. By this tra-
ditional fiction they succeeded in explaining to themselves,
as well as they could, the motives and the course of history,
which thus was reduced to a spectacle of the honour of princes
and the virtue of knights, to a noble game with edifying and
heroic rules.
As a principle of historiography, this point of view is a very
inferior one. History thus conceived becomes a summary
of feats of arms and of ceremonies. The historians par excel-
lence will be heralds and kings-at-arms Froissart thinks
so f or they are the witnesses of these sublime deeds ; they
are experts in matters of honour and of glory, and it is to
record honour and glory that history is written. The statutes
58 The Waning of the Middle Ages
of the Golden Fleece enjoined that the feats of arms of the
knights be noted down. Types of this combination of herald
and historiographer are the king-at-arms of the Golden Fleece,
Lef&vre de Saint Bemy, and Gilles le Bouvier, dit le h6raut
Berry.
The conception of chivalry as a sublime form of secular life
might be defined as an aesthetic ideal assuming the appearance
of an ethical ideal. Heroic fancy and romantic sentiment
form its basis. But medieval thought did not permit ideal
forms of noble life, independent of religion. For this reason
piety and virtue have to be the essence of a knight's life.
Chivalry, however, will always fall short of this ethical function.
Its earthly origin draws it down. For the source of the chival-
rous idea is pride aspiring to beauty, and formalized pride
gives rise to a conception of honour, which is the pole of noble
life. The sentiment of honour, says Burckhardt, this strange
mixture of conscience and of egotism, " is compatible with
many vices and susceptible to extravagant delusions ; never-
theless, all that has remained pure and noble in man may find
support in it and draw new strength from it." Is not this
almost what Chastellain tried to say, when he expressed him-
self thus :
" Honneur semont toute noble nature
D'aimer tout ce qui noble est en son estre.
Noblesse aussi y adjoint sa droiture." x
And again :
"La gloire des princes pend en orgueil et en haut peril emprendre ;
toutes principales puissances conviengnent en un point estroit qui se
dit orgueil." a
According to the celebrated Swiss historian, the quest of
personal glory was the characteristic attribute of the men of
the Eenaissance. The Middle Ages proper, according to him,
knew honour and glory only in collective forms, as the honour
due to groups and orders of society, the honour of rank, of
1 Honour urges every noble nature To love all that is noble in being.
Nobility also adds its uprightness to it.
* The glory of princes is in their pride and in undertaking great peril ; all
principal forces meet in a small point, which is called pride.
The Idea of Chivalry 59
class, or of profession. It was in Italy, he thinks, under the
influence of antique models, that the craving for individual
glory originated. Here, as elsewhere, Burckhardt has exagger-
ated the distance separating Italy from the Western countries
and the Renaissance from the Middle Ages.
The thirst for honour and glory proper to the men of the
Renaissance is essentially the same as the chivalrous ambition
of earlier times, and of French origin. Only it has shaken off
the feudal form and assumed an antique garb. The passion-
ate desire to find himself praised by contemporaries or by
posterity was the source of virtue with the courtly knight of
the twelfth century and the rude captain of the fourteenth,
no less than with the beaux-esprits of the quattrocento. When
Beaumanoir and Bamborough fix the conditions of the famous
combat of the Thirty, the English captain, according to Frois-
sart, expresses himself in these terms : " And let us right there
try ourselves and do so much that people will speak of it in
future times in halls, in palaces, in public places and else-
where throughout the world." The saying may not be authen-
tic, but it teaches us what Froissart thought.
The quest of glory and of honour goes hand in hand with
a hero-worship which also might seem to announce the Renais-
sance. The somewhat factitious revival of the splendour of
chivalry that we find everywhere in European courts after
1300 is already connected with the Renaissance by a real
link. It is a naive prelude to it. In reviving chivalry the
poets and princes imagined that they were returning to anti-
quity. In the minds of the fourteenth century, a vision of
antiquity had hardly yet disengaged itself from the fairy-land
sphere of the Round Table. Classical heroes were still tinged
with the general colour of romance. On the one hand, the
figure of Alexander had long ago entered the sphere of chivalry ;
on the other, chivalry was supposed to be of Roman origin.
" And he maintained the discipline of chivalry well, as did the
Romans formerly," thus a Burgundian chronicler praised
Henry V of England. The blazons of Csesar, of Hercules,
and of Troilus, are placed in a fantasy of King Rene, side by
side with those of Arthur and of Lancelot. Certain coinci-
dences of terminology played a part in tracing back the origin
of chivalry to Romap. antiquity. How could people have
60 The Waning of the Middle Ages
known that the word miles with Roman authors did not mean
a miles in the sense of medieval Latin, that is to say, a knight,
or that a Roman eques differed from a feudal knight ? Conse-
quently, Romulus, because he raised a band of a thousand
mounted warriors, was taken to be the founder of chivalry.
The life of a knight is an imitation ; that of princes is so too,
sometimes. No one was so consciously inspired by models of
the past, or manifested such desire to rival them, as Charles
the Bold. In his youth he made his attendants read out to
him the exploits of Gauvain and of Lancelot. Later he pre-
ferred the ancients. Before retiring to rest, he listens for an
hour or two to the " lofty histories of Rome." He especially
admires Caesar, Hannibal and Alexander, " whom he wished to
follow and imitate." All his contemporaries attach great
importance to this eagerness to imitate the heroes of antiquity,
and agree in regarding it as the mainspring of his conduct.
" He desired great glory " says Commines " which more than
anything else led hi to undertake his wars ; and longed to
resemble those ancient princes who have been so much talked
of after their death." The anecdote is well known of the
jester who, after the defeat of Granson, called out to him :
" My lord, we are well Hannibaled this time ! " His love of the
" beau geste " in antique style was observed by Chastellain
at Mechlin in 1467, when he made his first entry there as duke.
He had to punish a rising. He sat down facing the scaffold
erected for the leader of the insurgents. Akeady the hangman
has drawn the sword and is preparing to strike the blow.
"Stop," said the duke then, "take the bandage from his
eyes and help him up." "And then I perceived" says
Chastellain " that he had set his heart on high and singular
purposes for the future, and on acquiring glory and renown
by extraordinary works."
Thus the aspiration to the splendour of antique life, which
is the characteristic of the Renaissance, has its roots in the
chivalrous ideal. Between the ponderous spirit of the Burgun-
dian and the classical instinct of an Italian of the same period
there is only a difference of nuance. The forms which Charles
the Bold affected are still flamboyant Gothic, and he still read
his classics in translations.
The chivalrous element and the Renaissance element are
The Idea of Chivalry 61
also confounded in the cult of the Nine Worthies (" les neuf
preux "). The grouping of three pagans, three Jews, and three
Christians in a sort of gallery of heroism is found for the first
time in a work of the beginning of the fourteenth century,
Lea VCBUX du Paon, by Jacques de Longuyon. The choice
of the heroes betrays a close connection with the romances of
chivalry. They are Hector, Caesar, Alexander, Josuah, David,
Judas Maccabseus, Arthur, Charlemagne, Godfrey of Bouillon.
Eustache Deschamps adopted the idea of the " neuf preux "
from his master, Guillaume de Machaut, and devoted many
of his ballads to the subject. The craving for symmetry, so
strong in the Middle Ages, demanded that the series should
be completed by counterparts of the female sex. Deschamps
satisfied the demand by choosing from fiction and history a
group of rather bizarre heroines. Among them we find Penthe-
silea, Tomyris, Semiramis. His idea was successful. Litera-
ture and tapestry popularized the female as well as the male
worthies. Blazons were invented for them. On the occasion
of his entry into Paris, in 1431, the English king, Henry VI,
is preceded by all the eighteen worthies of both sexes. How
popular the idea was, is attested by the parody which Molinet
composed of the " nine worthies of gluttony." Francis I still
occasionally dressed himself " in the antique style," in order
to represent one of the worthies.
Deschamps went further. He completed the series of the
nine worthies by adding a tenth, Bertram! du Guesclin, the
brave and prudent Breton warrior to whom France owed her
recovery from Cr6cy and Poitiers. In this way he linked
the cult of ancient heroes to the budding sentiment of national
military glory. His idea was generally adopted. Louis of
Orleans had the statue of Du Guesclin, as tenth of the " preux,"
erected in the great hall of the castle of Coucy. His special
reason for honouring the constable's memory was the fact
that the latter had held Hm at the baptismal font and put a
sword into his little hand.
The inventories of the Burgundian dukes enumerate curious
relics of ancient and modern heroes, such as " the sword of
Saint George," with his coat of arms ; *' another war-sword
which belonged to Messire Bertran de daiquin " ; " a big boar's
fang, said to be the fang of the boar of Garin le Loherain " ;
62 The Waning of the Middle Ages
" the psalter of Saint Louis, out of which he learned in his child-
hood." How curiously the spheres of imagination of chival-
rous romance, and of religious veneration, blend here with the
coming spirit of the Renaissance !
About 1300 the sword of Sir Tristram, with an inscription
in French verse, was said to have been discovered in Lom-
bardy, in an ancient tomb. 1 Here we are only a step from
Pope Leo X, who accepted solemnly, as though it were a relic,
a humerus of Livy, offered him by the Venetians.
This hero-worship of the declining Middle Ages finds its
literary expression in the biography of the perfect knight.
In this genre the figures of recent history gradually superseded
the legendary ones like that of Gillon de Trazegnies. Three of
these lives of contemporary and illustrious knights are cha-
racteristic, although very different from each other : those of
Marshal Boucicaut, of Jean de Bueil, and of Jacques de
Lalaing.
The military career of Jean le Meingre, surnamed the
Marshal Boucicaut, had led him from the defeat of Mcopolis
to that of Agincourt, where he was taken prisoner, to die in
captivity, six years later. As early as 1409 one of his admirers
wrote his biography from reliable information, but with the
intention of producing, not a book of contemporary history,
but a mirror of chivalrous life. The real facts of this hard life
of a captain and statesman disappear beneath the appear-
ances of ideal heroism. The marshal is depicted as the type
of a frugal and pious knight, at once courtly and well read.
He is not rich. His father would neither augment nor diminish
his possessions, saying : " If my children are honest and brave,
they will have enough ; if they are worthless, it would be a
pity to leave them much/' Boucicaut's piety has a Puritan
flavour. He rises early and remains in prayer for three hours.
However occupied or hurried he may be, he hears, on his
knees, two masses a day. On Fridays he dresses in black.
On Sundays and festal days he makes pilgrimages on foot,
discourses of holy matters, or has some life of a saint read out
to him or some story of " the valiant dead Roman or other."
He lives soberly, he speaks little, and when he speaks it is of
1 A sword of Tristram figures also among King John's jewels lost in the
Wash in 1216.
MINIATUBE FROM "LE JOTJVENCEL." BY ALEXANDER BENIKG.
From a MS. at Munich, Library of the University.
[See page 63.
The Idea of Chivalry 63
God and the saints, or of chivalry and virtue. He has accus-
tomed his servants to practise piety and observe decency;
they have given up the habit of swearing. We shall find him
again as one of the propagandists of faithful and chaste love,
and as the founder of the order of " Pescu vert & la dame
blanche," for the defence of women, for which Christine de
Pisan praised him. At Genoa, as a regent of the king of
France, one day he courteously returned the curtsy of two
ladies whom he met. " My lord ' V-said his squire " who are
those two women to whom you bowed so deeply ? " " Hugue-
nin," said he, " I do not know." Then he said to him : " My
lord, they are harlots." " Harlots," said he, " Huguenin, I
would rather have paid my salutations to ten harlots than
have omitted them to one respectable woman." His device,
resigned and enigmatical, is " What you will."
Such are the colours of piety, austerity and fidelity in
which the ideal image of a knight is painted. The real Bouci-
caut did not altogether resemble this portrait ; no one would
have expected it. He was neither free from violence nor from
avarice, common faults in his class.
There are, however, patterns of chivalry of another type.
The biographical romance about Jean de Bueil, entitled Le
Jouvencel, was written half a century after Le Livre des Faicts
of Boucicaut, which partly explains the differences. Jean
de Bueil had fought under the banner of Joan of Arc. He
had taken part in the rising called the Praguerie and in the
war " du bien public " ; he died in 1477. Fallen in disgrace
with the king, he dictated, or rather suggested, about 1465,
an account of his life to three of his servants. In contrast
with the Life of Boucicaut, of which the historical form hardly
conceals the romantic purpose, Le Jawvencel contains in ficti-
tious garb a great deal of simple realism ; this is so, at least,
in the first part, for further on the authors have lost them-
selves in very insipid romanticism.
Jean de Bueil must have given his scribes a very lively
narrative of his exploits. It would hardly be possible to quote
in the literature of the fifteenth century another work giving
as sober a picture as Le Jouvencel of the wars of those times.
We find the small miseries of military life, its privations and
boredom, gay endurance of hardships and courage in danger.
64 The Waning of the Middle Ages
A castellan musters his garrison ; there are but fifteen horses,
lean and old beasts, most of them unshod. He puts two men
on each horse, but of the men also most are blind of one eye
or lame. They set out to seize the enemy's laundry in order
to patch the captain's clothes. A captured cow is cour-
teously returned to a hostile captain at his request. Beading
the description of a nocturnal march, one feels as though
surrounded by the silence and the freshness of the night. It
is not saying too much that here military France is announc-
ing herself in literature, which will give birth to the types of
the " mousquetaire," the "grognard," and the "poilu."
The feudal knight is merging into the soldier of modern times ;
the universal and religious ideal is becoming national and
military. The hero of the book releases his prisoners without
a ransom, on condition that they shall become good French-
men. Having risen to great dignities, he yearns for the old
life of adventure and liberty.
Le Jouvencel is an expression of true French sentiment.
Literature in the Burgundian sphere, being more old-fashioned,
more feudal and more solemn, would not have been able as
yet to create so realistic a type of a knight. By the side of
the Jouvencel, the figure of the Hainault pattern knight of the
fifteenth century, Jacques de Lalaing, is an antique curiosity,
more or less modelled on the knights-errant of a preceding
age. Le Lime des Faits du bon Chevalier Messire Jacques de
Lalaing is far more concerned with tournaments and jousts
than with real war.
In the Jouvencel we find a remarkable portrayal, hardly
to be surpassed, of the psychology of warlike courage of a
simple and touching kind. " It is a joyous thing, is war. . . .
You love your comrade so in war. When you see that your
quarrel is just and your blood is fighting well, tears rise to
your eye. A great sweet feeling of loyalty and of pity fills
your heart on seeing your friend so valiantly exposing his body
to execute and accomplish the command of our Creator. And
then you prepare to go and die or live with him, and for love
not to abandon him. And out of that there arises such a
delectation, that he who has not tasted it is not fit to say
what a delight it is. Bo you think that a man who does that
fears death ? Not at all ; for he feels so strengthened, he is
The Idea of Chivalry 65
so elated, that he does not know where he is. Truly he is
afraid of nothing."
These sentiments have nothing specifically chivalrous or
medieval. The words might have been spoken by a modern
soldier. They show us the very core of courage: man, in
the excitement of danger, stepping out of his narrow egotism,
the ineffable feeling caused by a comrade's bravery, the
rapture of fidelity and of sacrifice, in short, the primitive
and spontaneous asceticism, which is at the bottom of the
chivalrous ideal.
CHAPTER V
THE DREAM OP HEROISM AND OF LOVE
A conception of military life resembling that of medieval
chivalry is found nearly everywhere, notably with the Hindus
of the MaMbh&rato and in Japan. Warlike aristocracies need
an ideal form of manly perfection. The aspiration to a pure
and beautiful life, expressed in the Kalokagathia of the Hel-
lenes, in the Middle Ages gives birth to chivalry. And during
several centuries that ideal remains a source of energy, and
at the same time a cloak for a whole world of violence and
self-interest.
The ascetic element is never absent from it. It is most
accentuated in the times when the function of knighthood is
most vital, as in the times of the early crusades. The noble
warrior has to be poor and exempt from worldly ties. " This
ideal of the well-born man without possessions " says William
James " was embodied in knight-errantry and templardom,
and, hideously corrupted as it has always been, it still domi-
nates sentimentally, if not practically, the military and aristo-
cratic view of life. We glorify the soldier as the man abso-
lutely unincumbered. Owning nothing but his bare life, and
willing to toss that up at any moment when the cause com-
mands him, he is the representative of unhampered freedom
in ideal directions." Medieval chivalry, in its first bloom, was
bound to blend with monachism. From this union were born
the military orders of the Templars, of Saint John, of the
Teutonic knights, and also those of Spain. Soon, however,
or rather from the very beginning, reality gives the lie to the
ideal, and accordingly the ideal will soar more and more
towards the regions of fantasy, there to preserve the traits
of asceticism and sacrifice too rarely visible in real life. The
knight-errant, fantastic and useless, will always be poor and
without ties, as the first Templars had been.
66
The Dream of Heroism and of Love 67
It would thus be unjust to regard as factitious or super-
ficial the religious elements of chivalry, such as compassion,
fidelity, justice. They are essential to it. Yet the complex of
aspirations and imaginings, forming the idea of chivalry, in
spite of its strong ethical foundation and the combative in-
stinct of man, would never have made so solid a frame for the
life beautiful if love had not been the source of its constantly
revived ardour.
These very traits, moreover, of compassion, of sacrifice, and of
fidelity, which characterize chivalry, are not purely religious ;
they are erotic at the same time. Here, again, it must be
remembered that the desire of bestowing a form, a style, on
sentiment, is not expressed exclusively in art and literature ;
it also unfolds in life itself : in courtly conversation, in games,
in sports. There, too, love incessantly seeks a sublime and
romantic expression. If, therefore, lie borrows motifs and
forms from literature, literature, after all, is only copying
life. The chivalrous aspect of love had somehow to make its
appearance in life before it expressed itself in literature.
The knight and his lady, that is to say, the hero who serves
for love, this is the primary and invariable motif from which
erotic fantasy will always start. It is sensuality transformed
into the craving for self-sacrifice, into the desire of the male
to show his courage, to incur danger, to be strong, to suffer
and to bleed before his lady-love.
From the moment when the dream of heroism through
love has intoxicated the yearning heart, fantasy grows and
overflows. The first simple theme is soon left behind, the
soul thirsts for new fancies, and passion colours the dream
of suffering and of renunciation. The man will not be content
merely to suffer, he will want to save from danger, or from
suffering, the object of his desire. A more vehement stimulus
is added to the primary motif : its chief feature will be that of
defending imperilled virginity in other words, that of ousting
the rival. This, then, is the essential theme of chivalrous
love poetry: the young hero, delivering the virgin. The
sexual motif is always behind it, even when the aggressor is
only an artless dragon ; a glance at Burne-Jones's famous
picture suffices to prove it.
One is surprised that comparative mythology should have
The Waning of the Middle Ages
looked so indefatigably to meteorological phenomena for the
explanation of such an immediate and perpetual motif as the
deliverance of the virgin, which is the oldest of literary motifs,
and one which can never grow antiquated. It may from time
to time become stale from overmuch repetition, and yet it will
reappear, adapting itself to all times and surroundings. New
romantic types will arise, just as the cowboy has succeeded the
corsair.
The Middle Ages cultivated these motifs of a primitive
romanticism with a youthful insatiability. Whereas in some
higher genres of literature, such as lyrical poetry, the expres-
sion of desire and fulfilment became more refined, the romance
of adventure always preserved it in its crude and naive form,
without ever losing its charm to its contemporaries. We might
have expected that the last centuries of the Middle Ages would
have lost their relish for these childish fancies. We are
inclined to suppose that Meliador, the super-romantic novel
by Eroissart, or Perceforest, those belated fruits of chivalrous
romance, were anachronisms even in their own day. They
were no more so than the sensational novel is at present.
Erotic imagination always requires similar models, and it finds
them here. In the hey-day of the Renaissance we see them
revive in the cycle of Amadis of Gaul. When, a good while
after the middle of the sixteenth century, IPra^ois de la Noue
affirms that the novels of Amadis had caused " un esprit de
vertige " among his generation the generation of the Hugue-
nots, which had passed through humanism with its vein of
rationalism we can imagine what must have been the
romantic susceptibility of the ill-balanced and ignorant
generation of 1400.
Literature did not suffice for the almost insatiable needs
of the romantic imagination of the age. Some more active
form of expression was required. Dramatic art might have
supplied it, but the medieval drama in the real sense of the
word treated love matters only exceptionally ; sacred subjects
were its substance. There was, however,, another form of
representation, namely, noble sports, tourneys and jousts.
Sportive struggles always and everywhere contain a strong
dramatic element and an erotic element. In the medieval
tournament these two elements had so much got the upper
The Dream of Heroism and of Love 69
hand, that its character of a contest of force and courage had
been almost obliterated by its romantic purport. With its
bizarre accoutrements and pompous staging, its poetical
illusion and pathos, it filled the place of the drama of a later
age.
The life of aristocracies when they are still strong, though
of small utility, tends to become an all-round game. In order
to forget the painful imperfection of reality, the nobles turn
to the continual illusion of a high and heroic life. They wear
the mask of Lancelot and of Tristram. It is an amazing self-
deception. The crying falsehood of it can only be borne by
. treating it with soine amount of raillery. The whole chivalrous
culture of the last centuries of the Middle Ages is marked
by an unstable equilibrium between sentimentality and mock-
ery. Honour, fidelity and love are treated with unim-
peachable , seriousness ; only from time to time the solemn
rigidity relaxes into a smile, but downright parody never
prevails. Even after the Morgante of Pulci and the Orlando
Innamorato of Boiardo had made the heroic pose ridicu-
lous, Ariosto recaptured the absolute serenity of chivalrous
sentiment.
In French circles, of about 1400, the cult of chivalry was
treated with perfect gravity. It is not easy for us to under-
stand this seriousness, and not to be startled by the contrast
between the literary note of a Boucicaut and the facts of his
career. He is represented as the indefatigable defender of
courtesy and of chivalry, serving his lady according to the
old rules of courteous love. " He served all, he honoured all,
for the love of one. His speech was graceful, courteous and
diffident before his lady." During his travels in the Near
East in 1388, he and his companions in arms amuse themselves
by composing a poetical defence of the faithful and chaste
love of a knight the Lime des Gent Ballades. One might have
supposed Trim cured of all chivalrous delusions after the
catastrophe of Nicopolis. There he had seen the lamentable
consequences of statecraft recklessly embarking on an enter-
prise of vital import in the spirit of a chivalrous adventure.
His companions of the Cent Ballades had perished. That
would suffice, one would think, to make hi turn his back on
old-fashioned forms of courtesy. Yet he remains devoted
70 The Waning of the Middle Ages
to them and resumes his moral task in founding the order
" de la dame blanche & Pescu vert."
Like all romantic forms that are worn out as an instrument
of passion, this apparatus of chivalry and of courtesy affects
us at first sight as a silly and ridiculous thing. The accents
of passion are heard in it no more save in some rare products
of literary genius. Still, all these costly elaborated forms of
social conduct have played their part as a decoration of life,
as a framework for a living passion. In reading this anti-
quated love poetry, or the clumsy descriptions of tournaments,
no exact knowledge of historical details avails without the
vision of the smiling eyes, long turned to dust, which at one
time were infinitely more important than the written word
that remains.
Only a stray glimmer now reminds us of the passionate
significance of these cultural forms. In the Voeu du Heron
the unknown author makes Jean de Beaumont speak :
" Quant sommes es tavernes, de ces fors vins buvant,
Et ces dames deles qui nous vont regardant,
A ces gorgues polies, ces colies tirant,
Chil ceil vair resplendissent de biaut souriant,
Nature nous semont d'avoir CCBUT d6sirant,
. . . Adonc conquerons-nous Yaumont et Agoulant
Et 11 autre conquiexrent Olivier et Reliant,
Mais, quant sommes as camps sus nos destriers courans,
Nos escus a no col et nos lansses bais(s)ans,
Et le froidure grande nous va tout engelant,
Li membres nous effondrent, et derriere et devant,
Et nos ennemies sont envers nous approchant,
Adonc vorri&nes estre en un chiller si grant
Que jamais ne fussions veu tant ne quant." 1
Nowhere does the erotic element of the tournament appear
more clearly than in the custom of the knight's wearing the
1 When we are in the tavern, drinking strong wines, And the ladies pass
and look at us, With those white throats, and tight bodices, Those sparkling
eyes resplendent with smiling beauty, Then nature urges us to have a desiring
heart, . . . Then we could overcome Yaumont and Agoulant And the others
would conquer Oliver and Roland. But when we are in camp on our trotting
chargers, Our bucklers round our necks and our lances lowered, And the
great cold is congealing us altogether, And our limbs are crushed before and
behind, And our enemies are approaching us, Then we should wish to be in
a cellar so large That we might never be seen by any means.
The Dream of Heroism and of Love 71
veil or the dress of Ms lady. In Perceforest we read how the
lady spectators of the combat take off their finery, one article
after another, to throw them to the knights in the lists. At
the end of the fight they are bareheaded and without sleeves.
A poem of the thirteenth century, the work of a Picard or a
Hainault minstrel, entitled Des trois Chevaliers et del CJiainse, 1
has worked out this motif in all its force. The wife of a noble-
man of great liberality, but not very fond of fighting, sends her
shirt to three knights who serve her for love, that one of them
at the tournament which her husband is going to give may
wear it as a coat-armour, without any mail underneath. The
first and the second knights excuse themselves. The third,
who is poor, takes the shirt in his arms at night, and kisses it
passionately. He appears at the tournament, dressed in the
shirt and without a coat of mail ; he is grievously wounded,
the shirt, stained with his blood, is torn. Then his extra-
ordinary bravery is perceived and he is awarded the prize.
The lady gives him her heart. The lover asks something in
his turn. He sends back the garment, all blood-stained, to
the lady, that she may wear it over her gown at the meal
which is to conclude the feast. She embraces it tenderly and
shows herself dressed in the shirt as the knight had demanded.
The majority of those present blame her, the husband is con-
founded, and the minstrel winds up by asking the question :
Which of the two lovers sacrificed most for the sake of the
other ?
The Church was openly hostile to tournaments ; it repeatedly
prohibited them, and there is no doubt that the fear of the
passionate character of this noble game, and of the abuses
resulting from it, had a great share in this hostility. Moralists
were not favourably disposed towards tournaments, neither
were the humanists. Where do we read, Petrarch asks, that
Cicero or Scipio jousted ? The burghers thought them useless
and ridiculous. Only the world of the nobility continued to
cultivate all that regarded tournaments and jousts, as things
of the highest importance. Monuments were erected on the
sites of famous combats, as the P61erine Cross near Saint
Omer, in remembrance of the Passage of Arms of la Pelerine,
and of the exploits of the bastard of Saint Pol and a Spanish
1 Of the three knights and the shirt.
72 The Waning of the Middle Ages
knight. Bayard piously went to visit this cross, as if on a
pilgrimage. In the church of Notre Dame of Boulogne were
preserved the decorations of the Passage of Arms of the
Fontaine des Pleurs, solemnly dedicated to the Holy Virgin.
The warlike sports of the Middle Ages differ from Greek
and modern athletics by being far less simple and natural.
Pride, honour, love and art give additional stimulus to the
competition itself. Overloaded with pomp and decoration,
full of heroic fancy, they serve to express romantic needs too
strong for mere literature to satisfy. The realities of court
life or a military career offered too little opportunity for the
fine make-belief of heroism and love, which filled the soul.
So they had to be acted. The staging of the tournament,
therefore, had to be that of romance; that is to say, the
imaginary world of Arthur, where the fancy of a fairy-tale
was enhanced by the sentimentality of courtly love.
A Passage of Arms of the fifteenth century is based on a
fictitious case of chivalrous adventure, connected with an
artificial scene called by a romantic name, as, for instance,
La fontained es pleurs, L'arbre Charlemagne. A fountain is
expressly constructed, and beside it a pavilion, where during
a whole year a lady is to reside (in effigy, be it understood),
holding a unicorn which bears three shields. The first day
of each month knights come to touch the shields, and in this
way to pledge themselves for a combat of which the " Chap-
ters " of the Passage of Arms lay down the rules. They will
find horses in readiness, for the shields have to be touched on
horseback. Or, in the case of the Emprise du dragon, four
knights will be stationed at a cross-road where, unless she
gives a gage, no lady may pass without a knight breaking two
lances for her. There is an unmistakable connection between
these primitive forms of warlike and erotic sport and the
children's play of forfeits. One of the rules of the " Chapters "
of the Fontaine des pleurs runs thus : he who, in a combat, is
lanhorsed, will during a year wear a gold bracelet, until he
finds the lady who holds the key to it and who can free him,
on condition that he shall serve her.
The nobles liked to throw a veil of mystery and melancholy
over the procedure. The knight should be unknown. He is
te blaBc cb^v&liesr," "la chevalier mesoonnu/* or
"
The, Dream of Heroism and of Love 73
lie wears the crest of Lancelot or Palamedes. The shields of
the Fount of Tears are white, violet and black, and overspread
with white tears ; those of the Tree of Charlemagne are sable
and violet, with gold and sable tears. At the Emprise du
dragon, celebrated on the occasion of the departure of his
daughter Margaret for England, King Ken6 was present,
dressed all in black, and his whole outfit, caparison, horse and
all, down to the wood of his lance, was of the same colour.
CHAPTER VI
ORDERS OP CHIVALRY AND VOWS
The ideal of courage, of honour, and of fidelity found other
forms of expression, besides those of the tournament. Apart
from martial sport, the orders of chivalry opened an ample
field where the taste for high aristocratic culture might expand.
Like the tournaments and the accolade, the orders of chivalry
have their roots in the sacred rites of a very remote past.
Their religious origins are pagan, only the feudal system of
thought had Christianized them. Strictly speaking, the
several orders of chivalry are only ramifications of the order of
knighthood itself. For knighthood was a sacred brotherhood,
into which admittance was effected by means of solemn rites
of initiation. The more elaborate form of these rites shows
a most curious blending of Christian and heathen elements :
the shaving, the bath, and the vigil of arms undoubtedly go
back to pre-Christian times. Those who had gone through
these ceremonies were called Knights of the Bath, in distinc-
tion from those who were knighted by the simple accolade.
The term afterwards gave rise to the legend of a special Order
of the Bath instituted by Hemy IV, and thus to the establish-
ment of the real one by George I.
The first great orders, those of the Temple, of Saint John,
and of the Teutonic Knights, born of the mutual penetration
of monastic and feudal ideas, early assumed the character of
great political and economic institutions. Their aim was no
longer in the first place the practice of chivalry ; that element,
as well as their spiritual aspirations, had been more or less
effaced by their political and financial importance. It was
in the orders of more recent origin that the primitive concep-
tion of a club, of a game, of an aristocratic federation, re-
appeared. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the real
importance of chivalrous orders, which were founded in great
mrmbers, was very slight, but the aspirations professed in
74
Orders of Chivalry and Vows 75
founding them were always those of the very highest ethical
and political idealism. Philippe de Mezieres, an unrivalled
political dreamer, wishes to remedy all the evils of the century
by a new order of chivalry, that of the Passion, which is to
unite Christendom in a common effort to expel the Turks.
Burgesses and labourers are to find a place in it, side by side
with the nobles. The three monastic vows are to be modified
for practical reasons : instead of celibacy he only requires
conjugal fidelity, Mezieres adds a fourth vow, unknown to
preceding orders, that of individual, moral perfection, summa
perfectio. He confided the task of propagating the Militia
Pas&ionis Jhesu Christi to four " messaiges de Dieu et de la
chevalerie " (among whom was the celebrated Othe de Granson),
who were to go to " divers lands and kingdoms to preach and
to announce the aforesaid holy chivalry, like four evangelists."
The word " order " thus still preserved much of its spiritual
meaning ; it alternates with " religion," which usually desig-
nated a monastic order. We hear of the " religion " of the
Golden Fleece, of a " knight of the religion of Avys." The
rules of the Golden Fleece are conceived in a truly ecclesiastical
spirit ; mass and obsequies occupy a large place in them ; the
knights are seated in choir-stalls like canons. The member*
ship of an order of chivalry constituted a sacred and exclusive
tie. The, knights of the Star of John the Good are required
to withdraw from every other order, Philip the Good declines
the honour of the Garter, in spite of the urgency of the duke
of Bedford, in order not to tie himself too closely to England.
Charles the Bold, on accepting it, was accused by Louis XI
of having broken the peace of Peronne, which forbade alliance
with England without the king's consent.
In spite of these serious airs, the founders of new orders
had to defend themselves from the reproach of pursuing merely
a vain amusement. The Golden Fleece, says the poet Mchault,
was instituted,
"Non point pour jeu ne pour esbatexnent,
Mais -a la fin quo soit attribute
Loenge & Dieu trestout premi&rement,
Et aux bons gloire et haulte renoimn^e." *
1 Not for amusement, nor for recreation, But for the purpose that praise
shall be given To God, in the first place, And glory and high renown to the
good.
76 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Similarly, Guillaume Fillastre writes his book of the Golden
Fleece to demonstrate the high interest and the sacred import-
ance of the order, that it might not be regarded as a work of
vanity. It was not superfluous to draw attention to the high
objects of the duke, so that his creation might be distinguished
from the numerous orders of recent foundation. There was
not a prince or great noble who did not desire to have his
own order. Orleans, Bourbon, Savoie, Hainaut-Bavi&re,
Lusignan, Coucy, all eagerly exerted themselves in invent-
ing bizarre emblems and striking devices. The chain of
Pierre de Lusignan's Sword-order was made of gold S's,
which meant " silence." The Porcupine of Louis of Orleans
threatens Burgundy with its spines, which it shoots, according
to popular belief, cominus et eminus.
If the Golden Fleece eclipsed all the other orders, it is
because the dukes of Burgundy placed at its disposal the
resources of their enormous wealth. In their view, the order
was to serve as the symbol of their power. The fleece was
primar% that of Colchis ; the fable of Jason was familiar to
all. Jason, however, was, as an eponymous hero, not absolutely
irreproachable. Had he not broken his word ? There was
an opening here for nasty allusions to the policy of the dukes
towards France. La Ballade de Foug&res of Alain Chartier is
an instance :
"A Dieu et aux gens detestable
Est menterie et trahison,
Pour ce n'est point mis a la table
Des preux Pimage de Jason,
Qui pour emporter la toison
De Colcos se veult parjurer.
Larrecin ne se peult celer." 1
It was, therefore, a very happy inspiration of the learned
bishop of Chalons, chancellor of the order, to substitute for
the fleece of the ram that carried Helle another, far more
venerable, namely, that which Gideon spread to receive the
dew of Heaven. The fleece of Gideon was one of the most
imL? ?r d ^T* men 1 detestable * ly^g and treason, For this reason the
unage of Jason Is not placed in the gallery of worthies. Who, to carry off
e fleece Of Oolchos, was willing to commit perjury, Larceny oi^
Orders of Chivalry and Vows 77
striking symbols of the Annunciation. Thus the Old Testa-
ment judge more or less eclipses the pagan hero, as a patron
of the order. Guillaume Fillastre, the successor of Jean
Germain as chancellor of the order, discovered four more
fleeces in Scripture, each of them denoting a special virtue.
But this was plainly overdoing it, and, as far as we can see,
was not successful. " Gedeonis signa " remained the most
revered appellation of the Golden Fleece.
To describe the solemn pomp of the Golden Fleece, or of
the Star, would only be adding new instances to the subject-
matter of a preceding chapter. Let it suffice here to point
dut a single trait common to all the orders of chivalry, in
which the original character of a primitive and sacred game
is particularly conspicuous, namely, the technical appellations
of their officials. The kings-at-arms are called Golden Fleece,
Garter. The heralds bear names of countries : Charolais,
^Zealand. The first of the pursuivants is called "Fusil,"
after the duke's emblem, the flint-and-steel. The names
of the other pursuivants are of a romantic or moral char-
acter, as Montreal, Perseverance, or allegorical, as Humble
Bequest, Sweet Thought, Lawful Pursuit, designations bor-
rowed from the Bomaunt of the Bose. At the feasts of
the order, the pursuivants are baptized in these names by
sprinkling them with wine. Nicolas Upton, a herald of
Humphrey of Gloucester, has described the ceremonial of
such a baptism.
The very essence of the conception of an order of chivalry
appears in its knightly vows. Every order presupposes vows,
but the chivalrous vow exists also outside the orders, under
an individual and occasional form. Here the barbarous
character, testifying that chivalry has its roots in primitive
civilization, comes to the surface. We find parallels in the
India of the MahdbMrata, in ancient Palestine, and in the
Iceland of the Sagas.
What remained, at the end of the Middle Ages, of the cul-
tural value of these chivalrous vows 1 We find them very near
akin to purely religious vows, serving to accentuate o& to fix
a lofty moral aspiration. We also find them supplying roman-
tic and erotic needs and degenerating into an amusement and
a theme for raillery. It is not easy to determine accurately
78 The Waning of the Middle Ages
the degree of sincerity belonging to them. We should not
judge them from the impression of silliness and untruthfulness
which we derive from the Vceux du Faisan, to mention the best
known and most historical example. As in the case of tourna-
ments and passages of arms, we only see the dead form of the
thing : the cultural significance of the custom has disappeared
with the passion animating those to whom these forms were
the realization of a dream of beauty.
In the vows we find once more that mixture of asceticism
and eroticism which we found underlying the idea of chivalry
itself, and so clearly expressed in the tournaments. The
Chevalier de la Tour Landry, in his curious book of admoni-
tion to his daughters, speaks of a strange order of amorous
men and women of noble birth which existed in Poitou and
elsewhere, in his youth. They called themselves Galois and
Galoises, and had "very savage regulations." In summer
they dressed themselves in furs and fur-lined hoods, and lighted
a fire on the hearth, whereas in winter they were only allowed
to wear a simple coat without fur ; neither mantles, nor
hats, nor gloves. During the most severe cold they hid
the hearth behind evergreen sprigs, and had only very
light bed-clothes. It is not surprising that a great many
members died of cold. The husband of a Galoise receiving
a Galois under his roof was bound, under penalty of dis-
honouring himself, to give up his house and his wife to
him. Here is a very primitive trait, which the author could
hardly have invented, although he may have exaggerated
this strange aberration in which we divine a wish to exalt
love by ascetic excitement.
The savage spirit of the vows of knights manifests itself
very clearly in Le Vceu du Heron, a poem of the fourteenth
century, of little historical value, describing the feasts given
at the court of Edward III at the moment when Robert
d'Artois urges the king to declare war on France. The earl
of Salisbury is seated at the feet of his lady. When called
upon to formulate a vow, he begs her to place a finger on his
right eye. Two, if necessary, she replies, and she closes his
eye by placing two fingers on it. " Belle, is it well closed ? "
asks the knight. " Yes, certainly."
Orders of Chivalry and Vows 79
"A dont, dist de le bouche, du ouer le pensement;
Et je veu et prometh a Dieu omnipotent,
Et a sa douche mere que de beaute" resplent,
Qu'il n'est jamais Olivers, pour or6, ne pour vent,
Pour mal, ne pour martire, ne pour encombrement,
Si seray dedans Franche, oft il a bonne gent,
Et si aray le fu boute" enticement
Et serai combatus a grand efforchement
Centre les gens Philype, qua tant a hardement.
... Or, aviegne qu'aviegne, car il n'est autrement.
A done osta son doit la puchelle au cors gent,
Et li iex clos demeure, si ques virent la gent." 1
The literary motif is not without a real foundation. Froissart
actually saw English gentlemen who had covered one eye with
a piece of cloth, to redeem a pledge to use only one eye, till
they should have achieved some deed of bravery in France.
The extreme of savagery is reached in the vow of the queen,
which ends the series in The Vow of the Heron. She takes an
oath not to give birth to the child of which she is pregnant
before the THng h as taken her to the enemy's country and
to kill herself " with a big steel knife," if the confinement
announces itself too early.
" I shall have lost my soul and the fruit will perish."
Le Vo&u du Heron shows us the literary conception of these
vows, the barbarous and primitive character they had in the
minds of that time. Their magical element betrays itself
in the part which the hair and the beard play in them, as in
the case of Benedict XIII, imprisoned at Avignon, who made
the very archaic vow not to have his beard shaved before he
recovered his liberty.
In making a vow, people imposed some privation upon them-
selves as a spur to the accomplishment of the actions they were
pledged to perform. Most frequently the privation concerns
food. The first of the knights whom Philippe de M6zteres
admitted to his Chivalry of the Passion was a Pole, who during
1 Well then, he said by the mouth the thought of the heart ; And I vow
and I promise to Almighty God, And to his sweet mother of resplendent
beauty, That it will never be opened, for storm nor for wind, By evil, nor by
torture, nor by hindrance, Until I shall be hi France, where there are good
people, And until I shall have lighted the fire And I shall have battled with
great exertion Against the people of Philip who is so hardy. . . . Now come
what may, for it is not otherwise. Then the gentle girl took away her finger
And the eye remained shut, as people saw.
80 The Waning of the Middle Ages
nine years had only eaten and drunk standing. Bertrand du
Guesclin was dangerously prone to utter vows of this kind.
He will not undress till he has taken Montcontour ; he will
not eat till he has effected an encounter with the English.
It goes without saying that a nobleman of the fourteenth
century understood nothing of the magical meaning implied
in these fasts. To us this original meaning is clear. It is
equally so in the custom of wearing foot-irons as signs of a vow.
As early as the eighteenth century, La Curne de Sainte Palaye
remarked that the usage of the Chatti, described by Tacitus,
corresponded exactly with the fashion which medieval
chivalry had preserved. In 1415 Jean de Bourbon vowed,
and sixteen knights and squires with him, that each Sunday
during two years they would wear on the left leg foot-irons
the knights of gold, the squires of silver till they should
find sixteen adversaries ready to fight them to the death.
The " adventurous knight," Jean de Boniface, arriving at
Antwerp from Sicily in 1445, wears an " emprise " of the
same sort, so does Sir Loiselench in Le petit Jehan de Saintre.
The propensity to vow to perform some thing, when in danger
or in violent emotion, undoubtedly always remains a powerful
one. It has very deep psychological roots, and does not
belong to any particular religion or civilization. Neverthe-
less, as a form of chivalrous culture, the vow was dying out
at the end of the Middle Ages,
When, at Lille, in 1454, Philip the Good, preparing for his
crusade, crowns his extravagant feasts by the celebrated
Vows of the Pheasant, it is like the last manifestation of a
dying usage, which has become a fantastic ornament, after
having been a very serious element of earlier civilization.
The old ritual, such as chivalrous tradition ,and romance
taught it, is carefully observed. The vows are taken at the
banquet ; the guests swear by the pheasant served up, one
" bluffing " the other, just as the old Norsemen vied with
each other in foolrhardy vows sworn in drunkenness by the
boar served up. There are pious vows, made to God and to
the Holy Virgin, to the ladies and to the bird, and others in
which the Deity is not mentioned. They contain always
the same privations of food or of comfort : not to sleep in a
bed on Saturday, not to take animal food on Friday, etc*
Orders of Chivalry and Vows 81
One act of asceticism is heaped upon another : one nobleman
promises to wear no armour, to drink no wine one day in
every week, not to sleep in a bed, not to sit down to meals,
to wear the hair-shirt. The method of accomplishing the
vowed exploit is minutely specified and registered.
Are we to take all this seriously ? The actors of the play
pretend to do so. In connection with the vow of Philippe
Pot to fight with his right arm bare, the duke, as though he
feared real danger for his favourite, orders this addition to
the registered promise : " It is not the pleasure of my very
redoubted lord, that Messire Philippe Pot undertakes, in his
company, the holy votive journey with his arm bare ; but he
desires that he shall travel with him well and sufficiently
armed, as beseems." As regards the vow of the duke himself,
to fight the Great Turk with his own hand, it provokes general
emotion. Among the vows there are conditional ones, betray-
ing the intention of escaping, in case of danger, by a pretext.
There are those resembling a fillipeen. And in fact this game,
still in fashion some forty years ago, may be regarded as a
pale survival of the chivalrous vow.
Yet a vein of mocking pleasantry runs through the super-
ficial pomp. At the Vow of the Heron, Jean de Beaumont
takes an oath to serve the lord from whom he may expect the
greatest liberality. At those of the Pheasant, Jennet de
Eebreviettes swears that unless he wins the favour of his lady
before the expedition, he will marry, on his return from the
East, the first lady or girl possessing twenty thousand gold
pieces, " if she be willing." Yet this same Rebreviettes, in
spite of his cynicism, set out as a "poor squire," seeking
adventures in the wars against the Moors of Granada.
Thus a blase aristocracy laughs at its own ideal. After
having adorned its dream of heroism with all the resources
of fantasy, art and wealth, it bethinks itself that life is not so
fine, after all and smiles*
CHAPTER VII
THE POLITICAL AND MILITARY VALUE OP
CHIVALROUS IDEAS
In tracing the picture of the declining Middle Ages, the
scholars of our days, generally speaking, take little account
of the surviving chivalrous ideas. They are regarded by
common consent as a more or less artificial revival of ideas,
whose real value had long since disappeared. They would
seem to be an ornament of society and no more. The men
who made the history of those times, princes, nobles, prelates,
or burghers, were no romantic dreamers, but dealt in solid
facts. Still, nearly all paid homage to the chivalrous bias,
and it remains to consider to what extent this bias modified
the course of events. For the history of civilization the
perennial dream of a sublime life has the value of a very
important reality. And even political history itself, under
penalty of neglecting actual facts, is bound to take illusions,
vanities, follies, into account. There is not a more dangerous
tendency in history than that of representing the past, as if
it were a rational whole and dictated by clearly defined interests .
We have, therefore, to estimate 1/he influence of chivalrous
ideas on politics and on war at the close of the Middle Ages.
Were the rules of chivalry taken into account in the councils
of kings and in those of war ? Were resolutions sometimes
inspired by the chivalrous point of view ? Without any doubt.
If medieval politics were not governed for the better by the
idea of chivalry, surely they were so sometimes for the worse.
Chivalry during the Middle Ages was, on the one hand, the
great source of tragic political errors, exactly as are nationalism
and racial pride at the present day. On the other, it tended
to disguise well-adjusted calculations under the appearance of
generous aspirations. The gravest political error which France
could commit was the creation of a quasi-independent Bur-
82
Value of Chivalrous Ideas 83
gundy, and it had a chivalrous reason for its avowed motive :
King John, that knightly muddle-head, wished to reward the
courage shown by his son at Poitiers by an extraordinary
liberality. The stubborn anti-French policy of the dukes of
Burgundy after 1419, although dictated by the interests of
their house, was justified in the eyes of contemporaries by
the duty of exacting an exemplary vengeance for the murder
of Montereau. Burgundian court literature exerts itself to
keep up in all political matters the semblance of chivalrous
inspiration. The surnames of the dukes, that of "Sans
Peur" given to Jean, of "Hardi" to the first Philip, of
" Qui qu'en hongne " which they did not succeed in imposing
on the second Philip, usually called " the Good," are inventions
calculated to place the prince in a nimbus of chivalrous
romance.
Now there was one among the political aspirations of the
epoch where the chivalrous ideal was implied in the nature of
the enterprise itself, namely, the recovery of the Holy Sepul-
chre. The highest political ideal which all the kings of Europe
were obliged to profess was still symbolized by Jerusalem.
Here the contrast between the real interest of Christendom
and the form the idea took is most striking. The Europe of
1400 was confronted by an Eastern question of supreme
urgency: that of repulsing the Turks who had just taken
Adrianople and wiped out the Serbian kingdom. The immi-
nent danger ought to have concentrated all efforts on the
Balkans. Yet the imperative task of European politics does
not yet disengage itself from the old idea of the crusades.
People only succeeded in seeing the Turkish question as a
secondary part of the sacred duty in which their ancestors
had failed : the conquest of Jerusalem.
The conquest of Jerusalem could not but present itself to
the mind as a work of piety and of heroism that is to say,
of chivalry. In the councils on Eastern politics the heroic
ideal preponderated more than in ordinary politics, and this it
is which explains the very meagre success of the war against
the Turks. Expeditions which, before all else, required
patient preparation and minute inquiry, tended, more than
once, to be romanticized, so to speak, from the very outset.
The catastrophe of Nicopolis had proved the fatal folly of
84 The Waning of the Middle Ages
undertaking, against a very warlike enemy, an expedition of
great importance as light-heartedly as if it were a question
of going to kill a handful of heathen peasants in Prussia or in
Lithuania.
In the fifteenth century each king still felt virtually bound
to set out and recapture Jerusalem. When Henry V of
England, dying at Paris in 1422, in the midst of his career of
conquest, was listening to the reading of the seven penitential
psalms, he interrupted the officiating priest at the words
Benigne fac, domine, in lona, voluntate tua, Sion, ut aedificentur
muri Jerusalem, and declared that he had intended to go
and conquer Jerusalem, after having re-established peace in
France, " if it had pleased God, his Creator, to let him live to
old age." After that he orders the priest to go on reading,
and dies.
In the case of Philip the Good, the design of a crusade seems
to have been a mixture of chivalrous caprice and political
advertising ; he wished to pose, by this pious and useful project,
as the protector of Christendom, to the detriment of the king
of France. The expedition to Turkey was, as it were, a trump-
card that he did not live to play.
The chivalrous fiction was also at the back of a peculiar
form of political advertisement, to which Duke Philip was
much attached to wit, the duel between two princes, always
being announced, but never carried out. The idea of having
political differences decided by a single combat between the
two princes concerned, was a logical consequence of the
conception still prevailing, as if political disputes were nothing
but a " quarrel " in the juristic sense of the word. A Burgun-
dian partisan, for instance, serves the " quarrel " of his lord.
What more natural means to settle such a case can be imagined
than the duel of two princes, the too parties to the " quarrel " ?
The solution was satisfactory to both the primitive sense of
right and the chivalrous imagination. In reading the summary
of the carefully arranged preparations for these princely duels,
we ask ourselves, if they were not a conscious feint, either to
impose upon one's enemy, or to appease the grievances of
one s own subjects. Are we not rather to regard them as an
inextricable mixture of humbug and of a chimerical, but, after
all, sincere, craving to conform to the life heroic, by posing
Value of Chivalrous Ideas 85
before all the world as the champion of right, who does not
hesitate to sacrifice himself for his people ?
How, otherwise, are we to explain the surprising persistence
of these plans for princely duels ? Richard II of England
offers to fight, together with his uncles, the dukes of Lancaster,
York, and Gloucester, against the king of France, Charles VI,
and his uncles, the dukes of Anjou, Burgundy and Berry.
Louis of Orleans defies the king of England, Henry IV.
Henry V of England challenges the dauphin before marching
upon Agincourt. Above all, the duke of Burgundy displayed an
almost frenzied attachment to this mode of settling a question.
In 1425 he challenges Humphrey, duke of Gloucester, in con-
nection with the question of Holland. The motive, as always,
is expressly formulated in these terms : "To prevent Christian
bloodshed and destruction of the people, on whom my heart
has compassion," I wish " that by my own body, this quarrel
may be settled, without proceeding by means of wars, which
would entail that many noblemen and others, both of your
army and of mine, would end their days pitifully."
All was ready for the combat : the magnificent armour and
the state dresses, the pavilions, the standards, the banners,
the armorial tabards for the heralds, everything richly adorned
with the duke's blazons and with his emblems, the flint-and-
steel and the Saint Andrew's cross. The duke had gone in
for a course of training " both by abstinence in the matter of
food and by taking exercise to keep him in breath." He
practised fencing every day in his park of Hesdin with the
most expert masters. The detailed expenses entailed by this
affair are found in the accounts published by de La Borde,
but the combat did not take place.
This did not prevent the duke, twenty years later, from
again wishing to decide a question touching Luxemburg by a
single combat with the duke of Saxony. Towards the close
of his life he is still vowing to engage in a hand-to-hand combat
with the Grand Turk.
We find this custom oi challenges between sovereigns re-
appearing as late as the hey-day of the Renaissance. To
deliver Italy from Cesare Borgia, Francesco Gonzaga offers
to fight the latter with sword and dagger. Charles V himself,
on two occasions, in 1526 and in 1536, formally proposes to
The Waning of the Middle Ages
the THng of France to end their differences by a single combat.
The notion of two princes fighting a duel in order to decide a
conflict between their countries had nothing impossible about
it at an epoch when the judicial duel was still as firmly rooted
in practice and in ideas as it was in the fifteenth century.
If a political duel between two real sovereigns never actually
took place, at any rate in 1397 a very great lord, accused of a
political crime by a nobleman, fought him in due form and was
killed. We refer to Othe de Granson, an illustrious knight and
admired poet, who perished at Bourg en Bresse by the hand
of Gerard d'Estavayer. The latter had made himself the
champion of the towns of the Pays de Vaud, which were very
hostile to Granson, as he was suspected of complicity in the
murder of his lord, Ame VII, of Savoy, surnamed " the Red
Count." This judicial duel caused an immense sensation.
If princes had such a chivalrous conception of their duty,
it is not astonishing that similar ideas constantly exercised a
certain influence on political and military decisions : a nega-
tive influence and scarcely of a decisive nature, taking all
in all, but nevertheless real. The chivalrous prejudice often
caused resolutions to be retarded or precipitated, opportunities
to be lost, and profit to be neglected, for the sake of a point
of honour; it exposed commanders to unnecessary dangers.
Strategical interests were frequently sacrificed in order to keep
up the appearances of the heroic life. Sometimes a king him-
self would go forth to seek military adventure, like Edward III
attacking a convoy of Spanish ships by night. Froissart
asserts that the knights of the Star had to swear never to fly
more than four acres from the battlefield, through which rule
soon afterwards more than ninety of them lost their lives. The
article is not found in the statutes of the order, as published
by Luc d'Achery ; nevertheless, such formalism tallies well
with the ideas of that epoch. Some days before the battle of
Agincourt, the king of England, on his way to meet the French
army, one evening passed by mistake by the village which
the foragers of his army had fixed upon as night-quarters. He
would have had time to return, and he would have done it, if
a point of honour had not prevented him. The king, " as the
chief guardian of the very laudable ceremonies of honour,"
had just published an order, according to which knights, while
Value of Chivalrous Ideas 87
reconnoitring, had to take off their coat-armour, because their
honour would not suffer knights to retreat, when accoutred for
battle. Now, the king himself had put on his coat-armour,
and so, having passed it by, he could not return to the village
mentioned. He therefore passed the night in the place he had
reached and also made the vanguard advance accordingly, in
spite of the dangers that might have been incurred.
Just as a political conflict was regarded as an action at law,
so there was also but a difference of degree between a battle
and a judicial duel, or the combat of knights in the lists. In
his Arbre des Batailles, Honore Bonet places them under the
same head, although carefully distinguishing "great general
battles" and "particular battles." In the wars of the fif-
teenth century, and even later, the custom for two captains
or two equal groups to appoint meetings for a fight, in sight
of the two armies, was still kept up. The Combat of the
Thirty has remained the celebrated type of these fights. It
was fought in 1351 at Ploermel, in Brittany, between the
French of Beaumanoir and a company of thirty men, English,
Germans and Bretons, under a certain Bamborough. Frois-
sart, though full of admiration, cannot help remarking :
" Some held it a prowess, and some held it a shame and a
great overbearing." The uselessness of these chivalrous
spectacles was so evident that those in authority resented
them. It was impossible to expose the honour of the king-
dom to the hazards of a single combat. When Guy de la
Tremoille wished to prove in 1386 the superiority of the French
by a duel with an English nobleman, Peter Courtenay, the dukes
of Burgundy and Berry at the last moment issued a formal
prohibition. The authors of the Jouvencel disapprove of these
competitions of glory. " They are forbidden things and which
people should not do. In the first place, those who do it,
want to take away the good of others, that is to say, their
honour, to procure themselves vain glory, which is of little
value ; and, in doing this, he serves none, he spends his money ;
... in being occupied in doing this, he neglects his part in
waging war, the service of his king and the public cause ; and
no one should expose his body, unless in meritorious works."
This is the military spirit, which itself has issued from the
spirit of chivalry and is now gradually supplanting it. The
The Waning of the Middle Ages
custom of these fights outlived the Middle Ages. The French
and Spanish armies, in the south of Italy, in 1503, feasted
their eyes first upon the Combat of the Eleven, without any
fatal result, and then upon the famous duel between Bayard
and Sotomayor, which was by no means the last of its sort.
Thus, in warfare, the chivalrous point of honour continues
to make itself felt, but when an important question arises for
decision, strategic prudence carries the day in the majority
of cases. Generals still propose to the enemy to come to an
understanding as to the choice of the battlefield, but the
invitation is generally declined by the party occupying the
better position. In vain did the English in 1333 invite the
Scotch to come down from their strong position in order to
fight them in the plains ; in vain did Guillaume de Hainaut
propose an armistice of three days to the king of France, during
which a bridge could be built permitting the armies to join
battle. Reason, however, is not always victorious. Before
the battle of Najera (or of Navarrete), in which Bertrand du
Guesclin was taken prisoner, Don Henri de Trastamara desires,
at any cost, to measure himself with the enemy in the open
field. He voluntarily gives up the advantages offered by the
configuration of the ground and loses the battle.
If chivalry had to yield to strategy and tactics, none the
less it remained of importance in the exterior apparatus of
warfare. An army of the fifteenth century, with its splendid
show of rich ornament and solemn pomp, still offered the spec-
tacle of a tournament of glory and honour. The multitude of
banners and pennons, the variety of heraldic bearings, the
sound of clarions, the war-cries resounding all day long, all
this, with the military costume itself and the ceremonies of
dubbing knights before the battle, tended to give war the
appearance of a noble sporjb.
After the middle of the century, the drum, of Oriental
origin, makes its appearance in the armies of the West, in-
troduced by the lansquenets. With its unmusical hypnotic
effect it symbolizes, as it were, the transition from the epoch
of chivalry to that of the art of modern warfare ; together with
fire-arms it has contributed towards rendering war mechanical.
The chivalrous point of view still presides over the classifi-
cation of martial exploits by the chroniclers. They take
Value of Chivalrous Ideas
pains to distinguish, according to technical rules, between
a pitched battle and an encounter, for it is imperative that
every combat has its appropriate place in the records of glory.
" And so, from this day forward " says Monstrelet " this
business was called the encounter of Mons en Vimeu. And
it was declared to be no battle, because the parties met by
chance and there were hardly any banners unfurled.'* Henry V
solemnly baptizes his great victory, the battle of Agincourt,
" inasmuch as all battles should bear the name of the nearest
fortress where they are fought."
In spite of the care taken on all hands to keep up the illusion
of chivalry, reality perpetually gives the lie to it, and obliges
it to take refuge in the domains of literature and of conversa-
tion. The ideal of the fine heroic life could only be cultivated
within the limits of a close caste. The sentiments of chivalry
were current only among the members of the caste and by no
means extended to inferior persons. The Burgundian court,
which was saturated with chivalrous prejudice, and would
not have tolerated the slightest infringement of rules in a
"combat & outrance" between noblemen, relished the un-
bridled ferocity of a judicial duel between burghers, where
there was no code of honour to observe. Nothing could be
more remarkable in this respect than the interest excited
everywhere by the combat of two burghers of Valenciennes
in 1455. The old Duke Philip wanted to see the rare spectacle
at any cost. One must read the vivid and realistic description
given by Chastellain in order to appreciate how a chivalrous
writer who never succeeded in giving more than a vaguely
fanciful description of a Passage of Arms, made up for it here
by giving full rein to the instincts of natural cruelty. Not
one detail of the " very beautiful ceremony " escaped him.
The adversaries, accompanied by their fencing masters, enter
the lists, first Jacotin Plouvier, the plaintiff, next Mahuot.
Their heads are cropped close and they are sewn up from head
to foot in cordwain dresses of a single piece. They are very
pale. After having saluted the duke, who was seated behind
lattice-work, they await the signal, seated upon two chairs
upholstered in black. The spectators exchange remarks in a
low voice on the chances of the combat : How pale Mahuot is
90 The Waning of the Middle Ages
as he kisses the Testament ! Two servants come to rub them
with grease from the neck to the ankles. Both champions
rub their hands with ashes and take sugar in their mouths ;
next they are given quartersticks and bucklers painted with
images of saints, which they hold upside down, having, more-
over, in their hands " a scroll of devotion."
Mahuot, a small man, begins the combat by throwing sand
into Jacotin's face with the point of his buckler. Soon after-
wards he falls to the ground under the formidable blows of
Jacotin, who throws himself on Mm, fills his eyes and mouth
with sand, and thrusts his thumb into the socket of his eye, to
make him let go of a finger which Mahuot has between his teeth.
Jacotin wrings the other's arms, jumps upon his back and tries
to break it. In vain does Mahuot cry for mercy, and asks to
be confessed. "O my lord of Burgundy," he calls out, "I
have served you so well in your war of Ghent ! O my lord,
for God's sake, I beg for mercy, save my life ! "... Here
some pages of Chastellain's chronicle are missing ; we learn
elsewhere that the dying man was dragged out of the lists
and hanged by the executioner.
Did Chastellain end his lively narrative by a moral ? It
is probable ; anyhow, La Marche tells that the nobility were a
little ashamed at having been present at such a spectacle.
" Because of which God caused a duel of knights to follow,
which was irreproachable and without fatal consequences,"
adds the incorrigible court poet.
As soon as it is a question of non-nobles, the old and deep-
rooted contempt for the villein shows us that the ideas of
chivalry had availed but little in mitigating feudal barbarism*
diaries VI, after the battle of Eosebeke, wishes to see the
corpse of Philip of Artevelde. The king does not show the
slightest respect for the illustrious rebel. According to one
chronicle, he is said to have kicked the body, " treating it as
a villein." " When it had been looked at, for some time "
says Froissart " it was taken from that place and hanged on a
tree."
Hard realities were bound to open the eyes of the nobility
and show the falseness and uselessness of their ideal. The
financial side of a knight's career was frankly avowed. Erois-
sart never omits to enumerate, the profits which a successful
Value of Chivalrous Ideas 91
enterprise procured for its heroes. The ransom of a noble
prisoner was the backbone of the business to the warriors
of the fifteenth century. Pensions, rents, governor's places,
occupy a large place in a knight's life. His aim is " s'avanchier
par armes " (to get on in life by arms). Commines rates the
courtiers according to their pay, and speaks of " a nobleman
of twenty crowns," and Deschamps makes them sigh after
the day of payment, in a ballad with the refrain :
" Et quant venra le tresorier ? " x
As a military principle, chivalry was no longer sufficient.
Tactics had long since given up all thought of conforming to
its rules. The custom of making the knights fight on foot was
borrowed by the French from the English, though the chival-
rous spirit was opposed to this practice. It was also opposed
to sea-fights. In the Debat des Herauts d' Armes de France et
d'AngUterre, the French herald being asked by his English
colleague : Why does the king of France not maintain a great
naval force, like that of England ? replies very naively : In
the first place he does not need it, and, then, the French
nobility prefer wars on dry land, for several reasons, " for
(on the sea) there is danger and loss of life and God knows how
awful it is when a storm rages and sea-sickness prevails which
many people find hard to bear. Again, look at the hard life
which has to be lived, which does not beseem nobility."
Nevertheless, chivalrous, ideas did not die out without
having borne some fruit. In so far as they formed a system
of rules of honour and precepts of virtue, they exercised a
certain influence on the evolution of the laws of war. The law
of nations originated in antiquity and in canon law, but it
was chivalry which caused it to flower. The aspiration after
universal peace is linked with the idea of crusades and with
that of the orders of chivalry. Philippe de Mezieres planned
his " Order of the Passion " to insure the good of the world.
The young king of France (this was written about 1388,
when such great hopes were still entertained of the unhappy
Charles VI) will be easily able to conclude peace with Richard
of England, young like himself and also innocent of bloodshed
in the past. Let them discuss the peace personally ; let them
1 And when will the paymaster come ?
92 The Waning of the Middle Ages
tell each other of the marvellous revelations which have already
heralded it. Let them ignore all the futile differences which
might prevent peace, if negotiations were left to ecclesiastics,
to lawyers, and to soldiers. The king of France may fearlessly
cede a few frontier towns and castles. Directly after the
conclusion of peace the crusade will be prepared. Quarrels
and hostilities will cease everywhere ; the tyrannical govern-
ments of countries will be reformed ; a general council will
summon the princes of Christendom to undertake a crusade,
in case sermons do not suffice to convert the Tartars, Turks,
Jews and Saracens.
The share which the ideas of chivalry have had in the develop-
ment of the law of nations is not limited to these dreams. The
notion of a law of nations itself was preceded and led up to
by the ideal of a beautiful life of honour and of loyalty. In
the fourteenth century we find the formulation of principles
of international law blending with the casuistical and often
puerile regulations of passages of arms and combats in the
lists. In 1352 Sir Geoffroi de Charney (who died at Poitiers
bearing the oriflamme) addresses to the king, who has just
instituted his order of the Star, a treatise composed of a long
list of " demandes," that is to say, questions of casuistry,
concerning jousts, tournaments and war. Jousts and tourna-
ments rank first, but the importance of questions of military
law is shown by their far greater number. It should be remem-
bered that this order of the Star was the culmination of chival-
rous romanticism, founded expressly " in the manner of the
Bound Table."
Better known than the " demandes " of Geoftroi de Charney
is a work that appeared towards the end of the fourteenth
century, and which remained in vogue till the sixteenth :
PArbre des Batailles of Honore Bonet, prior of Selonnet, in
Provence. The influence of chivalry on the development of
the law of nations nowhere appears more clearly than here.
Though the author is an ecclesiastic, the idea which suggests
his very remarkable conceptions to him is that of chivalry.
He treats promiscuously questions of personal honour and
the gravest questions of the law of nations. For example,
"by what right can one wage war against the Saracens or
other unbelievers," or, "if a prince may refuse the passage
Value of Chivalrous Ideas 93
through his country to another." What is especially remark-
able is the spirit of gentleness and of humanity in which Bonet
solves these problems. May the king of France, waging war
with England, take prisoner " the poor English, merchants,
labourers of the soil and shepherds who tend their flocks in the
fields " ? The author answers in the negative ; not only do
Christian morals forbid it, but also " the honour of the age. 5 '
He even goes so far as to extend the privilege of safe conduct
in the enemy's country to the case of the father of an English
student wishing to visit his sick son in Paris.
L'Arbre des Batailles was, unfortunately, only a theoretical
treatise. We know full well that war in those times was very
cruel. The fine rules and the generous exemptions enumerated
by the good prior of Selonnet were too rarely observed. Still,
if a little clemency was slowly introduced into political and
military practice, this was due rather to the sentiment of
honour than to convictions based on legal and moral principles.
Military duty was conceived in the first place as the honour
of a knight.
Taine said : " In the middle and lower classes the chief
motive of conduct is self-interest. With an aristocracy the
mainspring is pride. Now among the profound sentiments
of man there is none more apt to be transformed into probity,
patriotism and conscience, for a proud man feels the need of
self-respect, and, to obtaiii it, he is led to deserve it." Is not
this the point of view whence we must consider the importance
of chivalry in the history of civilization ? Pride assuming
the features of a high ethical value, knightly self-respect pre-
paring the way for clemency and right. These transitions
in the domain of thought are real. In the passage quoted
above from Le Jouvencel we noticed how chivalric sentiment
passes into patriotism. All the best elements of patriotism
the spirit of sacrifice, the desire for justice and protection for
the oppressed sprouted in the soil of chivalry. It is in the
classic country of chivalry, in France, that are heard, for the
first time, the touching accents of love of the fatherland,
irradiated by the sentiment of justice. One need not be a
great poet to say these simple things with dignity. No author
of those times has given French patriotism such a touching
and also such a varied expression as Eustache Deschamps,
94 The Waning of the Middle Ages
whom we can only rate as a mediocre poet. Addressing France,
he says :
" Tu as dur< et durras sanz doubtance
Tant com raisons sera de toy aine'e,
Autrement, non ; fay done a la balance
Justice en toy et que bien soit gard<Se." *
Chivalry would never have been the ideal of life during
several centuries if it had not contained high social values,
Its strength lay in the very exaggeration of its generous and
fantastic views. The soul of the Middle Ages, ferocious and
passionate, could only be led by placing far too high the ideal
towards which its aspirations should tend. Thus acted the
Church, thus also feudal thought. We may apply, here
Emerson's words: "Without this violence of direction,
which men and women have, without a spice of bigot and
fanatic, no excitement, no efficiency. We aim above the mark
to hit the mark. Every act hath some falsehood of exaggera-
tion in it." That reality has constantly given the lie to these
high illusions of a pure and noble social life, who would deny ?
But where should we be, if our thoughts had never trans-
cended the exact limits of the feasible ?
1 You have endured and will, no doubt, endure So long as reason will be
loved by you. Not otherwise ; so hold the balance Of justice in yourself,
and let it be well kept.
CHAPTER Vin
LOVE FORMALIZED
When in the twelfth century unsatisfied desire was placed
by the troubadours of Provence in the centre of the poetic
conception of love, an important turn in the history of civiliza-
tion was effected. Antiquity, too, had sung the sufferings of
love, but it had never conceived them save as the expectation
of happiness or as its pitiful frustration. The sentimental
point of Pyramus and Thisbe, of Cephalus and Procris, lies
in their tragic end ; in the heart-rending loss of a happiness
already enjoyed. Courtly poetry, on the other hand, makes
desire itself the essential motif, and so creates a conception
of love with a negative ground-note. Without giving up all
connection with sensual love, the new poetic ideal was capable
of embracing all kinds of ethical aspiratipns. Love now be-
came the field where all moral and cultural perfection flowered.
Because of his love, the courtly lover is pure and virtuous. The
spiritual element dominates more and more, till towards the
end of the thirteenth century, the dolce stil nuavo of Dante and
his friends ends by attributing to love the gift of bringing
about a state of piety and holy intuition. Here an extreme
had been reached. Italian poetry was gradually to find
its way back to a less exalted expression of erotic sentiment.
Petrarch is divided between the ideal of spiritualized love and
the more natural charm of antique models. Soon the artificial
system of courtly love is abandoned, and its subtle distinctions
will not be revived, when the Platonism of the Renaissance,
latent, already, in the courtly conception, gives rise to new
forms of erotic poetry with a spiritual tendency.
In France the evolution of erotic culture was more compli-
cated. The idea of courtly love was not to be supplanted so
easily there. The system is not given up ; but the forms are
filled by new values. Even before Dante had found the eternal
95
The Waning of the Middle Ages
harmony of his Vita Nuova, the Roman de la Rose had in-
augurated a novel phase of erotic thought in France. The
work, begun before 1240 by Guillaume de Lorris, was finished,
before 1280, by Jean Chopinel. Few books have exercised a
more profound and enduring influence on the life of any period
than the Romaunt of the Rose. Its popularity lasted for two
centuries at least. It determined the aristocratic conception
of love in the expiring Middle Ages. By reason of its encyclo-
pedic range it became the treasure-house whence lay society
drew the better part of its erudition.
The existence of an upper class whose intellectual and moral
notions are enshrined in an ars amandi remains a rather excep-
tional fact in history. In no other epoch did the ideal of
civilization amalgamate to such a degree with that of love.
Just as scholasticism represents the grand effort of the medieval
spirit to unite all philosophic thought in a single centre, so the
theory of courtly love, in a less elevated sphere, tends to em-
brace all that appertains to the noble life. The Roman de la
Rose did not destroy the system ; it only modified its tendencies
and enriched its contents.
To formalize love is the supreme realization of the aspiration
to the life beautiful, of which we traced above both the cere-
monial and the heroic expression. More than in pride and
in strength, beauty is found in love. To formalize love is,
moreover, a social necessity, a need that is the more imperious
as life is more ferocious. Love has to be elevated to the
height of a rite. The overflowing violence of passion demands
it. Only by constructing a system of forms and rules for the
vehement emotions can barbarity be escaped. The brutality
and the licence of the lower classes was always ifervently, but
never very efficiently, repressed by the Church. The aristo-
cracy could feel less dependent on religious admonition, because
they had a piece of culture of their own from which to draw
their standards of conduct, namely, courtesy. Literature,
fashion and cdnversation here formed the means to regulate
and refine erotic life. If they did not altogether succeed, they
at least created the appearance of an honourable life of courtly
love. For, in reality, the sexual life of the higher classes
remained surprisingly rude.
In the erotic conceptions of the Middle Ages two diverging
Love Formalized 97
currents are to be distinguished. Extreme indecency showing
itself freely in customs, as in literature, contrasts with an
excessive formalism, bordering on prudery. Chastellain
mentions frankly how the duke of Burgundy, awaiting an
English embassy at Valenciennes, reserves the baths of the
town " for them and for all their retinue, baths provided with
everything required for the calling of Venus, to take by choice
and by election what they liked best, and all at the expense
of the duke." Charles the Bold was reproached with his
continence, which was thought unbecoming in a prince. At
the royal or princely courts of the fifteenth century, marriage
feasts were accompanied by all sorts of licentious pleasantries
a usage which had not disappeared two centuries later. In
Eroissart's narrative of the marriage of Charles VI with
Isabella of Bavaria we hear the obscene grinning of the court,
Deschamps dedicates to Antoine de Bourgogne an epithala-
nminm of extreme indecency. A certain rhymer makes a
lascivious ballad at the request of the lady of Burgundy and
of all the ladies.
Such customs seem to be absolutely opposed to the con-
straint and the modesty imposed by courtesy, The same
circles who showed so much shamelessness in sexual relations
professed to venerate the ideal of courtly love. Are we to
look for hypocrisy in their theory or for cynical abandonment
of troublesome forms in their practice ?
We should rather picture to ourselves two layers of
civilization superimposed, coexisting though contradictory.
Side by side with the courtly style, of literary and rather
recent origin, the primitive forms of erotic life kept all
their force ; for a complicated civilization like that of the
closing Middle Ages could not but be heir to a crowd of
conceptions, motives, erotic forms, which now collided and
now blended.
The whole of the epithalamic genre may be considered as
a heritage of a remote past. In primitive culture marriage
and nuptials form but one single sacred rite, converging in
the mystery of copulation. Afterwards the Church, by trans-
ferring the sacred element of marriage to the sacrament,
reserved the mystery for itself, leaving its accessories, to
which it objected, to develop freely as popular practices. Thtis
"98 The Waning of the Middle Ages
the epithalamic apparatus, though stripped of its sacred
character, nevertheless kept its importance as the main element
in the nuptial feasts, thriving there more freely than ever.
Licentious expression and gross symbolism were essential to
it. The Church was powerless to bridle them. Neither
Catholic discipline nor Reformed Puritanism could do away
with the quasi-publicity of the marriage-bed, which remained
in vogue well into the seventeenth century.
It is therefore from an ethnological point of view, as sur-
vivals, that we have to regard the mass of obscenities, equi-
vocal sayings and lascivious symbols which we meet in the
civilization of the Middle Ages. They were the remains of
mysteries that had degenerated into games and amusements.
Evidently the people of that epoch did not feel that, in taking
pleasure in them, they were infringing the prescriptions of
the courtly code ; they felt themselves on different soil where
courtesy was not current.
It would be an exaggeration to say that in erotic literature
the whole comic genre was derived from the epithalamium. Cer-
tainly the indecent tale, the farce and the lascivious song had
long formed a genre of their own of which the forms of expres-
sion were liable to but little variation. Obscene allegory pre-
dominates ; every trade lent itself to this treatment ; the
literature of the time abounds in symbolism borrowed from
the tournament, the chase or music ; but most popular of all
was., the religious travesty of erotic matters. Besides the
grossly comic style of the Cent Nouvelles Nouvettes, punning
with homonymous words like saint and seins, or using in an
obscene sense the words for blessing and confession, erotic-
ecclesiastical allegory took a more refined form. The poets of
the circle of Charles d' Orleans compared their amorous sadness
to the sufferings of the ascetic and the martyr. They call
themselves "les amoureux de Pobservance," alluding to the
severe reform which the Franciscan order had just undergone.
Charles d'Orleans begins one of his pieces :
"Ce sont ici les dix commandemens,
Vray Dieu d'amours. . . ." x
1 These are the ten commandments, True God of love.
Love Formalized
Or, lamenting his dead love, he says :
"J'ay fait 1'obseque de ma dame
Dedans le moustier amoureux,
Et le service pour son ame
A chant6 Penser doloreux.
Mains sierges de soupirs piteux
Ont est6 en son luminaire,
Aussi j'ay fait la tombe faire
De regrets. . . ," 1
All the effects of a sweet and melancholy burlesque are
found together in that very tender and pure poem of the end
of the century called L'Amant rendu Cordelier de FObservance
d' Amour, which describes the reception of an inconsolable
lover in the convent of amorous martyrs. It is as though
erotic poetry even in this perverse way strove to recover that
primitive connection with sacred matters of which the Christian
religion had bereft it.
French authors like to oppose " Pesprit gaulois " to the
conventions of courtly love, as the natural conception and
expression opposed to the artificial. Now the former is no
less a fiction than the latter. Erotic thought never acquires
literary value save by some process of transfiguration of com-
plex and painful reality into illusionary forms. The whole
genre of Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles and the loose song, with
its wilful neglect of all the natural and -social complications
of love, with its indulgence towards the lies and egotism of
sexual life, and its vision of a never-ending lust, implies, no
less than the screwed-up system of courtly love, an attempt to
substitute for reality the dream of a happier life. It is once
more the aspiration towards the life sublime, but this time
viewed from the animal side. It is an ideal all the same, even
though it be that of unchastity. Reality at all times has been
worse and more brutal than the refined sestheticism of courtesy
would have it be, but also more chaste than it is represented
to be by the vulgar genre which is wrongly regarded as realism.
As an element of literary culture the " genre gaulois " could
1 1 have celebrated the obsequies of my lady In the church of love, And
the'service for her soul Was sung by dolorous Thought. Many tapers of pitiful
sighs Have burned in her iHuminatioxift Also I had the tomb made Of
regrets. * . .
100 The Waning of the Middle Ages
only occupy a secondary place, because erotic poetry is only
fit to beautify life and to serve as a source of inspiration and
imitation, in so far as it takes for its themes, not sexual inter-
course itself, but the possibility of happiness, the promise,
desire, languor, expectation. Only thus will it be capable of
expressing all the different shadings of love, and of treating it
equally from the sad and from the merry side* By introducing
into love's domain the concepts of honour, courage, fidelity,
and all the other elements of moral life, it will be of far greater
aesthetic and ethical value. The Roman de la Ease, by com-
bining the passionate character of its sensuous central theme
with all the elaborate fancy of the system of courtly love,
satisfied the needs of erotic expression of a whole age.
In this veritable treasure-house of amorous doctrine, ritual
and legend, systematic and complete, the encyclopedic spirit
of the thirteenth century had poured itself out, as it did in the
sterner work of a Vincent of Beauvais, The extraordinary
influence of the book could not but be heightened by its am-
biguous nature. The work of two poets of different trends of
thought, it joined it would be more correct to say it juxta-
posed the courtly conception of love and sensual cynicism
of the most daring kind. Texts could be found in it for all
purposes.
GuiUaume de Lorris had given it charm of form and tender-
ness of accent. The background of vernal landscape, the
bizarre and yet harmonious imagery of allegorical figures, are
his work. As soon as the lover has approached the wall of
the mysterious garden of love, the allegorical system is unfolded.
Dame Leisure opens the gate for him, Gaiety conducts the
dance, Amor holds by the hand Beauty, who is accompanied
by Wealth, Liberality, Frankness, Courtesy and Youth. After
having locked the heart of his vassal, Amor enumerates to
him the blessings of love, called Hope, Sweet Thought, Sweet
Speech, Sweet Look. Then, when Bel-Accueil, the son of
Courtesy, invites him to come and see the roses, Danger, Male-
bouche, Fear and Shame come to chase hi away. The
dramatic struggle commences. Reason comes down from its
high tower, and Venus appears upon the scene. The text of
GuiUaume de Lorris ends in the middle of the crisis.
Jean Ghopinel, or Clopinel, or de Meun, who finished the
Love Formalized 101
work, adding much more than he found, sacrificed the harmony
of the composition to his fondness for psychological and social
analysis. The conquest of the castle of the roses is drowned
in a continual flood of digressions, speculations and examples.
The sweet breeze of Guillaume de Lorris was followed by the
east wind of chilling scepticism and cruel cynicism of his
successor. The vigorous and trenchant spirit of the second
tarnished the naive and lightsome idealism of the first. Jean
de Meun is an enlightened man, who believes neither in spectres
nor in sorcerers, neither in faithful love nor in the chastity of
woman, who has an inkling of the problems of mental pathology,
and puts into the mouths of Venus, Nature and Genius the
most daring apology for sensuality.
Venus, requested by her son to come to his aid, swears
not to leave a single woman chaste and makes Amor and the
whole army of assailants take the same vow as regards men.
Nature, occupied in her smithy with her task of preserving
the various species, her eternal struggle against Death, com-
plains that of all creatures, man alone transgresses her com-
mandments by abstaining from procreation. She charges
Genius, her priest, to go and hurl at Love's army, Nature's
anathema on those who despise her laws. In sacerdotal dress,
a taper in his hand, Genius pronounces the sacrilegious ex-
communication, in which the boldest sensualism blends with
refined mysticism. Virginity is condemned, hell is reserved
for those who do not observe the commandments of nature
and of love. For the others the flowered field, where the white
sheep, led by Jesus, the lamb born of the Virgin, crop the
incorruptible grass in endless daylight. At the close Genius
throws the taper into the besieged fortress ; its flame sets the
universe on fire. Venus also throws her torch ; then Shame
and Fear flee, the castle is taken, and Bel-Accueil allows the
lover to pluck the rose.
Here, then, in the Roman de la Rose, the sexual motif is again
placed in the centre of erotic poetry, but enveloped by symbol-
ism and mystery and presented in the guise of saintliness. It
is impossible to imagine a more deliberate defiance of the
Christian ideal. The dream of love had taken a form as
artistic as it was passionate. The profusion of allegory satis-
fied all the requirements of medieval imagination. These
102 The Waning of the Middle Ages
personifications were indispensable for expressing the finer
shades of sentiments. Erotic terminology, to be understood,
could not dispense with these graceful puppets. People used
these figures of Danger, Evil Mouth, etc., as the accepted terms
of a scientific psychology. The passionate character of the
central motif prevented tediousness and pedantry.
In theory, the Roman de la Rose does not deny the ideal of
courtesy. The garden of delights is inaccessible except to
the elect, regenerated by love. He who wants to enter must
be free from all hatred, felony, villainy, avarice, envy, sadness,
hypocrisy, poverty and old age. But the positive qualities he
has to oppose to these are no longer ethical, as in the system
of courtly love, but simply of an aristocratic character. They
are leisure, pleasure, gaiety, love, beauty, wealth, liberality,
frankness and courteousness. They are no longer so many
perfections brought about by the sacredness of love, but simply
the proper means to conquer the object desired. For the
veneration of idealized womanhood, Jean Ohopinel substituted
a cruel contempt for its feebleness.
Now, whatever influence the Roman de la Rose may have
exercised on the minds of men, it did not succeed in com-
pletely destroying the older conception of love. Side by side
with the glorification of seduction professed by the Rose, the
glorification of the pure and faithful love of the knight main-
tained its ground, both in lyrical poetry and in the romance
of chivalry, not to speak of the fantasy of tournaments and
passages of arms. Towards the end of the fourteenth century
the question which of the two conceptions of love should be
held by the perfect nobleman provoked a literary dispute such
as Rrench taste loved in later centuries also. The noble
Boucicaut had made himself the champion of true courtesy
by composing with his travelling companions the Hwe des
Cent Ballades, in which he called on the wits of the court to
decide between the honest and self-denying service of a single
lady, and fashionable flirtation. Knights or poets who, like
Boucicaut, honoured the old ideal of courtesy, were vaunted
as models, Othe de Granson and Louis de Sancerre among
others. Christine de Pisan took part in the dispute by posing
as the intrepid advocate of female honour. Her Epistre aw
Dieu d : Amours formulated the complaints of women about
Love Formalized 103
all the deceit and instilts of men. With serious indignation
she denounces the doctrine of the Roman de la Rose.
Then the multitude of fervent admirers of Jean de Meun
appeared upon the scene. Among them were men of very
varying spiritual bent, even ecclesiastics. The debate lasted
for years. The nobility and the court took it up as a means
of amusement. Boucicaut encouraged, perhaps, by the
praise of Christine de Pisan, for his defence of ideal courtesy
had already founded his "ordre de 1'escu vert & la dame
blanche," for the defence of oppressed women, when the duke
of Burgundy eclipsed him by founding in Paris, at the " hotel
d'Artois," on February 14, 1401, a court of love on a very
splendid scale. Philippe le Hardi, the old diplomat, whom one
would have supposed to be occupied with affairs of a very
different nature, and Louis de Bourbon, had begged the king
to institute a court of love to furnish some distraction during
an epidemic of the plague which raged at Paris, " to spend part
of the time more graciously and in order to find awakening
of new joy." The cause of chivalry triumphed in the form of
a literary salon. The court was founded on the virtues of
humility and of fidelity, "to the honour, praise and com-
mendation and service of all noble ladies." The members
were provided with illustrious titles. The two founders and
the king were called the Grands Conservateurs. Among the
conservators we find Jean sans Peur, his brother Antoine, and
his six-years-old son, Philippe. A certain Pierre d'Hauteville,
from Hainault, was Prince of Love ; there were also ministers,
auditors, knights of honour, knights treasurers, councillors,
grand-masters of the chase, squires of love, etc. Burghers
and lower clergy were admitted, side by side with princes and
prelates. The business of the court much resembled that of a
"rhetorical chamber." Eefrains were set to be worked up
into "ballades couronn6es ou chapelees," songs, sirventois,
complaints, rondels, lays, virelais, etc. There were debates
" in the form of amorous law-suits to defend different opinions,"
The ladies distributed the prizes, and poems attacking the
honour of women were forbidden.
In this pompous and grave apparatus of a graceful amuse-
ment one cannot help feeling the effect of Burgundian style
beginning to influence the French court itself. It is equally
104 The Waning of the Middle Ages
obvious that the royal court, archaic like all courts, must
declare in favour of the ancient and severe ideal of love, and
that the 700 known members of the club were far from con-
forming their practice to it. By what is known of their habits,
the great lords of that epoch were rather strange protectors
of female honour. The most curious fact is that we find there
the same persons who, in the debate about love, had defended
the Roman de la Rose and attacked Christine de Pisan. Evi-
dently it was merely a society amusement.
The intimate circle of Jean de Meun's admirers consisted
of men in the service of princes, both priests and laymen. It
is identical with that of the first French humanists. One of
them, Jean de Montreuil, provost of Lille, secretary to the
dauphin and later to the duke of Burgundy, was the author of
a good many Ciceronian epistles, and, like his friends, Gontier
and Pierre Col, he corresponded with Nicolas de Clemanges,
the grave censor of the abuses in the Church. We now find
trim devoting his talents to the defence of the Roman de la
Rose, and of its author, Jean de Meun. He asserts that several
of the most learned and enlightened men honour the Roman
de la Rose so much that their appreciation resembles a cult
(paewe ut ookrent), and that they would rather do without their
shirt than this book. He exhorts his friends to undertake its
defence, like himself. " The more I study " he writes to one
df the detractors " the gravity of the mysteries and the mystery
of the gravity of this profound and famous work of Master
Jean de Meun, the more I am astonished at your disapproba-
tion." He himself will defend it to his last breath, and many
others will serve this cause with words and deeds.
The conviction with which Jean de Montreuil speaks, seems
already to indicate that the question of love, after all, involved
graver issues than those of a court amusement, and this is
further proved by the fact that Jean Gerson, the illustrious
chancellor of the university, took part in the quarrel. He
hated the Roman de la Rose with implacable hatred. The
book seemed to him to be the most dangerous pest, the source
of all immorality. In his works he reverts again and again to
the pernicious influence "of the vicious romaunt of the rose."
If he had a copy, which was the only one and worth a thousand
pounds, he would rather burn it than sell it to be published.
Love Formalized 105
When Pierre Col had refuted one of Qerson's polemical writings,
the latter replied by a treatise against the Roman de la Rose,
which was more bitter than his former denunciations. He
dated it " from my study, on the evening of the 18th of May,
1402."
Following the example of the author .of the Roman de la
Rose, he gave his treatise the form of an allegoric vision,
Awakening, one morning, he feels his soul flying far away,
" using the feathers and the wings of various thoughts, from
one place to another, to the sacred court of Christianity,"
where he hears the complaints of Chastity addressed to Justice,
Conscience and Wisdom about the Fool of love, that is to say,
Jean de Meun, who has chased her from the earth, with all her
train. The " good guardians " of Chastity are precisely the
evil personages of the Rose : Shame, Fear and Danger, " the
good porter, who would not dare, who would not deign to
sanction even an impure Mss or dissolute look, or attractive
smile or light speech." Chastity overwhelms the Fool of
love with reproaches. The Fool rails at marriage and monastic
life. He teaches " how all young girls should sell their persons
early and dearly, without fear and without shame, and that
they should make light of deceit and perjury." He directs
the fancy exclusively to carnal desire, and, to top all perver-
sity, in the speeches of Venus, of Nature, and of Dame Reason,
he blends conceptions of Paradise, and of the mysteries of the
Faith, with those of sensual pleasure.
There, in truth, was the peril. This imposing work, with
its mixture of sensuality, scoffing cynicism and elegant symbol-
ism, infused a voluptuous mysticism into the mind which, to
an austere man, was simply an abyss of sin. Had not Gerson's
adversary dared to affirm that only the Fool of love could judge
of the value of passion ? He who does not know it sees it only as
in a glass, to hi it remains a riddle. Such was the use he had
made for his sacrilegious purposes, of the holy words of Saint
Paul ! Pierre Col had not scrupled to affirm that the Song of
Solomon was composed in honour of the daughter of Pharaoh.
Those who have defamed the Roman de la Ease, he declared,
have bent their knees before Baal. Nature does not wish that
a woman should be content with one single man, and the
genius of Nature is God. He carried his blasphemy so far as
106 The Waning of the Middle Ages
to show from the Gospel of Saint Luke that formerly a woman's
genitals, the rose of the romance, were sacred. Being con-
vinced of the truth of this impious mysticism, he appealed
to the friends of the book, forming a cloud of witnesses, and
predicted that Gerson himself would fall madly in love, as
had happened to other theologians before him.
Gerson did not succeed in destroying the authority, or, at
least, the popularity, of the Roman de la Rose. In 1444 a
canon of Lisieux, Estienne Legris, composed a Repertoire du
Roman de la Rose. Towards the end of the century Jean
Molinet could assert that its sentences were current like pro-
verbs. He has given himself the trouble of "moralizing"
the whole book, in giving its allegories a religious meaning.
The nightingale calling to love meant the voice of the preacher,
the rose meant Jesus. Even in the hey-day of the Renaissance,
Clement Marot considered that the work deserved to be
modernized, and Eonsard did not consider the figures of Bel-
Accueil and Faus Danger too worn for use in Jus verse.
CHAPTER IX
THE CONVENTIONS OF LOVE
It is from literature that we gather the forms of erotic
thought belonging to a period, but we should try to picture
them functioning as elements of social life. A whole system
of amatory conceptions and usages was current in aristocratic
conversation of those times. What signs and figures of love
which later ages have dropped ! Around the god of Love
the bizarre mythology of the Roman de la Rose was grouped.
Then there was the symbolism of colours in costume, and of
flowers and precious stones. The meaning of colours, of
which feeble traces still obtain, was of extreme importance
in amorous conversation during the Middle Ages. A manual
of the subject was written about 1458, by the herald Sicily
in his Le Bfason des Coukurs, laughed at by Rabelais. When
Guillaume de Machaut meets his beloved for the first time,
he is delighted to see her wear a white dress and a sky-blue
hood with a design of green parrots, because green signifies
new love and blue fidelity. Later, he sees her image in a
dream, turning away from him and dressed in green, " signify-
ing novelty," and reproaches her with it in a ballad :
" En lieu de bleu, dame, vous vestez vert.'* l
Rings, veils and bands, all the jewels and presents of court-
ship had their special function, with devices and enigmatic
emblems which sometimes were veritable rebuses. The stand-
ard of the dauphin in 1414 bore a gold K, a swan "fcygne)
and an L, indicating one of his mother's maids of '^honour,
who was called la Cassinelle. The "glorieux de court et
transporters de noms," at whom Rabelais mocked, represent
" espoix " by a sphere, " m61ancholie " by a columbine (anco-
lie). Numerous games served to express the finesses of senti-
1 Instead of in blue, lady, you dress in green.
107
108 TTie Waning of the Middle Ages
merit, such as The King who does not lie, The Castle of love,
Sales of love, Games for sale. In one of them, for instance,
the lady mentions a flower ; the young man has to answer
by a rhymed compliment.
" Je vous vena la passerose.
Belle, dire ne vous ose
Comment Amours vers vous me tire,
Si 1'apercevez tout sanz dire." *
The game of Castle of love consisted of a series of allegorical
riddles.
" Du chastel d' Amours vous demant :
Dites le premier fondemeutl
Amer loyaument.
" Or me nommez le mestre mur
Qui joli le font, fort et seur !
Celer sagement.
" Dites moy qui sont li crenel,
Les f enestres et li carrel 1
Regart atraiant.
" Amis, nommez moy le portier !
Dangler mauparlant.
" Qui est la clef qui le puet deffermer T
Prior courtoisement." *
Since the times of the troubadours the casuistry of love
had occupied a large place in courtly conversation. It was,
so to say, curiosity and backbiting raised to the level of a
literary form. At the court of Louis of Orleans people amuse
themselves at meals by " tales, ballads " and " graceful ques-
tions." Poets are especially laid under contribution. Machaut
is requested by a company of ladies and noblemen to reply
to a series of " partures of love and of its adventures." Every
love-affadr is discussed according to rigorous rules. " Beau
1 I seU you the hollyhock.-, Belle, I dare not tell How Love draws me
towards you, But you perceive it, without saying a word,
1 Of the castle of Love I ask you : TeU me the first foundation I To love
loyally. Now mention the principal wall Which makes it fine, strong and
sure ITo conceal wisely. TeU me what are the loopholes, The windows
and the stones I Alluring looks. Friend, mention the porter I Hi-speaking
danger. Which is the key that can unlock it T Courteous request;
The Conventions of Love 109
sire, which would you prefer : that people spoke ill of your
lady and that you found her good, or that she were well
spoken of and you should find her bad ? " The strict con-
ception of honour obliged a gentleman to answer : " Lady, I
should prefer to hear her well spoken of and that I should
find her bad."
Does a lady, neglected by her lover, break faith by choosing
another ? May a knight bereft of all hope of seeing his lady,
whom a jealous husband keeps locked up, seek a new love ?
One step more and love questions will be treated as law-
suits, as in the Arrestz d'Amour of Martial d'Auvergne.
The courtly code did not serve exclusively for making
verses ; it claimed to be applicable to life, or at least to con-
versation. It is very difficult to pierce the clouds of poetry
and to penetrate to the real life of the epoch. How far did
courting and flirtation during the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries come up to the requirements of the courtly system
or to the precepts of Jean de Meun 1 Autobiographical con-
fessions are very rare at that epoch. Even when an actual
love-affair is described with the intention of being accurate,
the author cannot free himself from the accepted style and
technical conceptions. We find an instance of this in the
too lengthy narrative of a love-affair of an old poet and a
young girl, which Guillaume de Machaut has given us in
Le Livre du Voir-Dit. He was approaching his sixtieth year,
when Peronnelle d'Armentieres, of a noble family in Cham-
pagne, sent him, in 1362, her first rondel, in which she offered
her heart to the celebrated poet, whom she did not know,
and invited him to enter with her into a poetical love corre-
spondence. The poor poet, sickly, blind of one eye, gouty,
at once kindles. He replies to her rondel and an exchange
of letters and of poems begins. Peronnelle is proud of her
literary connection ; she does not make a secret of it, and begs
the poet to put in writing the true story of their love, inserting
their letters and their poetry. Machaut readily complies.
" I shall make," he says, " to your glory and praise, something
that will be well remembered."
"And, my very sweet heart, are you sorry because we
have begun so late 1 By God, so am I ; but here is the
remedy : let us enjoy life as much as circumstances permit,
110 The Waning of the Middk Ages
so that we may make up for the time we have lost ; and that
people may speak of our love a hundred years hence, and all
well and honourably ; for if there were evil, you would con-
ceal it from God, if you could."
The narrative connecting the letters and the poetry teaches
us what degree of intimacy was considered compatible with
a decent love-affair. The young lady may permit herself
extraordinary liberties, provided everything takes place in
the presence of third parties, her sister-in-law, her maid or
her secretary. At the first interview, which Machaut has
been waiting for with misgivings, because of his unattractive
appearance, Peronnelle falls asleep, or pretends to sleep,
under a cherry tree, with her head on the poet's knees. The
secretary covers her mouth with a green leaf and tells Machaut
to kiss the leaf. Just when the latter takes courage to do so,
the secretary pulls the leaf away*
She grants him other favours. A pilgrimage to Saint
Denis, at the time of the fair, provides them with an oppor-
tunity of passing some days together. One afternoon, over-
come by the heat of mid-June, they fly from the crowd at
the fair to take a few hours* rest. A burgher of the town
provides them with a double-bedded room. The blinds are
closed and the company lies down. The sister-in-law takes
one of the two beds. Peronnelle and her maid occupy the
other. She orders the bashful poet to lie down between them,
which he does, lying very still for fear of disturbing her.
On waking, she orders him to kiss her.
At the end of the trip^ she permits him to come and wake
her, in order to take leave, and the narrative gives us to
understand that she refused him nothing. She gives him
the golden key of her honour, to guard that treasure, or what
was left of it.
The poet's good fortune ended there. He did not see her
again, and, for lack of other adventures, he filled the rest of
his book with mythological excursions. At last she lets him
know that their relations must end, because of a marriage,
probably. He resolves to go on loving and revering her till
the end of his days. And aiter their death,.he will pray
God, to reserve for her, in the glory of Heaven, the name he
gave her :
The Conventions of Love 111
In the Voir-Dit of Machaut religion and love are mixed up
with a sort of ingenuous shamelessness. We need not be
shocked by the fact that the author was a canon of the church
of Reims, for, in the Middle Ages, minor orders, which sufficed
for a canon (Petrarch was one), did not absolutely impose
celibacy. The fact that a pilgrimage was chosen as an occa-
sion for the lovers to meet was not extraordinary either.
At this period pilgrimages served all sorts of frivolous pur-
poses. But what astonishes us is that Machaut, a serious
and delicate poet, claims to perform his pilgrimage "very
devoutly." At mass he is seated behind her :
" . . . Quant on dist : Agnus Dei,
Foy que je doy a Saint Grepais,
Doucement me donna la pais, 1
Entre deux pilers du moustier.
Et j'en avoie bien mestier,
Oar znes cuers amoureus estoit
Troubles, quant si tost se partoit." *
He says his hours as he is waiting for her in the garden.
He glorifies her portrait as his God on earth. Entering the
church to begin a novene, he takes a mental vow to compose
a poem about his beloved on each of the nine days which
does not prevent him from speaking about the great devotion
with which he said his prayers.
We shall revert elsewhere to the astonishing ingenuousness
with which, before the Council of Trent, worldly occupations
were mixed up with works of the Faith.
As regards the tone of the love-affair of Machaut and Per-
onnelle, it is soft, cloying, somewhat morbid. The expression
of their feelings remains enveloped in arguments and alle-
gories. But there is something touching in the tenderness
of the old poet, which prevents him from seeing that
** Toute-belle," after all, has but played with him aa<I with
her own heart.
To grasp what little we can of actual love relations, apart
from literature, we should oppose to the Voir-Dit, as a pendant,
* Vide page 37.
* When the priest said : Agnus Dei, Faith I owe to Saint Crepais, Sweetly
she gave me the pax Between two pillars of the church. And I needed it
indeed, For my amorous heart was Troubled that we had to part so soon.
112 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Le Livre du Chevalier de la Tour Landry pour VEnseignement
de ses Fittes, written at the same epoch. This time we are
not concerned with an amorous old poet; we have to do
with a father of a rather prosaic turn of mind, an Angevin
nobleman, who relates his reminiscences, anecdotes and tales
"pour ines filles aprandre a roumancier." This might be
rendered, " to teach my daughters the fashionable conventions
in love matters/' The instruction, however, does not turn out
romantic at all. The moral of the examples and admonitions
which the cautious father recommends to his daughters tends
especially to put them on their guard against the dangers of
romantic flirtations. Take heed of eloquent people, always
ready with their "false long and pensive looks and little
sighs, and wonderful emotional faces, and who have more
words at hand than other people." Do not be too encouraging.
He himself, when young, was conducted by his father to a
castle to make the acquaintance of a young lady to whom they
wanted to betroth him. The girl received him very kindly.
He conversed with her on all sorts of subjects, so as to probe
her character somewhat. They got to talk of prisoners, which
gave the knight a chance to pay a neat compliment : " ' Ma
demoiselle, it would be better to fall into your hands as a
prisoner than into many another's, and I think your prison
would not be so hard as that of the English.' She replied
that she had recently seen one whom she could wish to be
her prisoner. And then I asked her, if she would make a
bad prison for him, and she said not at all, and that she would
hold him as dear as her own person, and I told her that the
man would be very fortunate in having such a sweet and
noble prison. What shall I say ? She could talk well enough,
and it seemed, to judge from her conversation, that she knew
a good deal, and her eyes had also a very lively and lightsome
expression." When they took leave she begged In two
or three times to came back soon, as if she had known Mm
for a long time already. " And when we had departed my
lord my father said to me : ' What do you think of her whom
you have seen ? Tell me your opinion.' ' Monseigneur, she
seems to me all well and good, but I shall never be nearer to
her than I am now, if you please.' " Her lack of reserve left
him without any desire to get better acquainted with her.
The Conventions of Love 113
So they did not get engaged, and of course the author says
that he afterwards had reason not to repent it.
It is to be regretted that the chevalier has not given more
autobiographical details and fewer moral exhortations, be-
cause these personal traits, showing how customs adapted
themselves to the ideal, are very rare in the traditions of the
Middle Ages.
In spite ot. his avowed intention to teach his girls " i
roumancier," the knight de la Tour Landry thinks, before all
things, of a good marriage ; and marriage had little to do
with love. He reports to them a "debate" between his
wife and himself, on the question, whether it is becoming
" d'amer par amours.'* He thinks that a girl may, in certain
cases, for example, " in the hope of marrying," love honourably.
His wife thinks otherwise. It is better that a girl should not
fall in love at all, not even with her betrothed, otherwise
piety would suffer in consequence. " For I have heard many
women say who were in love in their youth, that when they
were in church, their thoughts and fancies made them dwell
more on those nimble imaginations and delights of their love-
affairs than on the service of God, and the art of love is of such
a nature that just at the holiest moments of the service, that
is to say, when the priest holds our Lord on the altar, the most
of these little thoughts would come to them." Machaut and
Peronnelle might have confirmed this.
It is not easy for us to reconcile the general austerity of
the Chevalier de la Tour Landry with the fact that this father
does not scruple to instruct his daughters by means of stories
which would not have been out of place in the Cent Nouvelles
NouvelUa. Still, even more recent literature, that of the
Elizabethan age, for instance, may remind us how completely
the world becomes estranged from the erotic forms of a few
centuries back. As for betrothals and marriages, neither the
graceful forms of the courtly ideal nor the refined frivolity
and open cynicism of the Roman de la Rose had any real
hold upon them. In the very matter-of-fact considerations
on which a match between noble families was based there
was little room for the chivalrous fictions of prowess and of
service. Thus it came about that the courtly notions of love
were never corrected by contact with real life. They could
i
114 The Waning of the Middle Ages
unfold freely in aristocratic conversation, they could offer a
literary amusement or a charming game, but no more. The
ideal of love, such as it was, could not be lived up to, except
in a fashion inherently false.
Cruel reality constantly gave the lie to it. At the bottom
of the intoxicating cup of the Roman de la Rose the moralist
exposed the bitter dregs. From the side of religion maledic-
tions were poured upon love in all its aspects, as the sin by
which the world is being ruined. Whence, exclaims Gerson,
come the bastards, the infanticides, the abortions, whence
hatred, whence poisonings ? Woman joins her voice to that
from the pulpit : all the conventions of love are the work
of men : even when it dons an idealistic guise, erotic culture
is altogether saturated by male egotism : and what else is
the cause of the endlessly repeated insults to matrimony, to
woman and her feebleness, but the need of masking this
egotism? One word suffices, says Christine de Pisan, to
answer all these infamies : it is not the women who have
written the books.
Indeed, medieval literature shows little true pity for woman,
little compassion for her weakness and the dangers and pains
which love has in store for her. Pity took on a stereotyped
and factitious form, in the sentimental fiction of the knight
delivering the virgin. The author of the Quinze Joyes de
Manage, after having mocked at all the faults of women,
undertakes to describe also the wrongs they have to suffer.
So far as is known, he never performed this task.
Civilization always needs to wrap up the idea of love in
veils of fancy, to exalt and refine it, , and thereby to forget
cruel reality. The solemn or graceful game of the faithful
knight or the amorous shepherd, the fine imagery of courtly
allegories, however brutally life belied them, never lost their
charm nor all their moral value. The human mind needs
these forms, and they always remain essentially the same.
CHAPTER X
THE IDYLLIC VISION OF LIFE
The lasting vogue of the pastoral genre towards the end
of the Middle Ages implies a reaction against the ideal of
courtesy. Weary of the complicated formalism of chivalrous
love, the aristocratic soul renounces the overstrung pretension
of heroism in love, and praises rural life as the escape from
it. The new, or rather revived, bucolic ideal remains essen-
tially an erotic one. Still there is a strain of bucolic sentiment,
the inspiration of which is rather ethical than erotic. We
may perhaps distinguish it from the pastoral proper by calling
it the idea of the simple life, or of aurea mediocrifas. It is
continually merging into the other.
The negation of the chivalric ideal arises among the nobles
themselves. It is in court literature that sarcastic or senti-
mental criticism of it springs up. The burghers, on the other
hand, are always striving to imitate the forms of the noble
life. Nothing could be falser than to picture the third estate
in the Middle Ages as animated by class hatred, or scorning
chivalry. On the contrary, the splendour of the life of the
nobility dazzles and seduces them. The rich burghers take
pains to adopt the forms and the tone of the nobility. Philip
of Artevelde, the leader of the Flemish insurgents, whom one
would like to picture as a simple, sober revolutionary, kept
a state like a prince's. Hfc going in to dinner is announced
by music. His meals are served up on silver plate like that
of a count of Flanders ; he goes about dressed in scarlet and
miniver, preceded by his unfurled pennon showing a sable
scutcheon with three silver hats. The great financier, Jacques
Coeur, whom one instinctively thinks of as a modern, took a
lively interest, according to Jacques de Lalaing's biographer,
in the fantastic and useless projects of that anachronistic
knight-errant.
Among those who freed themselves from the chivalric
115
116 The Waning of the Middle Ages
illusion, seeing the misery and the falsehood of it, we must
begin with those practical and frigid minds which were, so to
say, opposed to it by temperament. Such were Philippe de
Commines and his master, Louis XI. In describing the battle
of Montlh6ry, Commines abstains from all heroic fiction : no
fine exploits, no dramatic turns ; he only gives us a realistic
picture of comings and goings, of hesitations and fears* He
takes pleasure in telling of flights and noting how courage
returned with security. He rejects all chivalrous terminology
and scarcely mentions honour, which he treats almost as an
inevitable evil.
The ideal of chivalry tallies with the spirit of a primitive
age, susceptible of gross delusion and little accessible to the
corrections of experience. Sooner or later intellectual progress
demands a revision of this ideal. It does not disappear,
however, it only sheds its too fantastic tendencies. Chivalry,
far from being completely disavowed, drops its affectation of a
quasi-religious perfection, and will be henceforth only a model
of social life. The knight is transformed into the cavalier,
who, though still keeping up a very severs code of honour
and of glory, will no longer claim to be a defender of the Faith
or a protector of the oppressed. The modern gentleman is
still ideally linked with the medieval conception of chivalry.
The requirements of moral, aesthetic and social perfection
weighed too heavily on the knight. This highly praised
chivalry, considered from any point of view whatever, could
not conceal its inherent falsity. It was a ridiculous ana-
chronism, a piece of factitious making up. No social utility,
no moral value, everywhere vanity and sin. Even as an
aesthetic game, the courtly life ended by boring the players.
So they turn to another ideal, that of simplicity and of repose.
Does this mean that the disillusioned nobles turned to a
spiritual life ? Sometimes they did. At all times the lives
of many courtiers and soldiers have ended in renunciation of
the world. More often, however, they are content themselves
to seek elsewhere the sublime life which chivalry failed to
give. From the days of antiquity a promise had been held
out of an earthly felicity to be found in rural life. Here
true peace seemed attainable without strife, simply by flight.
Here was a sure refuge from envy and hatred, from the
The Idyllic Vision of Life 117
vanity of honours, from oppressive luxury and cruel war.
Medieval literature inherited from the classic authors the
theme of the praise of the simple life, which may be called
the negative side of the bucolic sentiment. Court life and
aristocratic pretension are disavowed in favour of solitude,
work and study. In the fourteenth century this theme had
found its typical expression in France in Le Dit de Franc
Gontier of Philippe de Vitri, bishop of Meaux, musician and
poet, and a friend of Petrarch.
" Soubz feuille vert, sur herbe delitable
Lez ru bruiant et prez clere fontaine
Trouvay fichee une borde portable,
Ilec mengeoit Gontier o dame Helayne
Fromage frais, laict, burre fromaigee,
Craime, matton, pomme, nois, prune, poire,
Aulx et oignons, escaillongne froyee
Stir crouste bise, au gros sel, pour mieux boire." *
After the meal they kiss " both the mouth and the nose,
the soft and the shaggy," then Gontier goes off to fell a tree,
while Helayne goes to do the washing.
" J'oy Gontier en abatant son arbre
Dieu mercier de sa vie setire :
*Ne scay,' dit-il, *que sont pilliers de marbre,
Poznxneaux luisans, murs vestus de paincture ;
Je n'ay paour de traison tissue
Soubz beau semblant, ne qu'empoisonn6 soye
En vaisseau d'or. Je n'ay la teste nue
Devant thirant, ne genoil qui s'i ploye.
* Verge d'uissier jamais ne me deboute,
Car jusques la ne m'esprent convoitise,
Ambicion, ne lescherie gloute.
Labour me paist en joieuse franchise ;
Moult j'ame Helayne et elle moy sans faille,
Et c'est assez. De toxnbel n'avons cure.*
Lors je dy : c Las ! serf de court ne vault maille,
Mais Franc Gontier vault en or jame pure,* " 2
1 Under green leaves, on delightful grass Near a noisy brook and a dear
fountain I found a portable board, There Gontier took his meal with dame
Helayne On fresh cheese, milk, cream and cheese, curds, apple, nut, plum,
pear, Garlic and onions, chopped shallots On a brbwn crust, with coarse
salt, to drink the better.
3 1 heard Gontier in felling his .tree Thank God for his life of security :
" I do not know," he said, " what are pillars of marble, Shining pommels, walls
118 The Waning of the Middle Ages
We observe how here already the motif of the simple life
is coupled with that of natural love.
For later generations the poem of Philippe de Vitri remained
the classic expression of the bucolic sentiment and of the
happiness procured by security and independence, frugality
and health, useful labour and conjugal love, without complica-
tions.
Eustache Deschamps imitated hrm in a number of ballads,
of which one follows its model very closely.
"En retournant d'une court souveraine
Ou j'avoie longuement sejourne*,
En un bosquet, dessus une fontaine
Trouvay Robin le franc, enchapele* ;
Chapeauls de flours avoit cilz afub!6
Dessus son chief, et Marion sa drue , . .'* etc. 1
He has enlarged the motif in adding to it an indictment of
a knight's or a soldier's life ; there is no worse condition than
that of a warrior ; he commits the seven deadly sins every
day ; avarice and vainglory are the essence of warfare.
" . . , Je vueil mener d'or en avant
Estat moien, c'est mon opinion.
Guerre laissier et vivre en labourant :
Guerre mener n'est que dampnacion." *
Generally, however, he simply praises the golden mean.
" Je ne requier a Dieu fors qu'il me doint
En ce monde de lui servir et loer,
Vivre pour moy, cote entiere ou pourpoint,
Aucun cheval pour mon labour porter, '
decorated with paintings; I have no fear of treason hidden Under fine
appearances, nor that I shall be poisoned In a gold cup. I do not bare
my head Before a tyrant, nor bend my knee.
ft " No usher's rod ever turns me away, For no covetousness, Ambition, nor
lechery entice me (to court). Labour holds me in joyous liberty ; I love
Helayne dearly, and she loves me without fail, And that is enough. We are
not afraid of the grave." Then I said: " Alas ! a serf of the court is not
worth a doit, But ITranc Gcntier is worth a sure gem set in gold,"
1 Betuming from a sovereign's court Where I had long sojourned, In a bush,
near a fountain I found Robin the free, his head crowned ; With ohaplets of
flowers had he adorned His head, and Marion, his beloved ...
Heneefortfcl win tateupaMiddle station, so I am resolved To leave off
fitting and to live by labour ; Waging war is but damnation.
The Idyllic Vision of Life 119
Et que je puisse mon estat gouverner
Moiennement, en grace, sanz envie,
Sanz trop avoir et sanz pain demander,
Car au jour d'ui est la plus seure vie." 1
The quest of glory or of gain does but entail misery ; only
she poor man is happy, he lives tranquilly and long.
" . . . Un ouvrier et uns povres chartons
Va mauvestuz, deschirez et deschaulx
Mais en ouvrant prant en gre* ses travaulx
Et liement fait son euvre f enir.
Par nuit dort bien ; pour ce uns telz cueurs loiaulx
Voit quatre roys et leur regne fenir." 2
The picture of a working man surviving four kings pleased
him so much that he used it several times.
The editor of Deschamps' works, Monsieur Gaston Baynaud,
supposes that the poems of this tendency all date from the
last period of his life, when, deprived of his functions, forsaken
and disappointed, he has at last learned to understand the
vanity of court affairs. This is perhaps going too far ; these
poems would seem rather to be the expression of sentiments,
more or less conventional, current among the nobility itself
in the midst of court life.
The theme of contempt for a courtier's life enjoyed great
favour with a group of scholars who, towards the end of the
fourteenth century, mark the beginning of French humanism,
and whose circle was connected with that of the leaders of
the great councils of the Church. Pierre d'Ailly himself is
the author of a poem forming a companion piece with that
of Franc Gontieri the tyrant, in contrast with the happy
rustic, leading the life of a slave in continuous fear. The
theme was admirably fit to be treated in the epistolary style,
after the model of Petrarch. Jean de Montreuil tried his hand
1 1 only 'ask of God to give me That I may serve and praise him in this
world, Live for myself, my coat or doublet whole, One horse to carry my
labour, And that I may govern my estate la mediocre style, in grace, without
envy, Without having too much and without begging my bread, For this day
is the safest life.
* A working man and a poor waggoner, Go about ill dressed, in torn clothes
and ill shod; But, labouring, he takes pleasure in his work And merrily
finishes it. At night he sleeps well ; and therefore such a loyal heart Sees
four kings and their reigns end.
120 The Waning of the Middle Ages
at it; so did Nicolas de Clemanges, three times over. A
secretary to the duke of Orleans, the Milanese Ambrose de
Miliis, addressed to Gontier Col a Latin letter, in which a
courtier dissuades his friend from entering into court service.
Translated into French, this letter figures among the works
of Alain Chartier, under the title Le Curial, and afterwards
Eobert Gaguin translated it back into Latin.
The theme was even worked out by a certain Charles Roche-
fort in a long-winded allegorical poem, L'Abuze en Court,
afterwards attributed to King Ren6. Towards the end of the
fifteenth century, Jean Meschinot still rhymes as follows :
" La cour est tine mer, dont sourt
Vagues d'orgueil, d'envie orages. . . .
Ire esmeut debats et outrages,
Qui les nefs jettent souvent bas :
Traison y fait son personnage.
Nage aultre part pour tes ebats." 1
In the sixteenth century the old motif had lost nothing of
its freshness.
For the most part the praises of a frugal life and of hard
work in the fields are not based on the delights of simplicity
and labour in themselves, nor on the security and independence
they seemed to confer ; the positive content of the ideal is
the longing for natural love. The pastoral is the idyllic form
assumed by erotic thought. Just like the dream of heroism
which is at the bottom of the ideas of chivalry, the bucolic
dream is somewhat more than a literary genre. It is a crav-
ing to reform life itself. It does not stop at describing the
life of shepherds with its innocent and natural pleasures.
People want to imitate it/ if not in real life, at least in the
illusion of a graceful game. Weary of factitious conceptions
of love, the aristocracy sought a remedy for them in the pastoral
ideal. Facile and innocent love amid the delights of nature
seemed to be the lot of country people, theirs to be the truly
enviable form of happiness. The villein, in his turn, becomes
an ideal type.
1 The court is a sea, whence come Waves of pride, thunderstorms of envy.
Wrath stirs up quarrels and outrages, Which often cause the ships to sink;
Treason plays its part there, Swim elsewhere for your amusement.
The Idyllic Vision of Life 121
The antique form of bucolic life still satisfied the aspira-
tions of the waning Middle Ages. No need is felt to correct
the pastoral fiction in accordance with real life. The new
enthusiasm for nature does not mean a truly deep sense of
reality, not even a sincere admiration for work ; it is only
an attempt to adorn courteous manners by an array of arti-
ficial flowers, playing at shepherd and shepherdess just as
people had played at Lancelot and Guinevere.
In the Pastourelle, the short poem relating the facile adven-
ture of the knight with the country girl, pastoral fancy is still
in touch with reality. In the pastoral proper, however, the
lover or poet thinks himself a shepherd too, all contact with
reality is lost, all things are transferred to a sunlit land-
scape full of the singing of birds and playing of reed-pipes,
where even sadness assumes a sweet sound. The faithful
shepherd -continues to resemble the faithful knight only too
closely ; after all, it is courtly love transposed into another
key.
However artificial it might be, pastoral fancy still tended
to bring the loving soul into touch with nature and its beauties.
The pastoral genre was the school where a keener perception
and a stronger affection towards nature were learned. The
literary expression of the sentiment of nature was a by-
product of the pastoral. Out of the simple words of exulta-
tion at the joys caused by sunshine and shade, birds and
flowers, the loving description of scenery and rural life gradu-
ally develops. A poem like Le Dit de la Pastoure, of Christine
de Pisan marks the transition of the pastoral to a new
genre.
The bucolic idyll, then, offered itself as a new style for
courtly amusement, a supplement to chivalry, as it were.
Once received as such, it becomes another mask. The pastoral
travesty serves for all sorts of diversions; the domains of
pastoral fancy and of chivalric romanticism mingle. Tourna-
ments are held in the apparel of an eclogue, like the " Pas
d'armes de la bergere " of King Rene. These pastoral repre-
sentations, even if they did not really deceive people, at least
seem to have been regarded as important. Among bis
" Marvels of the World " Chastellain mentions King Rene's
playing at shepherd.
122 The Waning of the Middle Ages
* c J'ay un roi de Cecille
Vu devenir berger
Et sa femme gentille
Be ce mesme mestier,
Portant la pannetiere,
La houlette et chappeau,
Logeans sur la bruyere
Aupres de leur trouppeau." *
On another occasion, pastoral fancy had to supply a literary
form for political satire. It is hard to imagine a more bizarre
product than Le Pastoralet, a very long poem by a partisan
of Burgundy, who, in this pretty disguise, relates the murder
of Louis of Orleans for the purpose of exculpating Jean sans
Peur and of venting his spleen on the house of Orleans. The
two hostile dukes represented by Tristif er and Leonet in an
environment of country dances and ornaments of flowers,
Tristifer-Orleans robbing the shepherds of their bread and
cheese, apples and nuts, shepherd's reeds and bells, and
threatening them with his large crook, even the battle oi
Agincourt described in pastoral guise . . * one would be in-
clined to think this style rather flamboyant, if we did not
remember that Ariosto uses the same machinery for excul-
pating his patron, the Cardinal d'Este, who was hardly less
guilty than Jean sans Peur.
The pastoral element is never absent from court festivities.
It was admirably fitted both for masquerades and for political
allegories. Here the bucolic conception coalesced with another
of Scriptural origin: the prince and his people symbolized
by the shepherd and his sheep, the duties of the ruler com-
pared to those of the shepherd. Meschinot sings :
" Seigneur, tu es de Dieu bergier ;
Garde ses bestes loyaument,
Mets les en champ ou en vergier,
Mais ne les perds aucunement,
Pour ta peine auras bon paiement ,
En bien le gardant, et se non,
A male heure recus ce nom." *
1 1 have seen a king of Sicily Turn shepherd And his gentle wife Take to
the same trade, Carrying the shepherd's pouch, The crook and hat, Dwelling
on the heath Near their flock.
* Lord, you are God's shepherd ; Guard his animals loyally, Lead them to
the field or the orchard, But lose them by no means, You will have good pay.
The Idyllic Vision of Life 123
Represented in actual mummery, these ideas naturally took
the outward appearance of the pastoral proper. At the
marriage feasts of Charles the Bold and Margaret of York
at Bruges in 1468, an " entremets " glorified the princesses
of yore as "noble shepherdesses who formerly tended and
guarded the sheep of the ' pays de par de9a * (the provinces
* over here ')." At Valenciennes, in 1493, the revival of the
land after the devastations of war was represented, " all in
pastoral style." Even in war the pastoral game was kept up.
The stone-mortars of the duke of Burgundy before Granson
are called " the shepherd and the shepherdess." Philippe de
Bavestein takes the field with four-and-twenty noblemen;
they are all dressed up as shepherds and carry shepherds 9
pouches and crooks.
As the Roman de la Rose had done, because of its contrast
with the chivalric ideal, so the bucolic ideal in its turn gave
rise to an elegant quarrel. A number of variations had been
made on the theme of Franc Gontier : every one had declared
that he was sighing for a diet of cheese, apples, onions, brown
bread and fresh water, for a woodcutter's work with its liberty
and carelessness. But aristocratic life still looked very little
like it and sceptics were aware of the inherent falsity of the
factitious ideal. Villon unmasked it. In Les contrediz Franc
Gontier he opposed to the idealized country man and his love
under the roses, the fat canon, free from care, tasting good
wines and the joys of love in a comfortable room, supplied
with an ample hearth and a soft bed. The brown bread and
the water of Franc Gontier ?
" Terns les oyseaulx d'ici en Babiloine
A tel escot une seule journe'e
Ne me tiendroient, non tine matin6e." V
ment for your trouble Of guarding them well, and if you do not, You received
this name in. an, evil hour.
1 All the birds from here to Babylon With such a fare a single day Would
not keep me, no not one morning.
CHAPTER XI
THE VISION OF DEATH
No other epoch has laid so much stress as the expiring
Middle Ages on the thought of death. An everlasting call
of memento mori resounds through life. Denis the Carthusian,
in his Directory of the Life of Nobles, exhorts them : " And
when going to bed at night, he should consider how, just as
he now lies down himself, soon strange hands will lay his
body in the graye." In earlier times, too, religion had insisted
on the constant thought of death, but the pious treatises of
these ages only reached those who had already turned away
from the world. Since the thirteenth century, the popular
preaching of the mendicant orders had made the eternal admoni-
tion to remember death swell into a sombre chorus ringing
throughout the world. Towards the fifteenth century, a new
means of inculcating the awful thought into all minds was
added to the words of the preacher, namely, the popular
woodcut. Now these two means of expression, sermons and
woodcuts, both addressing themselves to the multitude and
limited to crude effects, could only represent death in a simple
and striking form. All that the meditations on death of
the monks of yore had produced, was now condensed into
a very primitive image. This vivid image, continually im-
pressed upon all minds, had hardly assimilated more than
a single element of the great complex of ideas relating
to death, namely, the sense of the perishable nature of all
things. It would seem, at times, as if the soul of the
declining Middle Ages only succeeded in seeing death under
this aspect.
The endless complaint of the frailty of all earthly glory
was sung to various melodies. Three motifs may be distin-
guished. The first is expressed by the question : where are
now all those who once filled the world with their splendour ?
124
The Vision of Death 125
The second motif dwells on the frightful spectacle of human
beauty gone to decay. The third is the death-dance : death
dragging along men of all conditions and ages.
Compared with the two others, the first of these themes is
but a graceful and elegiac sigh. After having taken shape in
Greek poetry, it was adopted by the Fathers, and pervaded
the literature of all Christendom, and that of Islam also.
Byron, too, used it in Don Juan. The Middle Ages cultivated
it with special predilection. We find it in the heavy rhythm
of the erudite poetry of the twelfth century :
"Est ubi gloria nunc Babylonia ? ntinc ubi dims
Nabugodonosor, et Darii vigor, illeque Cyrus ? . . .
Nunc ubi Regulus ? aut ubi Romulus, aut ubi Remus ?
Stat rosa pristina nomine, nomina nuda tenemus." x
Franciscan poetry of the thirteenth century (if the follow-
ing lines are not of an older date) still preserves an echo of
these rhyming hexameters :
"Die ubi Salomon, olim tarn nobilis
Vel Sampson ubi est, dux invincibilis,
Et pulcher Absalon, vultu mirabilis,
Aut dulcis Jonathas, multum amabilis t " a
Deschamps composed at least four of his ballads on this
theme. Gerson worked it out in a sermon ; Denis the Car-
thusian in his treatise, De quatuor hominum novissimis (on
the four last things of man) ; Chastellain in a long poem entitled
Le Pas de la Mori. Olivier de la Marche, in his Parement
et Triumphe des Dames composed on it a lament over all the
princesses who died in his time. Villon gives it a new accent
of soft tenderness in his Ballade des Dames du Temps jadis,
with the refrain :
"Mais ou sont lex neiges d'antan T"
And then he sprinkles it with irony in the Ballad of the
1 Where is now your glory, Babylon, where is now the terrible Kebuchad-
nezzar, and strong Darius and the famous Cyrus ? Where is now Regulus,
or where Romulus, or where Remus ? The rose of yore is but a name,
mere names are left to us.
8 Say where is Solomon, once so noble, Or Samson where is he, the invincible
chief, And fair Absalom of the wonderful f ace, Or sweet Jonathan, the most
amiable?
126 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Lords by adding to the series of kings, popes and princes of
his time the words :
"Helas ! et le bon roy d'Espaigne
Duquel je ne scay pas le nom." *
However, the wistfulness of remembrance and the thought
of frailty in itself do not satisfy the need of expressing, with
violence, the shudder caused by death. The medieval soul
demands a more concrete embodiment of the perishable :
that of the putrefying corpse.
Ascetic meditation had, in all ages, dwelt on dust and
worms. The treatises on the contempt of the world had,
long since, evoked all the horrors of decomposition, but it is
only towards the end of the fourteenth century that pictorial
art, in its turn, seizes upon this motif. To render the horrible
details of decomposition, a realistic force of expression was
required, to which painting and sculpture only attained
towards 1400. At the same time, the motif spread from
ecclesiastical to popular literature. Until far into the six-
teenth century, tombs are adorned with hideous images of a
naked corpse with clenched hands and rigid feet, gaping
mouth and bowels crawling with worms. The imagination
of those times relished these horrors, without ever looking
one stage further, to see how corruption perishes in its turn,
and flowers grow where it lay.
A thought which so strongly attaches to the earthly side
of death can hardly be called truly pious. It would rather
seem a kind of spasmodic reaction against an excessive sensu-
ality. In exhibiting the horrors awaiting all human beauty,
already lurking below the surface of corporeal charms, these
preachers of contempt for the world express, indeed, a very
materialistic sentiment, namely, that all beauty and all happi-
ness are worthless because they are bound to end soon. Re-
nunciation founded on disgust does not spring from Christian
wisdom,
It is noteworthy that the pious exhortations to think of
death and the profane exhortations to make the most of
youth almost meet. A painting in the monastery of the
Oelestines at Avignon, now destroyed, attributed by tradition
1 Alas I and the good king of Spain, Whose name I do not know.
The Vision of Death 127
to the founder, King Ren6 himself, represented the body of a
dead woman, standing, enveloped in a shroud, with her head
dressed and worms gnawing her bowels. In the inscription
at the foot of the picture the first lines read :
" Une fois SUP toute femme belle
Mais par la mort suis devemi telle,
Ma chair estoit tres belle, fraische et tendre,
Or, est-elle toute tournSe en cendre.
Mon corps estoit tres plaisant et tres gent, 1
Je me souloye souvent vestir de soye,
Or en droict fault que toute nue je soys.
Fourre'e estois de gris et de menu vair,
En grand palais me logeois a mon vueil,
Or suis loge"e en ce petit cercueil.
Ma chaznbre estoit de beaux tapis erne's,
Or est d'aragnes ma fosse environn6e." a
Here the memento mori still predominates. It tends im-
perceptibly to change into the quite worldly complaint of
the woman who sees her charms fade, as in the following
lines of the Parement et TriumpJie des Dames by Olivier de la
Marche.
" Ces doulx regards, ces yeulx faiz pour plaisance,
Pensez y bien, ilz perdront leur clart6,
Nez et sourcilz, la bouche d'eloquence
Se pourriront . . *
Se vous vivez le droit cours de nature
Dont LX ans est pour ung bien grant nombre,
Vostre beaulte" changera en laydure,
Vostre saute 1 en maladie obscure,
Et ne ferez en ce monde que encombre.
Se fille avez, vous luy serez ung umbre,
Celle sera requise et demande'e,
Et de chascun la mere habandonne." *
*It seems that two lines are missing after the lines 5 and 8.
1 Once I was beautiful above all women But by death I became like this,
My flesh was very beautiful, fresh and soft, Now it is altogether turned to
ashes. My body was very pleasing and very pretty, I used frequently to
dress in silk, Now I must rightly be quite nude. I was dressed in grey for
and miniver, I lived in a great palace as I wished, Now I am lodged in this
little coffin. My room was adorned with fine tapestry, Now my grave is
enveloped by cobwebs.
* These sweet looks, these eyes made for pleasance, Remember, they
will lose their lustre, Nose and eyelashes, the eloquent mouth Will putrefy.
... If you live your natural lifetime, Of which sixty years is a great
128 The Waning of the Middle Ages
All pious purpose has disappeared in the ballads of Villon,
where the old courtesan, " la belle heaulmiere," calls to mind
her irresistible beauty of former times and is deeply grieved
at its sad decline.
** Qu'est devenu ce front poly,
Ces cheveulx blons, sourcils voultiz,
Grant entroeil, le regart joly,
Dont prenoie les plus soubtilz ;
Ce beau nez droit, grant ne petiz,
Ces petites joinctes oreilles,
Menton f ourchu, cler vis traictiz
Et ces belles levies venneilles ?
Le front ride 1 , les cheveux gris,
Les sourcilz cheuz, les yeuls estains. . . ." l
This inability to free oneself from the attachment to matter
manifests itself in yet other forms. A result of the same
sentiment is to be found in the extreme importance ascribed
in the Middle Ages to the fact that the bodies of certain saints
had never decayed that of Saint Rosa of Viterbo, for ex-
ample. The Assumption of the Holy Virgin exempting her
body from earthly corruption was on that account regarded
as the most precious of all graces. On various occasions
attempts were made to retard decomposition. The features
of the corpse of Pierre de Luxembourg were touched up with
paint to preserve them intact until the burial. The body of
a heretic preacher of the sect of the Turlupins, who died in
prison, before sentence was passed, was preserved in lime
for a fortnight, that it might be burned at the same time
with a living heretical woman.
The importance attached to being buried in the soil of one's
own country gave rise to usages which the Church had to
deal, Your beauty will change into ugliness, Your health into obscure malady,
And you -will only be in the way here below. If you have a daughter, you will
be a shadow to her, She will be in request and asked for, And the mother
will be abandoned by alL
* What has become of this smooth forehead, Fair hair, curving eyelashes,
Large space between the eyes; pretty looks, Wherewith I caught the most
subtle ones That fine straight nose, neither large nor small, These tiny ears
close to the head, The dimpled chin, well-shaped bright face, And those
beautiful vermilion lips ? * . . The forehead wrinkled, hair grey, The
eyelashes come off, lack-lustre eyes. . . .
The Vision of Death 129
interdict strictly as being contrary to the Christian religion.
In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, when a prince or a
person of rank died far from his country, the body was often
cut up and boiled so as to extract the bones, which were sent
home in a chest, whereas the rest was interred, not without
ceremony, however, on the spot. Emperors, kings and bishops
have undergone this strange operation. Pope Boniface VIII
forbade it as detestandae feritatis abusus, guam ex guodam more
horribili nonnulli fideles improvide prosequuntur. 1 Yet his
successors sometimes granted dispensations. Numbers of
Englishmen who fell in France in the Hundred Years' War
enjoyed this privilege, notably Edward of York and the earl
of Suffolk, who died at Agincourt ; Henry V himself ; William
Glasdale, who perished at Orleans at the time of its relief ;
a nephew of Sir John Fastolfe, and others.
At the close of the Middle Ages the whole vision of death
may be summed up in the word macabre, in its modern mean-
ing. Of course, this meaning is the outcome of a long process.
But the sentiment it embodies, of something gruesome and
dismal, is precisely the conception of death which arose during
the last centuries of the Middle Ages. This bizarre word
appeared in French in the fourteenth century, under the form
macabre, and, whatever may be its etymology, as a proper
name. A line of the poet Jean Le Fevre, " Je fis de Macabr6
la dance," which may be dated 1376, remains the birth-
certificate of the word for us.
Towards 1400 the conception of death in art and literature
took a spectral and fantastic shape. A new and vivid shudder
was added to the great primitive horror of death. The
macabre vision arose from deep psychological strata of fear ;
religious thought at once reduced it to a means of moral
exhortation. As such it was a great cultural idea, till in its
turn it went out of fashion, lingering on in epitaphs and
symbols in village cemeteries.
The idea of the death-dance is the central point of a whole
group of connected conceptions. The priority belongs to the
motif of the three dead and three living men, which is found
1 An abuse of abominable savagery, practised by some of the faithful
in a horrible way and inconsiderately.
K
130 The Waning of the Middle Ages
in French literature from the thirteenth century onward.
Three young noblemen suddenly meet three hideous dead
men, who tell them of their past grandeur and warn them
of their own near end. Art soon took hold of this suggestive
theme. We can see it still in the striking frescoes of the
Gampo santo of Pisa. The sculpture of the portal of the church
of the Innocents at Paris, which the duke of Berry had carved
in 1408, but which has not been preserved, represented the
same subject. Miniature painting and woodcuts spread it
broadcast.
The theme of the three dead and three living men
connects the horrible motif of putrefaction with that of the
death-dance. This theme, too, seems to have originated in
France, but it is unknown whether the pictorial representation
preceded the scenic or the reverse. The thesis of Monsieur
Emile M&le, according to which the sculptural and pictorial
motifs of the fifteenth century were supposed as a rule to be
derived from dramatic representations, has not been able to
keep its ground, on critical examination. It may be, however,
that we should make an exception in favour of the death-
dance. Anyhow, the Dance of the Dead has been acted as
well as painted and engraved. The duke of Burgundy had
it performed in his mansion at Bruges in 1449. If we could
form an idea of the effect produced by such a dance, with
vague, lights and shadows gliding over the moving figures,
we should no doubt be better able to understand the horror
inspired by the subject, than we are by the aid of the pictures
of Guyot Marchant or Holbein.
The woodcuts with which the Parisian printer, Guyot
Marchant, ornamented the first edition of the Danse Macabre
in 1485 were, very probably, imitated from the most celebrated
of these painted death-dances, namely, that which, since 1424,
covered the walls of the cloister of the churchyard of the
Innocents at Paris. The stanzas printed by Marchant were
those written under these mural paintings ; perhaps they
even hail back to the lost poetry of Jean Le Fevre, who in
his turn seems to have followed a Latin model. The wood-
cuts of 1485 can give but a feeble impression of the paintings
of the Innocents, of which they are not exact copies, as the
costumes prove. To have a notion of the effect of these
TTie Vision of Death 131
frescoes, one should rather look at the mural paintings of the
church of La Chaise-Dieu, where the unfinished condition of
the work heightens the spectral effect.
The dancing person whom we see coming back forty times
to lead away the living, originally does not represent Death
itself, but a corpse : the living man such as he will presently
be. In the stanzas the dancer is called " the dead man "
or " the dead woman." It is a dance of the dead and not of
Death ; the researches of Monsieur G6d6on Huet have made
it probable that the primitive subject was a roundabout dance
of dead people, come forth from their graves, a theme which
Goethe revived in his Totentanz. The indefatigable dancer is
the living man himself in his future shape, a frightful double
of his person. " It is yourself," said the horrible vision to
each of the spectators. It is only towards the end of the
century that the figure of the great dancer, of a corpse with
hollow and fleshless body, becomes a skeleton, as Holbein
depicts it. Death in person has then replaced the individual
dead man.
While it reminded the spectators of the frailty and the
vanity of earthly things, the death-dance at the same time
preached social equality as the Middle Ages understood it,
Death levelling, the various ranks and professions. At first
only men appeared in the picture. The success of his publi-
cation, however, suggested to Guyot the idea of a dance
macabre of women. Martial d'Auvergne wrote the poetry ;
an unknown artist, without equalling his model, completed
the pictures by a series of feminine figures dragged along by
a corpse. Now it was impossible to enumerate forty dignities
and professions of women. After the queen, the abbess, the
nun, the saleswoman, the nurse, and a few others, it was neces-
sary to fall back on the different states of feminine life : the
virgin, the beloved, the bride, the woman newly married, the
woman with child. And here the sensual note reappears, to
which we referred above. In lamenting the frailty of the lives
of women, it is still the briefness of joy that is deplored, and
with the grave tone of the memento mori is mixed the regret
for lost beauty.
Nothing betrays more clearly the excessive fear of death
felt in the Middle Ages than the popular belief, then widely
132 The Waning of the Middle Ages
spread, according to which Lazarus, after his resurrection,
lived in continual misery and horror at the thought that he
should have again to pass through the gate of death. If
the just had so much to fear, how could the sinner soothe
himself ? And then what motif was more poignant than the
calling up of the agony of death ? It appeared under two
traditional forms : the Ars mariendi and the Quator hominum
Twvissima, that is, the four last experiences awaiting man,
of which death was the first. These two subjects were largely
propagated in the fifteenth century by the printing-press and
by engravings. The Art of Dying, as well as the Last Four
Things, comprised a description of the agony of death, in which
it is easy to recognize a model supplied by the ecclesiastical
literature of former centuries.
Ghastellain, in a long-winded poem, Le Pas de la Mort, has
assembled all the above motifs; he gives successively the
image of putrefaction the lament : Where are the great ones
of the earth ? an outline of a death-dance and the art of
dying. Being prolix and heavy, he needs a great many lines
to express what Villon presents in half a stanza. But in com-
paring them we recognize their common model. Chastellain
writes :
"H n'a xnembre ne faeture
Qui ne sente sa pouireture.
Avant que 1'esperit soit hors,
Le COBUT qui veult crevier au corps
Haulee et soiilieve la poitrine
Qui so veult joindre a son eschine.
La face est tainte et apalie,
Et les yeux treillies en la teste.
La parole luy est faillie,
Oar la langue au palais se lie.
Le poulx tressault jet sy halette.
*
Les os desjoindent a tons lez ;
n n'a nerf qu'au rompre ne tende." 1
1 There is not a limb nor a form, Which does not smell of putrefaction.
Before the soul is outside, The heart which wants to burst in the body Baises
and lifts the chest Which nearly touches the backbone. The face is dis-
coloured and pale, And the eyes veiled in the head. Speech fails him, For the
tongue cleaves to the palate. The pulse trembles and he pants. . . . The
bones are disjointed on all sides ; There is not a tendon which does not stretch
as to burst.
The Vision of Death 133
And Villon :
" La mort le fait fremir, pallir,
Le nez courber, les values tendre,
Le col enfler, la chair mollir,
Joinctes et nerfs croistre et estendre. . . ." 1
And again the sensual thought mingles with it :
" Corps femenin, qui tant es teadre,
Poly, souef, si precieux,
Te f auldra il ces maulx attendre ?
Oy, ou tout vif aller es cietdx." 2
Nowhere else were all the images tending to evoke the
horror of death assembled so strikingly as in the churchyard
of the Innocents at Paris. There the medieval soul, fond of
a religious shudder, could take its fill of the horrible. Above
all other saints, the remembrance of the saints of that spot,
and of their bloody and pitiful martyrdom, was fitted to
awake the crude compassion which was dear to the epoch.
The fifteenth century honoured the Holy Innocents with
special veneration. Louis XI presented to the church "a
whole Innocent," encased in a crystal shrine. The cemetery
was preferred to every other place of burial. A bishop of
Paris had a little of the earth of the churchyard of the Inno-
cents put into his grave, as he could not be laid there. The
poor and the rich were interred without distinction. They
did not rest there long, for the cemetery was used so much,
twenty parishes having a right of burial there, that it was
necessary, in order to make room, to dig up the bones and
sell the tombstones after a very short time. It was believed
that in this earth a human body was decomposed to the bone
in nine days. Skulls and bones were heaped up in charnel-
houses along the cloisters enclosing the ground on three sides,
and lay there open to the eye by thousands, preaching to all
the lesson of equality. The noble Boucicaut, among others,
had contributed to the construction of these "fine charnel-
houses." Under the cloisters the death-dance exhibited its
1 Death makes him shudder and turn pale, The .nose to curve, the veins
to swell, The neck to inflate, the flesh to soften, Joints and tendons to grow
and swell
1 female body, which is so soft, Smooth, suave, precious, Do these evils
await you ? Yes, or you must go to heaven quite alive.
134 The Waning of the Middle Ages
images and its stanzas. No place was better stated to the
simian figure of grinning death, dragging along pope and
emperor, monk and fool. The duke of Berry, who wished
to be buried there, had the history of the three dead and the
three living men carved at the portal of the church. A century
later, this exhibition of funeral symbols was completed by a
large statue of Death, now in the Louvre, and the only remnant
of it all.
Such was the place which the Parisians of the fifteenth
century frequented as a sort of lugubrious counterpart of the
Palais Royal of 1789. Day after day, crowds of people walked
under the cloisters, looking at the figures and reading the
simple verses, which reminded them of the approaching end.
In spite of the incessant burials and exhumations going on
there, it was a public lounge and a rendezvous. Shops were
established before the charnel-houses and prostitutes strolled
under the cloisters. A female recluse was immured on one
of the sides of the church. Friars came to preach and proces-
sions were drawn up there. A procession of children only
(12,500 strong, thinks the Burgher of Paris) assembled there,
with tapers in their hands, to carry an Lmocent to Notre
Dame and back to the churchyard. Even feasts were given
there. To such an extent had the horrible become familiar.
The desire to invent a visible image of all that appertained
to death entailed the neglecting of all those aspects of it
which were not suited to direct representation. Thus the
cruder conceptions of death, and these only, impressed them-
selves continually on the minds. The macabre vision does
not represent the emotions of tenderness or of consolation.
The elegiac note is wanting altogether. At bottom the
macabre sentiment is self-seeking and earthly. It is hardly
the absence of the departed dear ones that is deplored ; it
is the fear of one's own death, and this only seen as the worst
of evils. Neither the conception of death the consoler, nor
that of rest long wished for, of the end of suffering, of the
task performed or interrupted, have a share in the funeral
sentiment of that epoch. The soul of the Middle Ages did
not know the " divine depth of sorrow." Or, rather, it knew
it only in connection with the Passion of Christ.
The Vision, of Death 135
In all these sombre lamentations about death the accents
of true tenderness are extremely rare. They could, how-
ever, hardly be wanting in relation to the death of children.
And, indeed, Martial d'Auvergne, in his death-dance of women,
makes the little girl, when led away by death, say to her
mother : " Take good care of my doll, my knuckle-bones and
my fine dress." But this touching note is only heard excep-
tionally. The literature of the epoch knew child-life so little !
When Antoine de la Salle, in Le Beconfort de Madame du
Fresne, wishes to console a mother for the death of her twelve-
years-old son, he can think of nothing better than citing a
still more cruel loss : the heart-rending case of a boy given
as a hostage and put to death. To overcome grief, the only
advice he can offer is to abstain from all earthly attachments.
A doctrinaire and dry consolation ! La Salle, however, adds a
second short story. It is a version of the popular tale of the
dead child, who came back to beg its mother to weep no more,
that its shroud might dry. And here suddenly from this
simple story not of his own invention there arises a poetical
tenderness and beneficent wisdom, which we look for in vain
in the thousands of voices repeating in various tones the
awful memento won. Folk-tale and folk-song, no doubt, in
these ages preserved many sentiments which higher literature
hardly knew.
The dominant thought, as expressed in the literature, both
ecclesiastical and lay, of that period, hardly knew anything
with regard to death but these two extremes : lamentation
about the briefness of all earthly glory, and jubilation over
the salvation of the soul. All that lay between pity, resig-
nation, longing, consolation remained unexpressed and was,
so to say, absorbed by the too much accentuated andl
too vivid representation of Death hideous and threatening.
Living emotion stiffens amid the abused imagery of skeletons
and worms.
CHAPTER XII
RELIGIOUS THOUGHT CRYSTALLIZING INTO IMAGES
Towards the end of the Middle Ages two factors dominate
religious life : the extreme saturation of the religious atmo-
sphere, and a marked tendency of thought to embody itself
in images.
Individual and social life, in all their manifestations, are
imbued with the conceptions of faith. There is not an object
nor an action, however trivial, that is not constantly cor-
related with Christ or salvation. All thinking tends to religious
interpretation of individual things ; there is an enormous
unfolding of religion in daily life. This spiritual wakef ulness,
however, results in a dangerous state of tension, for the pre-
supposed transcendental feelings are sometimes dormant, and
whenever this is the case, all that is meant to stimulate spiritual
consciousness is reduced to appalling commonplace profanity,
to a startling worldliness in other-worldly guise. Only saints
are capable of an attitude of mind in which the transcendental
faculties are never in abeyance.
The spirit of the Middle Ages, still plastic and naive, longs
to give concrete shape to every conception. Every thought
seeks expression in an image, but in this image it solidifies and
becomes rigid. By this tendency to embodiment in visible
forms all holy concepts are constantly exposed to the danger
of hardening into mere externalism. For in assuming a
definite figurative shape thought loses its ethereal and vague
qualities, and pious feeling is apt to resolve itself in the
image.
Even in the case of a sublime mystic, like Henry Suso, the
craving for hallowing every action of daily life verges in our
eyes on the ridiculous. He is sublime when, following the
usages of profane love, he celebrates New Year's Day and
May Day by offering a wreath and a song to his betrothed,
136
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 137
Eternal Wisdom, or when, out of reverence for the Holy Virgin,
he renders homage to all womankind and walks in the mud to
let a beggar woman pass. But what are we to think of what
follows ? At table Suso eats three-quarters of an apple in the
name of the Trinity and the remaining quarter in commemora-
tion of " the love with which the heavenly Mother gave her
tender child Jesus an apple to eat " ; and for this reason he
eats the last quarter with the paring, as little boys do not peel
their apples. After Christmas he does not eat it, for then the
infant Jesus was too young to eat apples. He drinks in five
draughts because of the five wounds of the Lord, but as blood
and water flowed from the side of Christ, he takes his last
draught twice. This is, indeed, pushing the sanctification of
life to extremes.
In so far as it concerns individual piety, this tendency to
apply religious conceptions to all things and at all times is
a deep source of saintly life. As a cultural phenomenon this
same tendency harbours grave dangers. Religion penetrating
all relations in life means a constant blending of the spheres
of holy and of prof ane thought. Holy things will become too
common to be deeply felt. The endless growth of observances,
images, religious interpretations, signifies an augmentation in
quantity at which serious divines grew alarmed, as they feared
the quality would deteriorate proportionately. The warning
which we find recurring in all reformist writings of the time
of the schism and of the councils is the Church is being over-
loaded.
Pierre d' Ailly, in condemning the novelties which were inces-
santly introduced into the liturgy and the sphere of belief, is less
concerned about the piety of their character than about the
steady increase itself. The signs of the ever-ready divine grace
multiplied endlessly ; a host of special benedictions sprang up
side by side with the sacraments ; in addition to relics we find
amulets ; the bizarre gallery of saints became ever more numer-
ous and variegated. However emphatically divines insisted
upon the difference between sacraments and sawamentalia,
the people would still confound them. Gerson tells how he
met a man at Auxerre, who maintained that All Fools' Day
was as sacred as the day of the Virgin's Conception. Nicolas
de Clemanges wrote a treatise, De novis festivitatibus non
138 The Waning of the Middle Ages
instituendis, in which he denounced the apocryphal nature
of some among these new institutions. Pierre d'Ailly, in De
Reformatime, deplores the ever-increasing number of churches,
of festivals, of saints, of holy-days ; he protests against the
multitude of images and paintings, the prolixity of the Service,
against the introduction of new hymns and prayers, against the
augmentation of vigils and fasts. In short, what alarms him
is the evil of superfluity.
There are too many religious orders, says d'Ailly, and this
leads to a diversity of usages, to exclusiveness and rivalry, to
pride and vanity. In particular he desired to impose restric-
tions on the mendicant orders, whose social utility he questions :
they live to the detriment of the inmates of leper houses and
hospitals, and other really poor and wretched people, who are
truly entitled to beg (ac aliis vere pauperibus et miserabiUbus
indigentibus quibus convenit jus et verus titulus mendicandi).
Let the sellers of indulgences be banished from the Church,
which they soil with their lies and make ridiculous. Convents
are built on all sides, but sufficient funds are lacking. Where
is this to lead 1
Pierre d'Ailly does not question the holy and pious character
of all these practices in themselves, he only deplores their
endless multiplication ; he sees the Church weighed down under
the load of particulars.
Religious customs tended to multiply in an almost mechanical
way. A special office was instituted for every detail of the
worship of the Virgin Mary. There were particular masses,
afterwards abolished by the Church, in honour of the piety
of Mary, of her seven sorrows, of all her festivals taken col-
lectively, of her sisters the two other Marys of the arch-
angel Gabriel, of all the saints of our Lord's genealogy. A
curious example of this spontaneous accretion of religious
usage is found in the weekly observance of Innocents' Day.
The 28th of December, the day of the massacre at Bethlehem,
was taken to be ill-omened. This belief was the origin of a
custom, widely spread during the fifteenth century, of consider-
ing as a black-letter day, all the year through, the day of the
week on which the preceding Innocents' Day fell. Conse-
quently, there was one day in every week on which people
abstained from setting out upon a journey and beginning a
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 139
new task, and this day was called Innocents' Day, like the
festival itself. Lotos XI observed this usage scrupulously.
The coronation of Edward IV of England was repeated, as it
had taken place on a Sunday, because the 28th of December
of the previous year had been a Sunday too. Ren6 de Lorraine
had to give up his plan of fighting a battle on the 17th of
October, 1476, as his lansquenets refused to encounter the
enemy " on Innocents' Day. 9 *
This belief, of which we find some traces appearing in Eng-
land as late as the eighteenth century, called forth a treatise
from Gerson against superstition in general. His penetrating
mind had realized some of the danger with which these excres-
cences of the creed menaced the purity of religious thought.
He was aware of their psychological basis ; according to him,
these beliefs proceed ex sola hominum phantasiatione et melan-
cholica imaginatione ; it is a disorder of the imagination caused
by some lesion of the brain, which in its turn is due to diabolic
illusions.
The Church was constantly on her guard lest dogmatic
truth should be confounded with this mass of facile beliefs, and
lest the exuberance of popular fancy should degrade God. But
was she able to stand against this strong need of giving a con-
crete form to all the emotions accompanying religious thought ?
It was an irresistible tendency to reduce the infinite to the
finite, to disintegrate all mystery. The highest mysteries of
the creed became covered with a crust of superficial piety.
Even the profound faith in the eucharist expands into childish
beliefs f or instance, that one cannot go blind or have a stroke
of apoplexy on a day on which one has heard mass, or that one
does not grow older during the time spent in attending mass.
While herself offering so much food to the popular imagination,
the Church could not claim to keep that imagination within
the limits of a healthy and vigorous piety.
In this respect the case of Gerson is characteristic. He
composed a treatise, Contra vanam curiositatem, by wMch he
means the spirit of research which desires to scrutinize the
secrets of nature. But whilst protesting against it, he himself
becomes guilty of a curiosity which to us seems out of place
and deplorable. Gerson was the great promoter of the adora-
tion of Saint Joseph. His veneration for this saint makes
140 The Waning of the Middk Ages
desirous of learning all that concerns Mm. He routs out
all particulars of the married life of Joseph : his continence,
his age, the way in which he learned of the Virgin's pregnancy.
He is indignant at the caricature of a drudging and ridiculous
Joseph, which the arts were inclined to make of him. In
another passage Gerson indulges in a speculation on the bodily
constitution of Saint John the Baptist : Semen igitur materiale
ex qua corpus compaginandum erat, nee durum nimis nee rursus
fluidum abundantius fuit.
Whether the Virgin had taken an active part in the super-
natural conception, or, again, whether the body of Christ would
have decomposed, if it had not been for the resurrection, were
what the popular preacher Olivier Maillard called " beautiful
theological questions" to discuss before his auditors. The
mixture of theological and embryological speculation to which
the controversy about the immaculate conception of the
Virgin gave rise shocked the minds of that period so little
that grave divines did not scruple to treat the subject from
the pulpit.
This familiarity with sacred things is, on the one hand, a sign
of deep and ingenuous faith ; on the other, it entails irreverence
whenever mental contact with the infinite fails. Curiosity,
ingenuous though it be, leads to profanation. In the fifteenth
century people used to keep statuettes of the Virgin, of which
the body opened and showed the Trinity within. The inven-
tory of the treasure of the dukes of Burgundy makes mention
of one made of gold inlaid with gems. Gerson saw one in the
Carmelite monastery at Paris ; he blames the brethren for it,
not, however, because such a coarse picture of the miracle
shocked him as irreverent, but because of the heresy of repre-
senting the Trinity as the fruit of Mary.
All life was saturated with religion to such an extent that the
people were in constant danger of losing sight of the distinction
between things spiritual and things temporal. If, on the one
hand, ail details of ordinary life may be raised to a sacred level,
on the other hand, all that is holy sinks to the commonplace,
by the fact of being blended with everyday life. In the Middle
Ages the demarcation of the sphere of religious thought and
that of worldly concerns was nearly obliterated. It occasion-
ally happened that indulgences figured among the prizes of
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 141
a lottery. When a prince was making a solemn entry, the
altars at the corners of the streets, loaded with the precious
reliquaries of the town and served by prelates, might be seen
alternating with dumb shows of pagan goddesses or comic
allegories.
Nothing is more characteristic in this respect than the fact
of there being hardly any difference between the musical
character of profane and sacred melodies. Till late in the
sixteenth century profane melodies might be used indiscrimi-
nately for sacred use, and sacred for profane. It is notorious
that Guillaume Dufay and others composed masses to the
theme of love-songs, such as " Tant je me deduis," l " Se la face
ay pale," 2 " L'omme arme." 8
There was a constant interchange of religious and profane
terms. No one felt offended by hearing the Day of Judgment
compared to a settling of accounts, as in the verses formerly
written over the door of the audit office at Lille.
"Lors ouvrira, au son de buysine
Sa g&n&ale et grant chambre des comptes." 4
A tournament, on the other hand, is called " des armes
grantdisime pardon " (the great indulgence conferred by arms)
as if it were a pilgrimage. By a chance coincidence the words
mysterium and ministerium were blended in French into the form
" mistere," and this homonymy must have helped to efface
the true sense of the word " mystery " in everyday parlance,
because even the most commonplace things might be called
"mist&re."
While religious symbolism represented the realities of nature
and history as symbols or emblems of salvation, on the other
hand religious metaphors were borrowed to express profane
sentiments. People in the Middle Ages, standing in awe of
royalty, do not shrink from using the language of adoration
in praising princes. In the lawsuit about the murder of
Louis of Orleans, the counsel for the defence makes the shade of
the duke say to his son : " Look at my wounds and observe that
1 So much I enjoy myself.
8 If. my face is pale. * The armed man.
*Then to the sound of the trumpet God shall open His general and grand
audit office.
142 The Waning of the Middle Ages
five of them are particularly cruel and mortal." The bishop
of Chalons, Jean Germain, in his Liber de virtutibus Philippi
ducis Burgundiae, in his turn does not scruple to compare the
victim of Montereau to the Lamb. The Emperor Frederick
III, when sending his son Maximilian to the Low Countries
to marry Mary of Burgundy, is compared by Molinet to God
the Father. The same author makes the people of Brussels
say, when they wept with tenderness on seeing the emperor
entering their town with Maximilian and Philip le Beau:
" Behold the image of the Trinity, the Father, the Son and
the Holy Ghost." He offers a wreath of flowers to Mary of
Burgundy, a worthy image of Our Lady, " secluse la virginit6." *
" Non point que je veuille d6ifier les. princes ! " a Molinet
adds.
Although we may consider such f ormulse of adulation empty
phrases, they show none the less the depreciation of sacred
imagery resulting from its hackneyed use. We can hardly
blame a court poet, when Gerson himself ascribes to the royal
auditors of his sermons guardian angels of a higher rank in
the celestial hierarchy than those of other men.
The step from familiarity to irreverence is taken when
religious terms are applied to erotic relations. The subject
has been dealt with above. The author of the Quinze Joyes
de Mwriage chose his title to accord with the joys of the Virgin.
The defender of the Roman de la Rose used sacred terms to
designate the partes corporis irihonestas et peccata immunda
atgue turpia. No instance of this dangerous association of
religious with amatory sentiments could be more striking than
the Madonna ascribed to Foucquet, making part of a diptych
which was formerly preserved at Melun and is now partly at
Antwerp and partly at Berlin ; Antwerp possessing the Madonna
and Berlin the panel representing the donor, Etienne Chevalier,
the king's treasurer, together with Saint Stephen. In the
seventeenth century Denis Godefroy noted down a tradition,
then already old, according to which the Madonna had the
features of Agnes Sorel, the royal mistress, for whom Chevalier
felt a passion that he did not trouble to conceal. However
this may be, the Madonna is, in fact, represented here according
to the canons of contemporary fashion : there is the bulging
1 Save the virginity. Not that I want to deify princes.
THJS SUDOSSA OF JUSLTJX. BY JkHiS
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 143
shaven forehead, the rounded breasts, placed high and wide
apart, the high and slender waist. The bizarre inscrutable ex-
pression of the Madonna's face, the red and blue cherubim
surrounding her, all contribute to give this painting an air of
decadent impiety in spite of the stalwart figure of the donor.
Godefroy observed on the large frame of blue velvet E's done
in pearls linked by love-knots of gold and silver thread.
There is a flavour of blasphemous boldness about the whole,
unsurpassed by any artist of the Eenaissance.
The irreverence of daily religious practice was almost un-
bounded. Choristers, when chanting mass, did not scruple to
sing the words of the profane songs that had served as a theme
for the composition : taisez-moi, rouges nez. 3 -
A startling piece of impudence is recorded of the father of
the Frisian humanist Bodolph, Agricola, who received the
news that his concubine had given birth to a son on the very
day when he was elected abbot. " To-day I have twice
become a father. God's blessing on it ! " said he.
At the end of the fourteenth century people took the in-
creasing irreverence to be an evil of recent date, which, indeed,
is a common phenomenon at all times. Deschamps deplores
it in the following lines :
" On souloit estre ou temps pass6
En l'<glise benignement,
A genoux en hixmilit6
Delez 1'autel moult closement,
Tout nu le chief piteusement,
Maiz an jour d'uy, si come beste,
On vient a Pautel bien souvent
Chaperon et chapel en teste." *
On festal days, says Nicolas de Clemanges, few people go
to mass. They do not stay till the end, and are content with
touching the holy water, bowing before Our Lady, or kissing the
image of some saint. If they wait for the elevation of the Host,
they pride themselves upon it, as if they had conferred a
* "Kiss me," "Bed noses."
* la bygone times people used to be Gentle in church, On their knees in
humility Close beside the altar, With meekly uncovered head, But at present,
like beasts, They too often come to the altar With hood and hat on their
heads.
144 The Waning of the Middle Ages
benefit on Christ. At matins and vespers the priest and his
assistant are the only persons present. The squire of the village
makes the priest wait to begin mass till he and his wife have
risen and dressed. The most sacred festivals, even Christmas
night, says Gerson, are passed in debauchery, playing at
cards, swearing and blaspheming. When the people are
admonished, they plead the example of the nobility and the
clergy, who behave in like manner with impunity. Vigils
likewise, says Clemanges, are kept with lascivious songs and
dances, even in church ; priests set the example by dicing as they
watch. It may be said that moralists paint things in too dark
colours ; but in the accounts of Strassburg we find a yearly
gift of 1,100 litres of wine granted by the council to those who
" watched in prayer " in church during the night of Saint
Adolphus.
Denis the Carthusian wrote a treatise, De modo agendi pro-
cessiones, at the request of an alderman, who asked him how one
might remedy the dissoluteness and debauchery to which the
annual procession, in which a greatly venerated relic was borne,
gave rise. " How are we to put a stop to this ? ' ' asks the alder-
man. " You may be sure that the town council will not easily
be persuaded to abolish it, for the procession brings large
profits to the town, because of all the people who have to Jbe
fed and lodged. Besides, custom will have it so." "Alas, yes,"
sighs Denis ; " he knows too well how processions were disgraced
by ribaldry , mockery and drinking." A most vivid picture of
this evil is found in Ohastellain's description of the degradation
into which the procession of the citizens of Ghent, with the
shrine of Saint Lievin, to Houthem, had fallen. Formerly,
he says, the notabilities were in the habit of carrying the holy
body " with great and deep solemnity and reverence " ; at
present there is only "a mob of roughs, and boys of bad
character " ; they carry it singing and yelling, " with a hundred
thousand gibes, and all are drunk." They are armed, " and
commit many offences where they pass, as if they were let
loose and unchained ; that day everything appears to be given
up to them under the pretext of the body they carry."
We have already mentioned how much disturbance was
caused during church services by people vying with each other
in politeness. The usage of making a trysting-place of the
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 145
church by young men and young women was so universal that
only moralists were scandalized by it. The virtuous Christine
de Pisan makes a lover say in all simplicity :
"Se souvent vais ou moustier,
C'est tout pour veoir la belle
Fresche comme rose nouvelle." l
The Church suffered more serious profanation than the little
love services of a young man who offered his fair one the
" pax," or knelt by her side. According to the preacher
Menot, prostitutes had the effrontery to come there in search
of customers. Gerson tells that even in the churches and
on festival days obscene pictures were sold tanquam idola
Selphegor, which corrupted the young, while sermons were
ineffective to remedy this evil.
As to pilgrimages, moralists and satirists are of one mind ;
people often go " pour folle plaisance." The Chevalier de la
Tour Landry naively classes them with profane pleasures, and
he entitles one of his chapters, " Of those who are fond of going
to jousts and on pilgrimages."
On festal days, exclaims Nicolas de Clemanges, people go
to visit distant churches, not so much to redeem a pledge of
pilgrimage as to give themselves up to pleasure. Pilgrimages
are the occasions of all kinds of debauchery ; procuresses are
always found there, people come for amorous purposes. It is
a common incident in the Quinze Joyes de Mariage ; the young
wife, who wants a change, makes her husband believe that the
baby is ill, because she has not yet accomplished her vow of
pilgrimage, made during her confinement. The marriage of
Charles VI with Isabella of Bavaria was preceded by a pil-
grimage. It is far from surprising that the serious followers
of the devotio modema called the utility of pilgrimages in
question. Those who often go on pilgrimages, says Thomas k
Kempis, rarely become saints. One of his friends, IFrederick
of Heilo, wrote a special treatise, Contra peregrinantes.
The excesses and abuses resulting from an extreme fami-
liarity with things holy, as well as the insolent mingling of
pleasure with religion, are generally characteristic of periods
1 If I of ten go to church, It is all for seeing the fair one Fresh as a new-blown
rose.
&
146 TJie Waning of the Middle Ages
of unshaken faith and of a deeply religious culture. The same
people who in their daily life mechanically follow the routine
of a rather degraded sort of worship will be capable of rising
suddenly, at the ardent word of a preaching monk, to unparal-
leled heights of religious emotion. Even the stupid sin of
blasphemy has its roots in a profound faith. It is a sort of
perverted act of faith, affirming the omnipresence of God and
His intervention in the minutest concerns. Only the idea of
really daring Heaven gives blasphemy its sinful charm. As
soon as an oath loses its character of an invocation of God,
the habit of swearing changes its nature and becomes mere
coarseness. At the end of the Middle Ages blasphemy is
still a sort of daring diversion which belongs to the nobility.
" What ! " says the nobleman to the peasant in a treatise
by Gerson, "you give your soul to the devil, you deny God
without being noble ? " Deschamps, on his part, notices
that the habit of swearing tends to descend to people of low
estate.
** Si ch6tif n'y a qtd ne die :
Je renie Dieu et sa mdre." x
People make a pastime of coining new and ingenious oaths,
says Gerson : he who excels in this impious art is honoured as
a master. Deschamps tells us that all Stance swore first after
the Gascon and the English fashion, next after the Breton,
and finally after the Burgundian. He composed two ballads
in succession made up of all the oaths then in vogue strung
together, and ended with a pious phrase. The Burgundian
oath was the worst of alL It was, Je renie Dieu (I deny
God), which was softened down to Je renie de boUes (boots).
The Burgundians had the reputation of being abominable
swearers ; for the rest, says Gerson, the whole of France, for
all her Christianity, suffers more than any other country from
the effects of this horrible sin, which causes pestilence, war and
famine. Even monks were guilty of mild swearing. Gerson
and d'Ailly expressly call upon the authorities to combat the
evil by renewing the strict regulations everywhere, but im-
posing light penalties which may be really exacted. And a
royal decree of 1397, in fact, re-established the old ones of 1269
1 There is none so mean but says, I deny God and His mother.
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 147
and 1347, but unfortunately also renewed the old penalties
of lip-slitting and cutting out of tongues, which bore witness,
it is true, to a holy horror of blasphemy, but which it was
not possible to enforce. In the margin of the register con-
taining the ordinance, someone has noted : " At present, 1411,
all these oaths are in general use throughout the kingdom
without being punished."
Gerson, with his long experience as a confessor, knew the
psychological nature of the sin of blasphemy very well. On
the one hand, he says, there are the habitual swearers, who,
though culpable, are not perjurers, as it is not their intention
to take an oath. On the other, we find young men of a pure
and simple nature who are irresistibly tempted to blaspheme
and to deny God. Their case reminds us of John Bunyan's,
whose disease took the form of " a propensity to utter blas-
phemy, and especially to renounce his share in the benefits of
the redemption." Gerson counsels these young men to give
themselves up less to the contemplation of God and the saints,
as they lack the mental strength required.
It is impossible to draw the line of demarcation between an
ingenuous familiarity and conscious infidelity. As early as
the fifteenth century people liked to show themselves esprits
forts and to deride piety in others. The word "papelard,"
meaning a hypocrite, was in frequent use with lay writers of the
time. " De jeune angelot vieux diable " (a young saint makes
an old devil), said the proverb, or, in solemn Latin metre,
Angelicus juvenis aenibus saihanizat in annis. " It is by such
sayings," Gerson exclaims, "that youth is perverted. A
brazen face, scurrilous language and curses, immodest looks
and gestures, are praised in children. Well, what is to be
expected in old age of a sathanizing youth ? "
The people, he says, do not know how to steer a middle
course between overt unbelief and the foolish credulity, of
which the clergy themselves set the example. They give
credence to all revelations and prophecies, which are often but
fancies of diseased people or lunatics, and yet when a serious
divine, who has been honoured by genuine revelations, is
occasionally mistaken, he is called impostor and " papelard,"
and the people henceforth refuse to listen to any divine because
all are considered hypocrites*
148 The Waning of the Middle Ages
We not unfrequentiy find individual expressions of avowed
unbelief. "Beaux seigneurs," says Captain Betisac to his
comrades when about to die, " I have attended to my spiritual
concerns and, in my conscience, I believe I have greatly
angered God, having for a long time already erred against the
faith, and I cannot believe a word about the Trinity, nor that
the Son of God has humbled Himself to such an extent as to
come down from Heaven into the carnal body of a woman ; and
I believe and say that when we die there is no such thing as a
soul. ... I have held this opinion ever since I became self-
conscious, and I shall hold it till the end." The provost of
Paris, Hugues Aubriot, is a violent hater of the clergy ; he does
not believe in the sacrament of the altar, he makes a mock of it ;
he does not keep Easter, he does not go to confession. Jacques
du Clercq relates that several noblemen, in full possession of
their faculties, refused extreme unction. Perhaps we should
regard these isolated cases of unbelief less as wilful heresy
than as a spontaneous reaction against the incessant and
pressing call of the faith, arising from a culture overcharged
with religious images and concepts. In any case, they should
not be confounded either with the literary and superficial
paganism of the Renaissance, nor with the prudent epicurean-
ism of some aristocratic circles from the thirteenth century
downward, nor, above all, with the passionate negation of
ignorant heretics who had passed the boundary-line between
mysticism and pantheism.
The naive religious conscience of the multitude had no need
of intellectual proofs in matters of faith. The mere presence
of a visible image of things holy sufficed to establish their
truth. No doubts intervened between the sight of all those
pictures and statues the persons of the Trinity, the flames
of hell, the innumerable saints and belief in their reality.
All these conceptions became matters of faith in the most
direct manner ; they passed straight from the state of images
to that of convictions, taking root in the mind as pictures
clearly outlined and vividly coloured, possessing all the reality
claimed for them by the Church, and even a little more.
* Now, when faith is too directly connected with a pictured
representation of doctrine, it runs the risk of no longer making
Eeligious Thought Crystallizing into Images 149
qualitative distinctions between the nature and the degree of
sanctity of the different elements of religion. The image by
itself does not teach the faithful that one should adore God and
only venerate the saints. Its psychological function is limited
to creating a deep conviction of reality and a lively feeling of
respect. It therefore became the task of the Church to warn
incessantly against want of discrimination in this respect, and
to preserve the purity of doctrine by explaining precisely
what the image stood for. In no other sphere was the danger
of luxuriance of religious thought caused by a vivid imagina-
tion more obvious.
Now, the Church did not fail to teach that all honours
rendered to the saints, to relics, to holy places, should have
God for their object. Although the prohibition of images in
the second commandment of the Decalogue was abrogated by
the new law, or limited to God the Father alone, the Church
purposed, nevertheless, to maintain intact the principle of non
adorabis ea neque coles : Images were only meant to show simple-
minded people what to believe. They are the books of the
illiterate, says Clemanges ; a thought which Villon has expressed
in the touching lines which he puts into his mother's mouth :
" Femme je suis pourette et ancienne,
Qui riens ne scai ; oncques lettre ne leuz ;
AU moustier voy dont suis paroissienne
Paradis paint, ou sont harpes et luz,
Et ung enf er oft dampnez sont boulluz :
L'ung me fait paour, Pantre joye et liesse ...'**
The medieval Church was, however, rather heedless of the
danger of a deterioration of the faith caused by the popular
imagination roaming unchecked in the sphere of hagiology.
An abundance of pictorial fancy, after all, furnished to the
simple mind quite as much matter for deviating from pure
doctrine as any personal interpretation of Holy Scripture. It
is remarkable that the Church, so scrupulous in dogmatic
matters, should have been so confiding and indulgent towards
those who, sinning out of ignorance, rendered more homage
1 1 am a poor old woman who knows nothing ; I never could zead. In
my parish church 1 see Paradise painted, where are harps and lutes, And a
hell, where the damned are boiled. The one frightens me, the other brings
joy and mirth.
150 The Waning of the Middle Ages
to images than was lawful. It suffices, says Gerson, that they
meant to do as the Church requires.
Thus towards the end of the Middle Ages an ultra-realistic
conception of all that related to the saints may be noticed in the
popular faith. The saints had become so real and such familiar
characters of current religion that they became bound up with
all the more superficial religious impulses. While profound
devotion still centred on Christ and His mother, quite a host
of artless beliefs and fancies clustered about the saints. Every-
thing contributed to make them familiar and life-like. They
were dressed like the people themselves. Every day one met
" Messires " Saint Roch and Saint James in the persons of
living plague patients and pilgrims. Down to the Renaissance
the costume of the saints always followed the fashion of the
times. Only then did Sacred Art, by arraying the saints in
classical draperies, withdraw them from the popular imag-
ination and place them in a sphere where the fancy of the
multitude could no longer contaminate the doctrine in its
purity.
The distinctly corporeal conception of the saints was accen-
tuated by the veneration of their relics, not only permitted by
the Church but forming an integral part of religion. It was
inevitable that this pious attachment to material things should
draw all hagiolatry into a sphere of crude and primitive ideas,
and lead to surprising extremes. In the matter of relics the
deep and straightforward faith of the Middle Ages was never
afraid of disillusionment or profanation through handling holy
things coarsely. The spirit of the fifteenth century did not
differ much from that of the Umbrian peasants, who, about
the year 1000, wished to kill Saint Romuald, the hermit, in
order to make sure of his precious bones ; or of the monks of
Fossanuova, who, after Saint Thomas Aquinas had died in
their monastery, in their fear of losing the relic, did not shrink
from decapitating, boiling and preserving the body. During
the lying in state of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, in 1231, a
crowd of worshippers came and cut or tore strips of the linen
enveloping her face ; they cut off the hair, the nails, even the
nipples. In 1392, King Charles VI of France, on the occasion
of a solemn feast, was seen to distribute ribs of his ancestor.
Saint Louis ; to Pierre d'Ailly and to his uncles Berry and
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 151
Burgundy he gave entire ribs ; to the prelates one bone to divide
between them, which they proceeded to do after the meal.
It may well be that this too corporeal and familiar aspect,
this too clearly outlined shape, of the saints has been the very
reason why they occupy so little space in the sphere of visions
and supernatural experience. The whole domain of ghost-
seeing, signs, spectres and apparitions, so crowded in the
Middle Ages, lies mainly apart from the veneration of the saints.
Of course, there are exceptions, such as Saint Michael, Saint
ELatherine and Saint Margaret appearing to Joan of Arc ;
and other instances might be added. But, generally speaking,
popular phantasmagoria is full of angels, devils, shades of the
dead, white women, but not of saints. Stories of apparitions
of particular saints are, as a rule, suspect of having already
undergone some ecclesiastical or literary interpretation. To
the agitated beholder a phantom has no name and hardly a
shape. In the famous vision of Frankenthal, in 1446, the young
shepherd sees fourteen cherubim, all alike, who tell bin* they
are the fourteen " Holy Martyrs," to whom Christian icono-
graphy attributed such distinct and marked appearances.
Where a primitive superstition does attach to the veneration
of some saint, it retains something of the vague and formless
character that is essential to superstition, as in the case of
Saint Bertulph at Ghent, who can be heard rapping the sides
of his coffin in S. Peter's abbey " moult dru et moult fort "
(very frequently and very loudly) as a warning of impending
calamity.
The saint, with his clearly outlined figure, his well-known
attributes and features as they were painted or carved in the
churches, was wholly lacking in mystery. He did not inspire
terror as do vague phantoms and the haunting unknown. The
dread of the supernatural is due to the undefined character of
its phenomena. As soon as they assume a clear-cut shape they
are no longer horrible. The familiar figures of the saints pro-
duced the same sort of reassuring effect as the sight of a police-
man in a foreign city. The complex of ideas connected with
the saints constituted, so to say, a neutral zone of calm and
domestic piety, between the ecstasy of contemplation and of the
love of Christ on the one hand, and the horrors of demonomania
on the other. It is perhaps not too bold to assert that the
152 The Waning of the Middle Ages
veneration of the saints, by draining off an overflow of religious
effusion and of holy fear, acted on the exuberant piety of the
Middle Ages as a salutary sedative.
The veneration of the saints has its place among the more
outward manifestations of faith. It is subject to the influences
of popular fancy rather than of theology, and they sometimes
deprive it of its dignity. The special cult of Saint Joseph
towards the end of the Middle Ages is characteristic in this
respect. It may be looked upon as the counterpart of the
passionate adoration of the Virgin. The curiosity with which
Joseph was regarded is a sort of reaction from the fervent cult
of Mary. The figure of the Virgin is exalted more and more
and that of Joseph becomes more and more of a caricature.
Art portrays him as a clown dressed in rags ; as such he appears
in the diptych by Melchior Broederlam at Dijon. Literature,
which is always more explicit than the graphic arts, achieves
the feat of making him altogether ridiculous. Instead of
admiring Joseph as the man most highly favoured of all,
Deschamps represents him as the type of the drudging husband.
**VoT3s qui servez a fennne et a enfans
Aiez Joseph toiidis en remembrance ;
Fennne servit toujo-urs tristes, dolans,
Et Jhesu Grist garda en son enf ance ;
A pie trotoit, son fardel star sa lance ;
En plusieurs lieux est figure* ainsi,
Lez -on mulct, pour tear faire plaisance,
Et si n'ot oncq feste en ce monde ci." I
And again, still more grossly:
<c Qu'ot Joseph de povret6
De durt
De maleurte'
Quant Dieux nasqui !
Maintefois Pa comport6
Et monte"
Par bonte*
Avec sa mere autressi,
1 You who serve a wife and children Always bear Joseph in mind ; He
served his wife, gloomily and mournfully, And he guarded Jesus Christ in
his infancy ; He went on foot with his bundle slung on his staff ; In several
places he is pictured thus, Beside a mule to give them pleasure, And so he
had never any amusement in this world.
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 153
Sur sa mule les ravi :
Je le vi
Paint ainsi;
En Egipte en est al<.
"Le bonhomme est painture 1
Tout Iass6,
Et troussS
D'une cote et d'un barry:
Un baston au coul pos6,
Vieil, us6
Et rus&
Feste n'a en ce monde cy,
Mais de lui
Va le cri :
C'est Joseph le rassot<." x
This shows how familiarity led to irreverence of thought.
Saint Joseph remained a comic type, in spite of the very special
reverence paid to him. Doctor Eck, Luther's adversary, had
to insist that he should not be brought on the stage, or at least
that he should not be made to cook the porridge, " ne ecclesia
Dei irrideatur." The union of Joseph and Mary always
remained the object of a deplorable curiosity, in which pro-
fane speculation mingled with sincere piety. The Chevalier
de la Tour Landry, a man of prosaic mind, explains it to himself
in the following manner : " God wished that she should marry
that saintly man Joseph, who was old and upright, for God
wished to be born in wedlock, to comply with the current legal
requirements, to avoid gossip."
An unpublished work of the fifteenth century a represents the
mystic marriage of the soul with the celestial spouse as if it
were a middle-class wedding. " If it pleases you," says Jesus
to the Father, " I shall marry and shall have a large bevy of
children and relations." The Father fears a misalliance, but
* What poverty Joseph suffered What -hardships What misery When God
was born ! Many a time he has carried Mm, And placed him In his good-
ness With his mother, too. On his mule, and took them with hfrn I saw hi
Painted thus ; He went into Egypt.
The good man is painted Quite exhausted, And dressed in A frock and a
striped garment, A stick across his shoulder, Old, spent And broken. For
frim there was no amusement in tibia world. But of him People sayThat is
Joseph, the fool
*Le Livre de Cravnte Amowreuse, by Jean Berthelemy, Bihliothdqoe
Rationale, MS. fran9ais, 1875.
154 The Waning of the Middle Ages
the Angel succeeds in persuading him that the betrothed-elect
is worthy of the Son ; on which the Father gives his consent
in these terms :
"Prens la, car elle est plaisant
Four bien amer son doulx amant ;
Or prens de nos biens largement,
Et luy en donne habondaxnment." *
There is no doubt of the seriously devout intention of this
treatise. It is only an instance of the degree of triviality
entailed by unbridled exuberance of fancy.
Every saint, by the possession of a distinct and vivid out-
ward shape, had his own marked individuality, quite contrary
to the angels, who, with the exception of the three famous
archangels, acquired no definite appearance. This individual
character of each saint was still more strongly accentuated by
the special functions attributed to many of them. Now this
specialization of the kind of aid given by the various saints
was apt to introduce a mechanical element into the veneration
paid to them. If, for instance, Saint Roch is specially
invoked against the plague, almost inevitably too much
stress came to be laid on his part in the healing, and the
idea required by sound doctrine, that the saint wrought the
cure only by means of his intercession with God, came in
danger of being lost sight of. This was especially so in the
case of the "Holy Martyrs" (les saints auxiHaires), whose
number is usually given as fourteen, and sometimes as five,
eight, ten, fifteen. Their veneration arose and spread towards
the end of the Middle Ages.
" Hz sont cinq sains, en la genealogie,
Et cinq sainctes, a qoi Dieu octria
Henignexnent a la fin de leur vie,
Que qtticonques de cuer les requeira
En tons perils, que Dieu essaucera
Leurs prieres, pour quelconque mesaise.
Saiges est done qoi ces cinq servira,
Jorges, Denis, Christofle, Gille et Blaise." a
1 Take her, for she is pleasing and fit To love her sweet bridegroom ; Now
take plenty of our possessions, And give them to her in abundance.
1 There are five saints in the genealogy, And five female saints to whom God
granted Benignsntly at the end of their lives, That whosoever shall invoke
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 155
The Church had sanctioned the popular belief expressed by
Deschamps in these verses by instituting an office of the Four-
teen Auxiliary Saints. The binding character of their inter-
cession is clearly there expressed : " O God, who hast distin-
guished Thy chosen saints, George, etc., etc., with special
privileges before all others, that all those who in their need
invoke their help, shall obtain the salutary fulfilment of their
prayer, according to the promise of Thy grace." So there had
been a formal delegation of divine omnipotence. The people
could, therefore, not be blamed if, with regard to theseprivileged
saints it forgot the pure doctrine a little. The instantaneous
effect of prayer addressed to them contributed still more to
obscure their part as intercessors ; they seemed to be exercising
divine power by virtue of a power of attorney. Hence it is
very natural that the Church abolished this special office of the
Fourteen Auxiliary Saints after the Council of Trent. The
extraordinary function attributed to them had given rise to
the grossest superstition, such as the belief that it sufficed to
have looked at a Saint Christopher, painted or carved, to be
protected for the rest of the day from a fatal end. This
explains the countless number of the saints' images at the
entrances of churches.
As for the reason why this group was singled out among all
the saints, it should be noticed that the greater number of them
appear in art with some very striking attribute. Saint Acha-
tius wore a crown of thorns ; Saint Giles was accompanied by
a hind, Saint George by a dragon ; Saint Christopher was of
gigantic stature ; Saint Blaise was represented in a den of wild
beasts ; Saint Cyriac with a chained devil ; Saint Denis carry-
ing his head under his arm ; Saint Erasmus being disembowelled
by means of a windlass ; Saint Eustace with a stag carrying a
cross between its antlers ; Saint Pantaleon with a lion ; Saint
Vitus in a cauldron ; Saint Barbara with her tower ; Saint
Katherine with her wheel and sword ; Saint Margaret with a
dragon. It may well be that the special favour with which
the Fourteen Auxiliary Saints were regarded was due, at least
partially, to the very impressive character of their images.
their help with all his heart la all dangers, that He will hear their prayers,
la aU disorders whatsoever. He therefore is wise who serves these five,
George, Denis, Christopher, Giles and Blaise.
156 The Waning of the Middle Ages
The names of several saints were inseparably bound up with
divers disorders, and even served to designate them. Thus
various cutaneous diseases were called Saint Anthony's evil.
Gout went by the name of Saint Maur's evil. The terrors of the
plague called for more than one saintly protector-; Saint Sebas-
tian, Saint Roch, Saint Giles, Saint Christopher, Saint Valen-
tine, Saint Adrian, were all honoured in this capacity by offices,
processions and fraternities. Now here lurked another menace
to the purity of the faith. As soon as the thought of the
disease, charged with feelings of horror and fear, presented
itself to the mind, the thought of the saint sprang up at the
same instant. How easily, then, did the saint himself become
the object of this fear, so that to him was ascribed the heavenly
wrath that unchained the scourge. Instead of unfathomable
divine justice, it was the anger of the saint which seemed the
cause of the evil and required to be appeased. Since he healed
the evil, why should he not be its author ? On these lines the
transition from Christian ethic to heathen magic was only too
easy. The Church could not be held responsible, unless we are
to blame her carelessness regarding the adulteration of the
pure doctrine in the minds of the ignorant.
There are numerous testimonies to show that the people
sometimes really regarded certain saints as the authors of
disorders, though it would be hardly fair to consider as such
those oaths which almost attributed to Saint Anthony the part
of an evil fire-demon. " Que Saint Antoine me arde " (May
Saint Anthony burn me ! ), " Saint Antoine arde le tripot,"
" Saint Antoine arde la monture " (Saint Anthony burn the
brothel ! Saint Anthony burn the beast ! ) these are lines
by Coquillaxfe. So also Deschamps makes some poor fellow
say:
" Saint Antoine me vent trop drier
Son mal, le feu ou corps me boute ; " x
and thus apostrophizes a gouty beggar : " You cannot walk ?
AH the better, you save the toll : Saint Mor ne te fera fremir "
(Saint Maur will not make you tremble).
Robert Gaguin, who was not at all hostile to the veneration
1 Saint Anthony sells me his evil all too dear, He stokes the fire in my
body.
Religious TTiought Crystallizing into Images 157
of the saints, in his De validorum per Franciam mendicantium
varia astucia, describes beggars in these terms : " One falls on
the ground expectorating malodorous spittle and attributes
his condition to Saint John. Others are covered with ulcers
through the fault of Saint Fiacrius, the hermit. You,
Damian, prevent them from making water, Saint Anthony
burns their joints, Saint Pius makes them lame and para-
lysed."
In one of his Colloquies Erasmus makes fun of this belief.
One of the interlocutors asks whether in Heaven the saints
are more malevolent than they were on earth. " Yes," answers
the other, " in the glory of Paradise the saints do not choose
to be insulted. Who was sweeter than Saint Corneille, more
compassionate than Saint Anthony, more patient than Saint
John the Baptist, during their lives ? And now what horrible
maladies they send if they are not properly honoured ! "
Rabelais states that the lower class of preachers themselves
represented Saint Sebastian to their congregation as the author
of the plague and Saint Eutropius of dropsy. Henri Estienne
has written of the same superstitions in the like manner. That
they existed is thus clearly established.
The emotional constituents of the veneration of the saints
had fastened so firmly on the forms and colours of their images
that mere aesthetic perception was constantly threatening to
obliterate the religious element. The vivid impression pre-
sented by the aspect of the images with their pious or ecstatic
looks, rich gilding, and sumptuous apparel, all admirably
reproduced by a very realistic art, left hardly any room for
doctrinal reflection. Effusions of piety went out ardently
towards those glorious beings, without a thought being given
to the limits fixed by the Church. In the popular imagination
the saints were living and were as gods. There is nothing
surprising, therefore, in the fact that strict pietists like the
Brethren of the Common Life and the Windesheim canons saw
a certain danger to popular piety in the development of the
veneration of the saints. It is very remarkable, however, that
the same idea occurs to a man like Eustache Deschamps, a
superficial poet and a commonplace mind, and for that very-
reason so faithful a mirror of the general aspirations of his
time.
158 The Waning of the Middle Ages
"Ne faictes pas les dieux d'argent,
D'or, de fust, de pierre ou d'arain,
Qui font ydolatrer la gent. . . .
Car Pouvrage est forme plaisant ;
Leiir painture dont je me plain,
La beaute* de Tor reluisant,
Font croire a maint peuple incertain
Que ce soient dieu pour certain,
Et servent par pensees foles
Telz ymages qni font caroles
Es moustiers ou trop en mettons ;
C'est tresmal fait ; a brief paroles,
Telz simulacres n'aourons.
Prince, un Dieu croions settlement
Et aourons parfaictement
Aux champs, partout, car c'est raisons,
Non pas faulz dieux, fer n'ayment,
Pierres qui n'ont entendement :
Telz simulacres n'aourons." l
Perhaps we may consider the diligent propagation of the
cult of guardian angels towards the end of the Middle Ages
as a sort of unconscious reaction against the motley crowd of
popular hagiology. Too large a part of the living faith had
crystallized in the veneration of the saints, and thus there
arose a craving for something more spiritual as an object of
reverence and a source of protection. In addressing itself to the
angel, vaguely conceived and almost formless, piety restored
contact with the supernatural and with mystery. Once more
it is Jean Gerson, the indefatigable worker for the purity of
faith, whom we find perpetually recommending the cult of
the guardian angel. But here also he had to combat unbridled
curiosity, which threatened to submerge piety under a mass
of commonplace details. And it was just in connection with
this subject of angels, which was more or less unbroken ground,
1 Do not make gods of silver, Of gold, of wood, of stone or of bronze, That
lead people to idolatry. . . . Because the work has a pleasant shape; Their
colouring of which I complain, The beauty of gfrmfng gold, Make many ignorant
people believe That these are God] for certain, And they serve by foolish
thoughts Such images as stand about la churches where they place too many
oftkemThatisveryffldone;m^ortI^usi^ . . .
Prince, let us only believe in one God And let us adore him to perfection
In the fields, everywhere, for this is right, No false gods, of iron or of stone,
Stones which have no understanding : Let us not adore such counterfeits.
Religious Thought Crystallizing into Images 159
that numbers of delicate questions obtruded themselves. Do
they never leave us ? Do they know beforehand whether
we shall be saved or lost ? Had Christ a guardian angel ?
Will the Antichrist have one ? Can the angel speak to our
soul without visions ? Do the angels lead us to good as devils
lead us to evil ? Leave these subtle speculations to divines,
concludes Qerson ; let the faithful keep to simple and whole-
some worship.
A hundred years after Gerson wrote, the Eeformation
attacked the cult of the saints, and nowhere in the whole
contested area did it meet with less resistance. In strong
contrast with the belief in witchcraft and demonology, which
fully maintained their ground in Protestant countries, both
among the clergy and the laity, the saints fell without a blow
being struck in their defence. This was possibly due to the
fact that nearly everything connected with the saints had
become caput mortuum. Piety had depleted itself in the
image, the legend, the office. All its contents had been so
completely expressed that mystic awe had evaporated. The
cult of the saints was no longer rooted in the domain of the
unimaginable. In the case of demonology, these roots re-
mained as terribly strong as ever.
When, therefore, Catholic Reform had to re-establish the
cult of the saints, its first task was to prune it ; to cut down the
whole luxuriant growth of medieval imagination and establish
severer discipline, so as to prevent a reflorescence.
CHAPTER XIII
TYPES OF EELIGIOUS LIFE
In studying the history of religious life, we must beware
of drawing the lines of demarcation too sharply. When we
see side by side the most striking contrasts of passionate
piety and mocking indifference, it is so easy to explain them
by opposing, as if they made up distinct groups, the worldly
to the devout, the intellectuals to the ignorant, the reformers
to the conservatives. But, in so doing, we fail to take suffi-
cient account of the marvellous complexity of the human
soul and of the forms of culture. To explain the astonishing
contrasts of religious life towards the end of the Middle Ages,
we must start with the recognition of a general lack of balance
in the religious temper, rendering both individuals and masses
liable to violent contradictions and to sudden changes.
The general aspect presented by religious life in France
towards the end of the Middle Ages is that of a very mechanical
and frequently very lax practice, chequered by spasmodic
effusions of ardent piety. France was a stranger to that special
form of pietism which sequesters itself in small circles of
fervent devotees, such as we find springing up in the Nether-
lands : the " devotio moderna," dominated by the figure of
Thomas a Kempis. Still, the religious needs which gave birth
to this movement were not wanting in France, only the
devotees did not form a special organization. They found a
refuge in the existing orders, or they remained in secular
life, without being distinguished from the mass of believers.
Perhaps the Latin soul endures more easily than that of
Northern peoples the conflicts with which life in the world
confronts the pious.
Of all the contradictions which religious life of the period
presents, perhaps the most insoluble is that of an avowed
contempt of the clergy, a contempt seen as an undercurrent
160
Types of Religious Life 161
throughout the Middle Ages, side by side with the very great
respect shown for the sanctity of the sacerdotal office. The
soul of the masses, not yet completely Christianized, had
never altogether forgotten the aversion felt by the savage
for the man who may not fight and must remain chaste.
The feudal pride of the knight, the champion of courage and
of love, was at one, in this, with the primitive instinct of the
people. The worldliness of the higher ranks of the clergy
and the deterioration of the lower grades did the rest. Hence
it was that nobles, burghers and villeins had for a long time
past been feeding their hatred with spiteful jests at the expense
of the incontinent monk and the guzzling priest. Hatred is
the right word to use in this context, for hatred it was, latent,
but general and persistent. The people never wearied of
hearing the vices of the clergy arraigned. A preacher who
inveighed against the ecclesiastical state was sure of being
applauded. As soon as a homilist broaches this subject, says
Bernardino of Siena, his hearers forget all the rest; there
is no more effective means of reviving attention when the
congregation is dropping off to sleep, or suffering from heat or
cold. Everybody instantly becomes attentive and cheerful.
Contempt and gibes are levelled especially at the mendicant
orders. The types of unworthy priests in the Cent Nouvelles
Nouvelles, like the starving chaplain who reads mass for three
doits, or the confessor pledged to absolve the family of every-
thing every year, in return for his board and lodging, are all
of them mendicant friars. In a series of New Year's wishes
Molinet rhymes thus :
"PrioiLs Dieu que les Jacobins
Puissent manger les Augustins,
Et les Cannes soient pendus
Des cordes des Freres Menus." 1
At the same time, the restoration of the mendicant orders
caused a revival of popular preaching, which gave rise to those
vehement outbursts of fervour and penitence which stamped
so powerfully the religious life of the fifteenth century.
There is in this special hatred for the begging friars an
1 Let us pray God that the Jacobins May eat the Augustinians, And that
the Carmelites may be hanged With the cords of the Minorites.
M
162 The Waning of the Middle Ages
indication of a most important change of ideas. The formal
and dogmatic conception of poverty as extolled by Saint
Ifrancis of Assisi, and as observed by the mendicant orders,
was no longer in harmony with the social sentiment which
was just arising. People were beginning to regard poverty as
a social evil instead of an apostolic virtue. Pierre d'Ailly
opposed to the mendicant orders the " true poor " vere
pawperes. England, which, earlier than other nations, became
alive to the economic aspect of things, gave, towards the end
of the fourteenth century, the first expression to the senti-
ment of the sanctity of productive labour in that strangely
fantastic and touching poem, The Vision of William con-
cerning Piers Plowman.
Still, this general abuse of priests and monks goes hand
in hand with a profound veneration for their sacred function.
Ghillebert de Lannoy saw a priest at Rotterdam appease a
tumult by raising the Corpus Domini.
The sudden transitions and the violent contrasts of the
religious life of the ignorant masses reappear in that of cul-
tured individuals. Often enlightenment comes like a thunder-
clap, as it did in the case of Saint Francis suddenly hearing
the words of the Gospel as a compulsory command. A knight
hears the baptismal ritual read: he has perhaps heard it
twenty times before, but suddenly the miraculous virtue of
these words pierces into his soul, and he promises himself
henceforth to chase away the devil by the mere recollection
of the baptism. Jean de Bueil is on the point of witnessing
a duel, the adversaries are both going to swear to their good
right on the Host. Suddenly the captain, seized by the
thought that one of them must needs forswear himself and
will be lost irrevocably, exclaims : " Do not swear ; only fight
for a wager of 500 crowns, without taking an oath."
As for the great lords, the basic unsoundness of their life
of arrogant pomp and disordered enjoyment contributed to
give a spasmodic character to their piety. They are devout
by starts, for life is far too distracting. Charles V of Erance
sometimes gives up the chase at the most exciting moments
to hear mass. Ann of Burgundy, the wife of Bedford, now
scandalizes the Parisians by splashing a procession by her mad
riding, now leaves a court fete at midnight to attend the
Types of Religious Life 163
matins of the Celestines. She brought upon herself a pre-
mature death by visiting the sick of the Hotel Dieu.
Among the princes and the lords of the fifteenth century,
more than one presents the type of an almost inconceivable
mixture of devotion and debauchery. Louis of Orleans, an
insane lover of luxury and pleasure, addicted even to the sin
of necromancy, has his cell in the common dormitory of the
Celestines, where he shares the privations and duties of
monastic life, rising at midnight and sometimes hearing five
or six masses a day.
The coexistence in one person of devotion and worldli-
ness is displayed in a striking fashion in Philip the Good.
The duke, famous for his " moult belle compagnie '* of bas-
tards, his extravagant feasts, his grasping policy, and for a
pride not less violent than his temper, is at the same time
strictly devout. He was in the habit of remaining in his
oratory for a long time after mass, and living on bread and
water four days a week, as well as on all the vigils of Our
Lady and the apostles. He is often still fasting at four o'clock
in the afternoon. He gives alms on a great scale and in
secret. After the surprise of Luxemburg, he remains en-
grossed in his hours and special prayers of thanksgiving so
long that his escort, awaiting him on horseback, grow im-
patient, for the fight was not yet quite over. On being
warned of the danger, the duke replies : " If God has granted
me victory, He will keep it for me."
Gaston Phbus, count of Foix, King Rene, Charles of
Orleans, represent so many different types of a very worldly
and often frivolous temperament, coupled with a devotional
spirit which one shrinks from stigmatizing as hypocrisy or
bigotry. It has rather to be regarded as a kind of reconcilia-
tion, hardly conceivable to the modern mind, between two
moral extremes. Its possibility in the Middle Ages depends
on the absolute dualism of the two conceptions, which then
dominated all thinking and living.
Men of the fifteenth century often couple with austere
devotion the love of bizarre splendour. The craving to
decorate faith with the magnificence of forms and colours is
displayed in other forms besides works of religious art; it
is sometimes found in the forms of spiritual life itself. When
164 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Philippe de Mezieres plans his Order of the Passion, which
was to save Christendom, he imagines a whole phantas-
magoria of colours. The knights, according to their ranks, will
be dressed in red, green, scarlet and azure, with red crosses
and hoods of the same colour. The grand-master will be all
in white. If he saw but little of this splendour, as his order
was never established, he was at least able to satisfy his
artistic taste in the monastery of the Celestines at Paris,
which was the refuge of his last years. If the rules of the
order, which he followed as a lay-brother, were very severe,
the convent-church, on the other hand, a mausoleum of the
princes of the time, was most sumptuous, all sparkling with
gold and precious stones ; it was reputed the most beautiful
of Paris.
It is but a step from luxurious piety to theatrical displays
of hyperbolic humility. Olivier de la Marche remembered
to have seen in his youth the entry of Jacques de Bourbon,
the titular king of Naples, who had renounced the world
because of the exhortations of Saint Colette. The king,
miserably dressed, was carried in a sort of hand-barrow, " not
differing from the barrows in which dung and ordure are usually
carried." An elegant cortege followed closely. " And I have
heard it recounted and said-' says La Marche "that in
all the towns where he came, he made similar entries out of
humility."
The minute directions given by a number of saintly persons
concerning their burial bear witness to the same excessive
humility. The blessed Pierre Thomas, improving upon the
example of Saint Francis of Assisi, leaves orders to wrap hm?
up in a sack, with a cord round his neck, and so place him on
the ground to die. " Bury me," he says, " at the entrance of
the choir, that every one may walk over my body, even dogs and
goats." Philippe de M6zi$res, his disciple and friend, tries to
go even further in fantastic humility. Tn his dying hour a
heavy iron chain is to be placed round his neck. When he
has given up the ghost, he is to be dragged by his feet, naked,
into the choir, where he is to remain on the ground, his arms
crossed, tied by three ropes to a plank. Thus "this fine
treasure for the worms " is to wait till people come to carry
it to thegrave. The plank is to take the place of the "sump-
Types of Religious Life 165
tuous coffin, ornamented with his vain and worldly coat of
arms, which would have been displayed at the interment of the
unhappy pilgrim, if God had so much hated him that he had
let him die at the court of princes of this world." Dragged
along once more, his " carrion " is to be thrown, quite naked,
into the grave.
One is not surprised to hear that this lover of precise specifi-
cation made several wills. In the later ones details of this
kind are wanting ; and at his death, which occurred in 1405,
he was honourably buried in the frock of the Celestines, and
two epitaphs, probably of his own composition, were carved
on his tombstone.
The ideal of sanctity has always been incapable of much
variation. The fifteenth century, in this respect, brings no
new aspiration. Consequently, the Renaissance exercised
hardly any influence on the conception of saintly life. The
saint and the mystic remain almost wholly untouched by
the changing times. The types of saints of the Counter-
Reformation are still those of the later Middle Ages, who in
their turn did not essentially differ from those of the preced-
ing centuries. Both before and after the great turning of the
tide, two types of saints stand out conspicuously : the men
of fiery speech and energetic action, like Ignatius de Loyola,
Francis Xavier, Charles Borromeo, who belong to the same
class as Bernardino of Siena, John Capistrano and the blessed
Vincent Ferrer, in earlier times; and the men absorbed in
tranquil rapture, or practising extravagant humility, the poor
in spirit, like Saint Francis of Paula and the blessed Pierre
of Luxemburg in the fifteenth century, and Aloysius Gonzaga
in the sixteenth.
It would not be unreasonable to compare to the romanticism
of chivalry, as an element of medieval thought, a romanticism
of saintliness, in the sense of a tendency to give the colours
of fancy and the accents of enthusiasm to an ideal form of
virtue and of duty. It is remarkable that this romanticism
of saintliness always aims far more at miracles and excesses
of humility and of asceticism, than at brilliant achievements
in the service of religious policy. The Church has some-
times canonized the great men of action who have revived
or purified religious culture, but popular imagination has been
166 The Waning of the Middle Ages
more impressed, in all ages, by the supernatural and by
irrational excess.
It is not without interest to note some traits showing us
the attitude of the aristocracy, refined and fastidious and
engrossed in the chivalrous ideas, towards the ideal of saintly
life. The princely families of France have produced later
saints than Saint Louis. Charles of Blois, descended, by his
mother, from the house of Valois, found himself charged, by
his marriage with the heiress of Brittany, with a war of suc-
cession, which filled the greater part of his life. On marry-
ing Jeanne de Penthievre, he had promised to adopt the arms
and the battle-cry of the duchy, which meant : to fight Jean
de Montfort, the pretender supported by England. The
count of Blois waged the war like the best of knights and
captains of his time. He passed nine years in captivity in
England, and perished at Aurai in 1364, battling side by side
with Bertrand du Guesclin and Beaumanoir.
Now this prince, whose career was altogether military, had
led, from his youth onward, the life of an ascetic. As a
child he plunged into the study of edifying books, a taste
which his father did his best to moderate, judging it un-
suitable to a future warrior. Later he used to sleep on straw
near the conjugal bed. After his death he was found to have
worn a hair-shirt under his armour. He confessed every
evening, saying that no Christian ought to go to sleep in the
state of sin. As a prisoner in London he was in the habit of
entering the cemeteries to kneel down and say the de pro-
fundis. The Breton squire whom he asks to say the responses
refused, saying: "No; there lie those who have killed my
parents and friends and have burnt their houses." On being
released, he resolved to undertake a pilgrimage, barefooted, in
the snow, from La Boche-Derrien, where he had been captured,
to the shrine of Saint Yves at Tr^guier. The people, hearing
this, covered the road with straw and blankets, but the count
made a detour and hurt his feet, so that for weeks he was
unable to walk.
Directly after his death his royal relations, especially his
son-in-law, Louis d'Anjou, a son of the king, took steps to
have him canonized. The proceedings, which took place at
Angers in 1371, ended in his beatification.
Types of Religious Life 167
If we are to trust Froissart, this Charles of Blois would
seem to have had a bastard. "There was killed in good
style the aforesaid Lord Charles of Blois, with his face to the
enemy, and a bastard son of his called Jehans de Blois, and
several other knights and squires of Brittany." Was Froissart
mistaken ? Or are we to suppose that the mingling of piety
and sensuality, which is so evident in the figures of Louis
of Orleans and of Philip the Good, reappears in him in a still
more astonishing degree ?
No such question arises in the case of the blessed Pierre
de Luxembourg, another ascetic sprung from court circles.
This scion of the house of Luxemburg, which in its several
branches held the imperial dignity and a preponderant place
at the courts of France and Burgundy, is a striking representa-
tive of the type called by William James " the under-witted
saint,*' a narrow mind, which can only live in a carefully
isolated sphere of devotion. He died in his eighteenth year,
in 1387, having been loaded from his childhood with ecclesias-
tical dignities, being bishop of Metz at fifteen and a cardinal
soon after. His personality as it disengages itself from the
narratives of the witnesses in the proceedings for his canoni-
zation is almost pitiful. He is of a consumptive disposition
and has overgrown his strength. Even as a child he was
wholly given up to austerity and devotion. He reprimands
his brother when he laughs, because the Gospel does tell us
that the Lord wept, but not that he laughed. " Sweet,
courteous and debonair " says Froissart " virgin as to the
body, a very great giver of alms. The greater part of the day
and the night he spent in prayer. And in all his life there was
nothing but humility." At first his noble parents tried to
dissuade him from a life of religion. When he said he wished
to go forth and preach, he was told : " You are much too tall,
everybody would recognize you at once. You could not endure
the cold, and as to preaching the crusade, how could you do
that ? " "I see,' ' said Pierre and here the very recesses of his
narrow mind seem lighted up for a moment " I see very
well, that you want to lead me from the right road to the
bad ; but assuredly, if I once enter on it, I shall do so much
that the whole world will talk of me."
When once his ascetic aspirations had overcome all attempts
168 The Waning of the Middle Ages
to extirpate them, his parents were clearly proud of having
such a young saint in the family. Imagine, amidst the un-
bridled luxury of the courts of Berry and Burgundy, this sickly
boy, horribly dirty and covered with vermin, as the witnesses
attest. He is ever occupied with his sins and notes them
down every day in a pocket-book. If he is prevented from
doing this by a journey or some other reason, he makes up
for this neglect by writing for hours. At night he is seen
writing up or reading his pocket-books by the light of a candle.
He rises at midnight and awakes the chaplains in order to
confess ; sometimes he knocks in vain they turn a deaf ear
to his nocturnal call. If he obtains a hearing, he reads out
his lists of sins from his little scraps. Towards the end of his
life, he is shriven twice a day and will not allow his confessor
to leave him for a moment. After his death a whole chest
was found filled with these little lists of sins.
The Luxembourgs and their friends immediately took steps
to get him canonized. The request was made at Avignon by
the king himself, and supported both by the University of
Paris and the Chapter of Notre Dame. The greatest lords of
France appeared as witnesses at the trial in 1389 : Andr6 de
Luxembourg, Louis de Bourbon, Enguerrand de Coucy.
Though the canonization was not obtained because of the
pope's negligence (the beatification only took place in 1527),
the veneration of Pierre de Luxembourg was at once established,
and miracles multiplied at Avignon, on the spot where he
lay buried. The king founded a Celestine monastery there
after the model of the one at Paris, which was the favourite
sanctuary of the high nobility, and which Pierre had also
frequented in his youth. The foundation-stone was laid by
the dukes of Orleans, Berry and Burgundy.
There is another case which may serve to illustrate the
intercourse of princes with saints : Saint Francis of Paula at
the court of Louis XI. The very peculiar type of piety
which this king presents is too well known to be described
here at large. Louis XI, " who bought the grace of God and
of the Virgin Mary for more money than ever king did," dis-
plays all the qualities of the crudest fetishism. His passion
for relics, pilgrimages and processions seems to us almost
totally devoid of really pious sentiment, and even of respect.
Types of Religious Life 169
He used to handle the holy objects as if they were expensive
medicines. At the approach of death he sent to all parts of
the world for extraordinary relics. The pope sent hi the
corporal of Saint Peter. The Great Turk actually offered hi
a collection of relics which were still at Constantinople. On
the table beside his bed was the " Sainte Ampoule, 39 the
vase in which the holy oil for coronation was kept, and which
had never left Reims before. According to Commines, the
king wanted to try its miraculous virtue by having his whole
body anointed. The cross of Saint Laud was specially sent
for from Angers to take an oath upon, for Louis made a
difference between oaths taken on one relic and on another.
These are traits reminding us of the Merovingian times.
In him the fervent venerator of relics blends with the
collector of curiosities. He corresponds with Lorenzo de
Medici about the ring of Saint Zanobi and about an Agnus Dei,
that is to say, one of these figures cut out of the fibrous trunk
of an Asiatic fern, which were also called Agnus Scythicus,
or Tartarian lamb, and to which rare medicinal virtues were
attributed. At Plessis les Tours the holy persons, summoned
thither to say prayers for the king, rub shoulders with musicians
of all sorts. "At that time the king had a great number
of players of deep-toned and sweet instruments brought to
him, whom he lodged at Saint-Cosme, near Tours, where they
assembled, as many as a hundred and twenty, among whom
there were many shepherds from the country of Poitou.
Who often played before the king's mansion (but they did
not see him), that the king might enjoy the aforesaid instru-
ments as a pleasure and pastime and to prevent him from
sleeping. And, on the other hand, he also sent for a great
number of male and female bigots and devout people like
hermits and saintly creatures, to pray God incessantly to
allow that he should not die and that He might let him live
longer."
Saint Francis of Paula, the Calabrian hermit, who surpassed
the Minorite friars in humility by founding the order of the
Minims, was literally a purchase of the royal collector. After
having failed with the king of Naples, Louis's diplomacy
succeeded, by the pope's intervention, in securing the miracu-
lous man. A noble escort bore him from Italy, sorely against
170 The Waning of the Middle Ages
his mil. His ferocious asceticism reminds us of the barbarous
saints of the tenth century, Saint Nil and Saint Romuald.
He flies at the sight of a woman. Since his youth he has
never touched a piece of money. He sleeps upright or in
a leaning position ; he lets his hair and beard grow. He does
not eat animal food and accepts only roots. The king, who
is -already ill, took pains to procure the proper food for his
rare saint. "Monsieur de Genas, I beg you to send me
lemons and sweet oranges, and muscatel pears, and parsnips, 1
and it is for the holy man who eats neither flesh nor fish ;
and you will do me a very great pleasure." At court he was
known only as "the holy man," so that Commines appears
not to have known his name, although he often saw him.
The mockers and suspicious persons also called fa' "holy
man." The king himself, at the instigation of Jacques Coitier,
his physician, begun by setting spies on the man of God and
by putting him to the proof. Commines is prudently reserved
about him. Although declaring that he had never seen a man
" of such saintly life, nor one in whom the Holy Spirit seemed
more to speak through his mouth," he concludes : " He is
still alive, so that he may well change, for the better or for
the worse, so that I shall be silent, as many mocked at the
arrival of this hermit, whom they called * holy man. 9 " It
is noteworthy that learned theologians like Jan Standonck
and Jean Quentin, having come from Paris to speak to Tnm
about the founding of a monastery of Minims at Paris, went
back full of admiration.
It is a significant fact that the princes of the fifteenth
century often ask the advice of great visionaries and extrava-
gant ascetics in political matters. Thus Saint Colette is con-
sulted by Philip the Good and by his mother, Marguerite of
Bavaria, and acts as an intermediary in the controversies
between the houses of ITranee, Savoy and Burgundy. Her
canonization was demanded with pious insistence by the house
of Burgundy.
More important still was the public part played by Denis
the Carthusian. He also was frequently in touch with the
house of Burgundy. Obsessed by the fear of imminent
1 Perhaps the king wrote by mistake, pastenarguea for postiquea = water*
melons.
Types of Eeligious Life 171
catastrophes, such as the conquest of Rome by the Turks, he
urges the duke to undertake a crusade. He dedicates to H
a treatise on princely government. He advises the duke of
Guelders in the conflict with his son. Numbers of noblemen,
clerks and burghers come to consult him in his cell at Rure-
monde, where he is constantly engaged in resolving doubts,
difficulties and questions of conscience.
Denys le Chartreux, or of Rickel, is the most complete
type of religious enthusiast at the end of the Middle Ages.
His mental range and many-sided energy are hardly con-
ceivable. To mystic transports, ferocious asceticism, continual
visions and revelations he unites immense activity as a theo-
logical writer. His works fill forty-five quarto volumes. All
medieval divinity meets in "him as the rivers of a continent
flow together in an estuary. Qui Dianysium, legit nihil non
legit, 3 - said sixteenth-century theology. He sums up, he con-
cludes, but he does not create. All that his great predecessors
have thought is reproduced by him in a simple and easy style.
He wrote all his books himself, and revised, corrected, sub-
divided and illuminated them. At the end of his life, he
deliberately laid down his pen. Ad securae taciturnitatis yor-
tum me transferre intended
He never knew repose. Every day he recites the psalter
almost entirely, and, at any rate, half. He prays continually,
while dressing or while engaged in any other occupation.
When others go to sleep again after matins, he remains awake.
Big and strong, he exposes his body with impunity to all
kinds of privations. I have a head of iron, he would say,
and a stomach of brass. He feeds, for choice, on tainted
victuals.
The enormous amount of theological meditation and specu-
lation which he achieved, was not the fruit of a peaceful
and balanced life of study ; it was carried out in the midst
of intense emotions and violent shocks. Visions and revela-
tions are with >>i ordinary experiences. Ecstasies come to
frrm on ail sorts of occasions, especially when he hears music,
sometimes in the midst of noble company, who are listening
to his wise advice. As a child he rose when the moon was
1 He who reads Denis reads everything.
I am now going to enter the haven of secure taciturnity.
172 The Waning of the Middle Ages
shining brightly, thinking it was time to go to school. He
is a stammerer. He sees the room of a dying woman full
of demons who knock the stick out of his hand. He constantly
converses with the dead. When asked if he often sees appari-
tions of deceased persons, he answers : " yes, hundreds of
times." Although constantly occupied with his supernatural
experiences, he does not like to speak about them, and is
ashamed of the ecstasies which earned him among the laudatory
surnames of the great theologians that of Doctor ecstaticus.
The great figure of Denis the Carthusian no more escaped
suspicion and raillery than the miracle-worker of Louis XI.
The slander and abuse of the world pursued him all his life.
The mental attitude of the fifteenth century towards the
highest religious manifestations of the age is made up equally
of enthusiasm and distrust*
CHAPTER XIV
RELIGIOUS SENSIBILITY AND RELIGIOUS
IMAGINATION
Ever since the gentle mysticism of Saint Bernard, in the
twelfth century, had started the strain of pathetic tenderness
about the Passion of Christ, the religious sensibility of the
medieval soul had been increasing. The mind was saturated
with the concepts of Christ and the cross. In early childhood
the image of the cross was implanted on the sensitive heart, so
grand and forbidding as to overshadow all other affections by
its gloom. When Jean Gerson was a child, his father one day
stood with his back against a wall, his arms outspread, saying :
cc Thus, child, was your God crucified, who made and saved
you." This image of his father, he tells us, remained engraved
on his mind, expanding as he grew older, even in his old age,
and he blessed his pious father for it, who had died on the day
of the Exaltation of the Cross. Saint Colette, when four years
old, every day heard her mother in prayer lament and weep
about the Passion, sharing the pain of contumely, blows, and
torments. This recollection fixed itself in the supersensitive
heart of Colette with such intensity, that she felt, all her life
through, the most severe oppression of heart every day at the
hour of the crucifixion ; and at the reading of the Passion she
suffered more than a woman in childbed.
A preacher sometimes paused to stand in silence, with his
arms extended in the form of the cross, for a quarter of an
hour*
The soul is so imbued with the conception of the Passion that
the most remote analogy suffices to make the chord of the
memory of Christ vibrate. A poor nun carrying wood to the
kitchen imagines she carries the cross ; a blind woman doing
the washing takes the tub for the manger and the washhouse
for the stable*
173
174 The Waning of (he Middle Ages
This extreme religious sensibility shows itself by copious
weeping. Devotion, says Denis the Carthusian, is a sort of
tenderness of heart, which easily moves to tears of piety. We
should pray God to have " the daily baptism of tears." They
are the wings of prayer and, according to Saint Bernard, the
wine of angels. We should give ourselves up to the grace of
meritorious tears, get ready for them and let ourselves be
carried away by them all the year round, but especially during
Lent, so that we may say with the psalmist : Fuerunt mihi
lacrimaemeae panis die ac nocte. 1 Sometimes they come so
easily, that we pray sobbing and groaning. If they do not
come, we should not force them ; we should then content our-
selves with the tears of the heart. In the presence of others
we should avoid these signs of extraordinary devotion.
Vincent Ferrer shed so many tears every time he con-
secrated the Host that the whole congregation also wept, in-
somuch that a general wailing was heard as if in the house of
one dead.
Popular devotion in France did not take a special form as
we notice in the Netherlands, where it was standardized, so to
say, in the pietistic movement of the Brethren of the Common
Life and the regular canons of the Congregation of Windesheim.
This was the circle whence proceeded the " Imitation of Christ."
The regulations which the Dutch devout bound themselves to
obey, gave their piety a conventional form and preserved them
from dangerous excesses of fervour. French devotion, although
very similar, kept more of its passionate and spasmodic charac-
ter, and led more easily to fantastic aberrations, in those cases
where it did not speedily wear itself out.
Nowhere do we notice its character better than in the writings
of Gerson. The chancellor of the university was the great dog-
matic and moral censor of his time. H^s prudent, scrupulous,
slightly academic mind was admirably fitted to distinguish
between true piety and exaggerated religious manifestations.
This was, indeed, his favourite occupation. Benevolent, sincere
and pure, he had that meticulous carefulness in point of good
style and form which so often reminds us of his modest origin
in the case of a man who has raised himself by his own talents
from humble circumstances to an aristocratic mentality. He
*My tears have been my meat day and night.
Religious Sensibility and Eeligious Imagination 175
was a born psychologist and had a fine sense of style, which
is near akin to the craving for orthodoxy.
At the Council of Constance, Gerson defended the Dutch
Brethren of the Common Life against whom a Dominican of
Groningen brought a charge of heresy. He was, nevertheless,
fully aware of the dangers threatening the Church from a too
exuberant popular devotion. It may therefore appear strange
that he often disapproved of manifestations of piety in his
own country, which reappear in that very " devotio moderna "
of the Netherlands, over which he threw the mantle of his
authority. The explanation is that the devout in France had
no safe sheepf old of organization and of discipline to keep them
within the limits of what the Church could tolerate.
The world, said Gerson, is approaching its end, and, like an
old dotard, is exposed to all sorts of fancies, dreams and illu-
sions which lead many a one to stray outside the pathway of
truth. Mysticism is brought into the streets. Many people
take to it, without suitable direction, and indulge in too rigid
fasts, too protracted vigils, and too abundant tears, all of
which disturb their brains. In vain they are advised to be
moderate and to take heed lest they fall into the devil's snares.
At Arras, he tells us, he visited a woman who won the admira-
tion of the multitude by going completely without food during
several consecutive days, against her husband's wishes. He
talked to her and only found in her a vain and arrogant obsti-
nacy ; for, after her fasts, she ate with insatiable voracity. Her
face betrayed imminent insanity. He also cites the case of
an epileptic woman who thought that each twinge of pain in
her corns was a sign that a soul descended to hell.
Gerson set little store by visions and revelations which were
recent and universally spoken of, including even those of
Bridget of Sweden and Catherine of Siena. He had heard so
many stories of this sort that he had lost all belief in them*
Someone or other would always be asserting that it had been
revealed to him that he would be pope. A certain man, in
particular, believed himself predestined, first, to become pope,
then to be the Antichrist, so that he had thought of killing
himself in order to save Christendom from such an evil.
There is nothing more dangerous, says Gefson, than ignorant
devotion. The poor devout, learning that the heart of Mary
176 The Waning of the Middle Ages
exulted in her God, strain themselves to exult also ; they call
up all sorts of images without being able to distinguish between
truth and delusion, and they take them all for miraculous
proofs of their excellent devotion.
Contemplative life has great dangers, he continues ; it has
made numbers of people melancholy or mad. Gerson perceived
the connection between fasting and hallucinations, and had a
glimpse of the role played by fasting in the practice of magic.
Now, where was a man of Gerson's psychological subtlety to
draw the line of demarcation in the manifestations of piety,
between what is holy and laudable and what is inadmissible ?
The dogmatic point of view did not meet the case. It was easy
for him, a theologian by profession, to point out deviations
from dogma. But he felt that, as regards manifestations of
piety, considerations of an ethical sort should guide our judg-
ment, that it was a question of degree and of taste. There is
no virtue, says Gerson, which is more neglected in these miser-
able times of schism than discretion.
The Church in the Middle Ages tolerated many religious
extravagances, provided they did not lead up to novelties of
a revolutionary sort, in morals or in doctrine. So long as it
spent itself in hyperbolic fancies or in ecstasies, superabundant
emotion was not a source of danger. Thus, many saints were
conspicuous for their fanatical reverence for virginity, taking
the form of a horror of all that relates to sex. Saint Colette
is an instance of this. She is a typical representative of what
has been called by William James the theopathic condition.
Her supersensibility is extreme. She can endure neither the
light nor the heat of fire, only the light of candles. She has
an immoderate horror of flies, ants and slugs, and of all dirt
and stenches of all kinds. Her abomination of sexual functions
inspires her with repugnance for those saints who have passed
through the matrimonial state, and leads her to oppose the
admission of non-virginal persons to her congregation. The
Church has ever praised such a disposition, judging it to be
edifying and meritorious.
On the other hand, the same sentiment became dangerous,
as soon as the fanatics of chastity, not content with shutting
themselves up in their own sphere of purity, wanted to apply
their principles to ecclesiastical and social life. The Church was
Eeligious Sensibility and Religious Imagination 177
repeatedly obliged to disown the violent assailants of the validity
of the sacraments administered by priests living in fornication,
for the double reason that sound catholic doctrine has always
separated the sacredness of the office from the personal dignity
of the bearer, and that she knew herself to be not strong enough
to uproot the evil. Jean de Varennes had been a learned
divine and a celebrated preacher. Chaplain to the youthful
Cardinal of Luxemburg at Avignon, he seemed destined for
the highest ecclesiastical career, when he suddenly threw up
all his benefices, with the exception of a canonry of Notre Dame
of Reims, gave up the great style of his life and went to Saint
Li6, his birthplace, where he began to lead a saintly life and
to preach. " And he was much visited by people who came
to see him from all countries on account of the simple, very
noble and most honest life he led." Soon he is called " the
holy man of Saint Lie " ; he is regarded as a future pope,
a miraculous being, a messenger of God. All France talks
of him.
Now, in the person of Jean de Varennes the passion of sexual
purity assumes a revolutionary aspect. He reduces all the
evils of the Church to the one evil of lust. EPa extremist
programme for the re-establishment of chastity is not aimed
only at the clergy. As to fornicating priests, he denies the
efficacy of the sacraments they administer : an ancient and
redoubtable thesis which the Church had encountered more
than once. According to him, it was not permissible for a
priest to live in the same house with his sister or with an
elderly woman. Moreover, he attacks immorality in general,
He ascribes twenty-three different sins to the matrimonial state.
He demands that adultery shall be punished according to the
Ancient Law ; Christ Himself would have ordered the stoning
of the adulterous woman, if He had been sure of her fault.
He asserts that no woman in France is chaste, and that no
bastard can live a good life and be saved. In his vehement
indignation he preaches resistance to the ecclesiastical autho-
rities, to the archbishop of Reims in particular. " A wolf, a
wolf ! " he cried to the people, who understood but too well
who the wolf was, and repeated joyously : " Hahay, aus leus,
mes bones gens, aus leus." The archbishop had Jean de
Varennes locked up in a horrible prison*
IT
178 The Waning of the Middle Ages
This severity towards all revolutionary tendencies of a doc-
trinal kind contrasts with the indulgence shown by the Church
for the extravagances of religious imagination, notably for ultra-
sensuous fancies about divine love. It required the psycho-
logical perspicacity of a Gerson to be aware that there also the
Faith was menaced by a moral and doctrinal danger.
The spiritual state called dulcedo Dei, the sweetness of the
delights of the love of Christ, was towards the end of the Middle
Ages one of the most active elements of religious life. The
followers of the " devotio moderna " in the Netherlands had
systematized it, and thereby made it more or less innocuous.
Gerson, who distrusted it, has analysed it in his treatise, De
diversis didboli tentati<mibu, and elsewhere. " The day," he
said, " would be too short if I were to enumerate the innumer-
able follies of the loving, nay, the raving, amantium, immo et
amentium" He knew the peril by experience. For he can
have only meant himself when he described the case of one of
his acquaintances who had carried on a spiritual friendship with
a nun, at first without any trace of carnal inclination, and with-
out suspecting any sin, till a separation revealed to hi the
amorous nature of this relation. So that he drew the inference
from it, Amor spiritualis facile labitur in nudum carnalem
owiorew, 1 and considered himself warned.
The devil, he says, sometimes inspires us with feelings of
immense and marvellous sweetness which is very like devotion,
so that we make the quest of this delight our object and want
to love God only to attain it. Many have deceived themselves
by immoderately cultivating such feelings ; they have taken
the mad excitement of their hearts for divine ardour, and were
thus miserably led astray. Others strive to attain insensibility
or complete passiveness, to become a perfect tool for God.
It is this sensation of absolute annihilation of the individual,
tasted by the mystics of all times, which Gerson, as a supporter
of a moderate and prudent mysticism, could not tolerate. A
female visionary told him that in the contemplation of God her
mind had been annihilated, really annihilated, and then created
anew. ** How do you know ? " he asked her. " I experienced
it," she had answered. The logical absurdity of this reply had
sufficed trim to prove the reprehensible nature of these fancies.
1 Spiritual love easily falls into sheer carnal love.
Religious Sensibility and Religious Imagination 179
It was dangerous to let such sensations express themselves by
explicit formulas ; the Church could only tolerate them in the
form of images. Catherine of Siena might say that her heart
had been changed into the heart of Christ. But Marguerite
Porete, an adherent of the sect of the Brethren of the Free
Spirit, who also believed that her soul had been annihilated in
God, was burnt at Paris.
What the Church dreaded above all in the idea of the anni-
hilation of the personality was the consequence, accepted by
the extremist mystics of all religions, that the soul absorbed
in God, and therefore, having no will, can no longer sin, even
in following its carnal appetites. How many poor ignorant
people had been dragged by such doctrines into the most abom-
inable licence. Every time Gerson touches the question of the
dangers of spiritual love, he remembers the excesses of the
Begards and of the Turlupins ; he fears a truly satanic impiety,
like that of the nobleman he mentions as having confessed to
a Carthusian that the sin of lust did not prevent him from
loving God ; on the contrary, it inflamed "him to seek for and
taste more eagerly the sweetness of divine love.
So long as the transports of mysticism were translated into
passionate imaginings of a symbolic nature, however vivid
their colours might be, they caused but a relative danger. On
becoming crystallized in images, they lost some of their noxious-
ness. In this way the exuberant imagery of the time, to a
certain extent, diverted the most dangerous tendencies of the
religious life of the epoch, however bizarre it may appear to
us. Jan Brugman, a popular Dutch preacher, might with im-
punity compare Jesus, taking human form, to a drunkard, who
forgets himself, sees no danger, who gives away all he has. " Oh,
was He not truly drunk, when love urged Him to descend from
the highest heavens to this lowest valley of the earth ? " He
sees Him in heaven, going about to pour out drinks for the
prophets, " and they drank till they were fit to burst, and
David with his harp, leaped before the table, jttst as if he were
the Lord's fool."
Not only the grotesque Brugman, the serene Ruysbroeck, too,
likes to represent divine love under the image of drunkenness.
Hunger also served as a figure to express the relations of the
soul with Christ. Buysbroeck, in The Adornment of the Spiritual
180 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Marriage, says : " Here begins an eternal hunger which is never
appeased ; it is an inner craving and hankering of the loving
power and the created spirit for an uncreated good. . , .
Those that experience it are the poorest of men ; for they are
eager and greedy and they have an insatiable hunger. What-
ever they eat and drink, they never become satiated by it,
for this hunger is eternal." The metaphor may be inverted,
so that the hunger is Christ's, as in The Mirror of Eternal
Salvation. " Has hunger is immensely great ; He consumes us
entirely to the bottom, for He is a greedy glutton with a vora-
cious hunger ; He devours even the marrow of our bones. . . .
First He prepares His repast and in His love He burns up all our
sins and our faults. Next, when we are purified and roasted
by the fire of love, He opens his mouth like a voracious being
who wishes to swallow all."
A little insistence on the details of the metaphor will make
it ridiculous. " You will eat Him," says Le Livre de Crainte
Amoureuse of Jean Berthelemy, in speaking of the Eucharist,
" roasted at the fire, well baked, not at all overdone or burnt.
For just as the Easter lamb was properly baked and roasted
between two fires of wood or of charcoal, thus was gentle Jesus
on Good Friday placed on the spit of the worthy cross, and
tied between the two fires of His very fearful death and passion,
and of the very ardent charity and love which He felt for our
souls and our salvation ; He was, as it were, roasted and slowly
baked to save us."
The infusion of divine grace is described under the image of
the absorption of food, and also of being bathed. A nun feels
quite deluged in the blood of Christ and faints. All the red
and warm blood of the five wounds flowed through the mouth
of Saint Henry Suso into his heart. Catherine of Siena drunk
from the wound in His side. Others drunk of the Virgin's
milk, like Saint Bernard, Henry Suso, Alain de la Roche.
The Breton, Alain de la Roche, a Dominican, born about 1428,
is a very typical representative of this religious imagery, both
ultra-concrete and ultra-fantastic. He was the zealous pro-
moter of the use of the rosary, with a view to which he founded
the Universal Brotherhood of the Psalter of Our Lady. The
description of his numerous visions is characterized at the same
time by an excess of sexual imagination and by the absence of
Religious Sensibility and Religious Imagination 181
all genuine emotion. The passionate tone which, in the grand
mystics, makes these too sensuous images of hunger and thirst,
of blood and voluptuousness, bearable, is altogether lacking.
The symbolism of spiritual love has become "with him a mere
mechanical process. It is the decadence of the medieval spirit.
We shall return to it shortly.
Now, whereas the celestial symbolism of Alain de la Roche
seems artificial, his infernal visions are characterized by a
hideous actuality. He sees the animals which represent the
various sins equipped with horrible genitals, and emitting tor-
rents of fire which obscure the earth with their smoke. He
sees the prostitute of apostasy giving birth to apostates, now
devouring them and vomiting them forth, now kissing them
and petting them like a mother.
This is the reverse side of the suave fancies of spiritual love.
Human imagination contained, as the inevitable complement of
the sweetness of celestial visions, a black mass of demonological
conceptions which also sought expression in language of ardent
sensuality. Alain de la Roche forms the link between the placid
and gentle pietism of the " devotio moderna " and the darkest
horror produced by the medieval spirit on the wane: the
delusion of witchcraft, at that time fully developed into a fatally
consistent system of theological zeal and judicial severity. A
faithful friend of the regulars of Windesheim and the Brethren
of the Common Life, in whose house he died at Zwolle in 1475,
he was at the same time the preceptor of Jacob Sprenger, a
Dominican like himself, not only one of the two authors of the
Malleus maUfoxtrum, but also the propagator in Germany of
the Brotherhood of the Rosary, founded by Alain.
CHAPTER XV
SYMBOLISM IN ITS DECLINE
Thus religious emotion always tended to be transmuted into
images. Mystery seemed to become graspable by the mind
when invested with a perceptible form. The need of adoring
the ineffable in visible shapes was continually creating ever
new figures. In the fourteenth century, the cross and the lamb
no longer sufficed for the effusions of overflowing love offered
to Jesus ; to these is added the adoration of the name of Jesus,
which occasionally threatens to eclipse even that of the cross.
Henry Suso tattoos the name of Jesus over his heart and com-
pares himself to the lover who wears the name of his beloved
embroidered on his coat. Bernardino of Siena, at the end of
a moving sermon, lights two candles and shows the multitude
a board a yard in length, bearing on an azure ground the name
Jesus in golden letters, surrounded by the sun's rays. The
people filling the church kneel down and weep with emotion.
The custom spreads, especially with the Franciscan preachers.
Denis the Carthusian is represented in art holding such a board
in his uplifted hands. The sun as a crest above the arms of
Geneva is derived from this usage. The ecclesiastical authori-
ties regarded the matter with suspicion ; there was some talk
of superstition and of idolatry ; there were tumults for and
against ; Bernardino was summoned before the curia, and the
usage was forbidden by Pope Martin V. About the same time
a very similar form of adoring Christ under a visible sign was
successfully introduced into the ritual, namely, that of the
monstrance. To this also the Church objected at first ; the
use of the monstrance was originally forbidden except during
the week of the Corpus Christi. In taking, instead of the
original form of a tower, that of a radiant sun, the monstrance
became very like the board, bearing Jesus* name, of which the
Church disapproved.
182
Symbolism in its Decline 183
The abundance of images in which religious thought threat-
ened to dissolve itself would have only produced a chaotic
phantasmagoria, if symbolic conception had not worked it
all into a vast system, where every figure had its place.
Of no great truth was the medieval mind more conscious
than of Saint Paul's phrase : Videmus nunc per speculum in
aenigmate, tune autem facie ad faci&m. 1 The Middle Ages never
forgot that all things would be absurd, if their meaning were
exhausted in their function and their place in the phenomenal
world, if by their essence they did not reach into a world
beyond this. This idea of a deeper significance in ordinary
things is familiar to us as well, independently of religious
convictions : as an indefinite feeling which may be called up
at any moment, by the sound of raindrops on the leaves or
by the lamplight on a table. Such sensations may take the
form of a morbid oppression, so that all things seem to be
charged with a menace or a riddle which we must solve at
any cost. Or they may be experienced as a source of tran-
quillity and assurance, by filling us with the sense that our
own life, too, is involved in this hidden meaning of the world.
The more this perception converges upon the absolute One,
whence all things emanate, the sooner it will tend to pass
from the insight of a lucid moment to a permanent and for-
mulated conviction. " By cultivating the continuous sense
of our connection with the power that made things as they
are, we are tempered more towardly for their reception*
The outward face of nature need not alter, but the expressions
of meaning in it alter. It was dead and is alive again. It is
like the difference between looking on a person without love,
or upon the same person with love. . . . When we see all
things in God, and refer aU things to Him, we read in common
matters superior expressions of meaning." *
Here, then, is the psychological foundation from which sym-
bolism arises. In God nothing is empty of sense: nihil
vacuum neque sine signo apud Dewm> said Saint Irenseus.
So the conviction of a transcendental meaning in all things
seeks to formulate itself. About the figure of the Divinity
a majestic system of correlated figures crystallizes, which afl
1 For now we see through a glass darkly ; but then face to face.
2 W. James: Varieties of Religious Experience, p. 474.
184 The Waning of the Middle Ages
have reference to Trim, because all things derive their mean-
ing from Him. The world unfolds itself like a vast whole of
symbols, like a cathedral of ideas. It is the most richly
xythmical conception of the world, a polyphonous expression
of eternal harmony.
In the Middle Ages tlie symbolist attitude was much more
in evidence than the causal or the genetic attitude. Not
that this latter mode of conceiving the world, as a process of
evolution, was wholly absent. Medieval thought, too, sought
to understand things by means of their origin. But, destitute
of experimental methods, and neglecting even observation
and analysis, it was reduced, in order to state genetic relations,
to abstract deduction. All notions of one thing proceeding
from another took the naive form of procreation or ramifi-
cation. The image of a tree or a pedigree sufficed to represent
any relations of origin and cause. An arbor de origine juris
et Ugum, for example, classified all law in the form of a tree
with numerous branches. Owing to its primitive methods,
the evolutionist thought of the Middle Ages was bound to
remain schematic, arbitrary and sterile*
Prom the causal point of view, symbolism appears as a
sort of short-circuit of thought. Instead of looking for the
relation between two things by following the hidden detours of
their causal connections, thought makes a leap and discovers
their relation, not in a connection of cause or effects, but in
a connection of signification or finality. Such a connection
will at once appear convincing, provided only that the two
things have an essential quality in common which can be
referred to a general value. Expressed in terms of experi-
mental psychology : all mental association based on a casual
similitude whatever will immediately set up the idea of an
essential and mystic connection. This may well seem a rather
meagre mental function. Moreover, it reveals itself as a very
primitive function, when envisaged from an ethnological point
of view. Primitive thought is characterized by a general
feebleness of perception of the exact demarcation between
different concepts, so that it tends to incorporate into the
notion of a definite something all the notions connected with
it by any relation or similitude whatsoever. With this
tendency the symbolizing function is closely related.
Symbolism in its Decline 185
It is, however, possible to view symbolism in a more favour-
able light by abandoning for a while the point of view of
modern science. Symbolism will lose this appearance of
arbitrariness and abortiveness when we take into account
the fact that it is indissolubly linked up with the conception
of the world which was called Realism in the Middle Ages,
and which modern philosophy prefers to call, though less
correctly, Platonic Idealism.
Symbolic assimilation founded on common properties pre-
supposes the idea that these properties are essential to things.
The vision of white and red roses blooming among thorns at
once calls up a symbolic assimilation in the medieval mind :
for example, that of virgins and martyrs, shining with glory,
in the midst of their persecutors. The assimilation is produced
because the attributes are the same : the beauty, the tender-
ness, the purity, the colours of the roses, are also those of the
virgins, their red colour that of the blood of the martyrs.
But this similarity will only have a mystic meaning if the
middle-term connecting the two terms of the symbolic concept
expresses an essentiality common to both ; in other words,
if redness and whiteness are something more than names
for a physical difference based on quantity, if they are con-
ceived as essences, as realities. The mind of the savage, of
the child, and of the poet never sees them otherwise.
Now, beauty, tenderness, whiteness, being realities, are also
entities ; consequently all that is beautiful, tender or white
must have a common essence, the same reason of existence,
the same significance before God.
In pointing out these very strong Ifafca between symbolism
and realism (in the scholastic sense), we should be careful
not to think too much of the quarrel about the universals*
We know very well that the realism which declared unvoer-
salia ante rem, and attributed essentiality and pre-existence to
general ideas, did not dominate medieval thought without a
struggle. Undoubtedly there were also nominalists. But it
does not seem too bold to affirm that radical nominalism has
never been anything but a reaction, an opposition, a counter-
current vainly disputing the ground with the fundamental
tendencies of the medieval spirit* As philosophical formula,
realism and nominalism had early made each other the neces-
186 The Waning of the Middle Ages
sary concessions. The new nominalism of the fourteenth
century, that of the Occamites or Moderns, merely removed
certain inconveniences of an extreme realism, which it left
intact by relegating the domain of faith to a world beyond
the philosophical speculations of reason.
Now, it is in the domain of faith that realism obtains, and
here it is to be considered rather as the mental attitude of
a whole age than as a philosophic opinion. In this larger
sense it may be considered inherent in the civilization of the
Middle Ages and as dominating all expressions of thought
and of the imagination. Undoubtedly Neo-Platonism strongly
influenced medieval theology, but was not the sole cause
of the general " realist " trend of thought. Every primitive
mind is realist, in the medieval sense, independently of all
philosophic influence. To such a mentality everything that
receives a name becomes an entity and takes a shape which
projects itself on the heavens. This shape, in the majority
of cases, will be the human shape.
All realism, in the medieval sense, leads to anthropomor-
phism. Having attributed a real existence to an idea, the
mind wants to see this idea alive, and can only effect this by
personifying it. In this way allegory is born. It is not the
same thing as symbolism. Symbolism expresses a mysterious
connection between two ideas, allegory gives a visible form
to the conception of such a connection. Symbolism is a very
profound function of the mind, allegory is a superficial one.
It aids symbolic thought to express itself, but endangers it
at the same time by substituting a figure for a living idea.
The force of the symbol is easily lost in the allegory.
So allegory in itself implies from the outset normalizing,
projecting on a surface, crystallizing. Moreover, medieval
literature had taken it in as a waif of decadent Antiquity.
Martianus Capella and Frudentius had been the models. Alle-
gory seldom loses an air of elderliness and pedantry. Still,
the use of it supplied a very earnest craving of the medieval
mind. How else can we explain the preference which this
form enjoyed so long ?
These three modes of thought together realism, symbol-
ism and personification have illuminated the medieval mind
with a flood of light. The ethic and aesthetic value of the
Symbolism in its Decline 187
symbolical interpretation of the world was inestimable. Em-
bracing all nature and all history, symbolism gave a conception
of the world, of a still more rigorous unity than that which
modern science can offer. Symbolism's image of the world
is distinguished by impeccable order, architectonic structure,
hierarchic subordination. For each symbolic connection im-
plies a difference of rank or sanctity : two things of equal
value are hardly capable of a symbolic relationship with each
other, unless they are both connected with some third thing
of a higher order.
Symbolist thought permits of an infinity of relations be-
tween things. Each thing may denote a number of distinct
ideas by its different special qualities, and a quality may also
have several symbolic meanings. The highest conceptions
have symbols by the thousand. Nothing is too humble to
represent and to glorify the sublime. The walnut signifies
Christ ; the sweet kernel is His divine nature, the green and
pulpy outer peel is His humanity, the wooden shell between
is the cross. Thus all things raise the thoughts to the
eternal ; being thought of as symbols of the highest, in a
constant gradation, they are all transfused by the glory of
divine majesty. Every precious stone, besides its natural
splendour, sparkles with the brilliance of its symbolic values.
The assimilation of roses and virginity is much more than a
poetic comparison, for it reveals their common essence. As
each notion arises in the mind the logic of symbolism creates
a harmony of ideas. The special quality of each of them is
lost in this ideal harmony and the rigour of rational concep-
tion is tempered by the presentment of some mystic unity.
A consistent concord reigns between all the spiritual domains.
The Old Testament is the prefiguration of the New, profane
history reflects the one and the other. About each idea other
ideas group themselves, forming symmetrical figures, as in a
kaleidoscope. Eventually all symbols group themselves about
the central mystery of the Eucharist ; here there is more
than symbolic similitude, there is identity : the Host is Christ
and the priest in eating it becomes truly the sepulchre of the
Lord.
The world, objectionable in itself, became acceptable by
its symbolic purport. For every object, each common trade
188 The Waning of the Middle Ages
had a mystical relation with the most holy, which ennobled
it. Bonaventura identified the handicrafts symbolically with
the eternal generation and incarnation of the Word, and with
the covenant between God and the soul. Even profane love
is attached by symbolic connection to divine love. In
this way all individual suffering is but the shadow of
divine suffering, and all virtue is as a partial realization of
absolute goodness. Symbolism, in thus detaching personal
suffering and virtue from the sphere of the individual in order
to raise them to that of the universal, constituted a salutary
counterpoise to the strong religious individualism, bent on
personal salvation, which is characteristic of the Middle Ages.
Religious symbolism offered one cultural advantage more.
To the letter of formulated dogma, rigid and explicit in itself,
the flowering imagery of symbols formed, as it were, a musical
accompaniment, which by its perfect harmony allowed the
mind to transcend the deficiencies of logical expression.
Symbolism opened up all the wealth of religious conceptions
to art, to be expressed in forms full of colour and melody,
and yet vague and implicit, so that by these the profoundest
intuitions might soar towards the ineffable.
In the later Middle Ages the decline of this mode of thought
had already long set in. The representation of the Universe in
a grand system of symbolical relations had long been complete.
Still, the symbolizing habit maintained itself, adding ever
new figures that were like petrified flowers. Symbolism at all
times shows a tendency to become mechanical. Once accepted
as a principle, it becomes a product, not of poetical enthusiasm
only, but of subtle reasoning as well, and as such it grows to
be a parasite clinging to thought, causing it to degenerate.
Symbolic assimilation is often only based on an equality
of number. An immense perspective of ideal series of relation-
ships is opened up in this way, but they amount to nothing
more than arithmetical exercises. Thus the twelve months
signified the apostles, the four seasons the evangelists, the
year Christ. A regular cluster was formed of systems of
seven. With the seven virtues correspond the seven supplica-
tions of the Lord's Prayer, the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit,
the seven beatitudes and the seven penitential psalms. All
these groups of seven are again connected with the seven
Symbolism in its Decline 189
moments of the Passion and the seven sacraments. Each of
them is opposed to one of the seven deadly sins, which are
represented by seven animals and followed by seven diseases.
A director of consciences like Gerson, from whom these
examples are borrowed, is inclined to lay the stress on the
moral and practical value of these symbolisms. In a vision-
ary like Alain de la Roche the aesthetic element prevails. His
symbolic speculations are very highly elaborated and some-
what factitious. In order to obtain a system in which the
numbers fifteen and ten enter, representing the cycles of 150
Aves and of 15 Paters, which he prescribed to his Brotherhood
of the Rosary, he adds the eleven celestial spheres and the four
elements and then multiplies by the ten categories (substance,
quality, etc.). As the product he obtained 150 natural habits.
In the same way the multiplication of the ten commandments
by fifteen virtues gives 150 moral habits. To arrive at the
figure of fifteen virtues, he counts, besides the three theolo-
gical virtues and the four cardinal virtues, seven capital
virtues, which makes fourteen ; there remain two other virtues :
religion and penitence ; that makes sixteen, which is one too
many; but as temperance of the cardinal series is identical
with abstinence of the capital series, we finally obtain the
number fifteen. Each of these fifteen virtues is a queen
having her nuptial bed in one of the divisions of the Pater
Noster. Each of the words of the Ave signifies one of the
fifteen perfections of the Virgin, and at the same time a pre-
cious stone, and is able to drive away a sin, or the animal which
represents that sin. They represent other things as well : the
branches of a tree which carries all the blessed ones ; the steps
of a staircase. To quote but two examples : the word Ave
signifies the innocence of the Virgin and the diamond ; it drives
away pride, or the lion, which represents pride. The word
Maria denotes her wisdom and the carbuncle ; it drives away
envy, symbolized by a black dog.
Sometimes Alain gets a little entangled in his very compli-
cated system of symbolisms.
Symbolism was, in fact, played out. Finding symbols and
allegories had become a meaningless intellectual pastime,
shallow f ancifulness resting on a single analogy. The sanctity
of the object still gives it some small spiritual value- As
190 The Waning of the Middle Ages
soon as the craze of symbolism spreads to profane or simply
moral matters, decadence is manifest. Froissart, in Li Orloge
amoureus, compares all the details of love to the various parts
of a timepiece. Chastellain and Molinet vie with each other
in political symbolism. The three estates represent the
qualities of the Virgin. The seven electors of the Empire
signify the virtues ; the five towns of Artois and Hainault,
which in 1477 remained faithful to the house of Burgundy,
are the five wise virgins. In reality this is symbolism turned
upside down ; it uses things of the higher order as symbols
of things of the lower order, for these authors in effect raise
terrestrial things to the higher level by employing sacred
conceptions merely to adorn them.
The Donatus moralisatus, sometimes, but erroneously,
ascribed to Gerson, mixed up Latin grammar with theology :
the noun-substantive is the man, the pronoun means that he
is a sinner. The lowest grade of this kind of mental activity
is represented by works like Le Parement et TriumpJie des
Dames of Olivier de la Marche, in which each article of female
costume symbolizes a virtue a theme also developed by
Coquillart.
"De la pantouffle ne nous vient quo saute"
Et tout prouffit sans griefve maladie,
Pour luy dormer tiltre d'auctoritS
Je luy donne le nom d'humiliteV *
In the same way shoes mean care and diligence, stockings
perseverance, the garter resolution, etc.
It is clear that to the men of the fifteenth century this
genre did not appear so silly as it does to us, otherwise they
would not have cultivated it with so much gusto. We are
thus led to conclude that, to the mind of the declining Middle
Ages, symbolism and allegory had not yet lost all their living
significance. The tendency to symbolize and to personify
was so spontaneous that nearly every thought, of itself, took a
figurative shape. Every idea being considered as an entity,
and every quality as an essence, they were at once invested
by the imagination with a personal form. Denis the Carthu-
sian, in his revelations, sees the Church in fully as personal a
1 The slipper only gives us health And all profit -without serious illness*
To giye it a title to authority I give it the name of humility.
Symbolism in its Decline 191
shape as when it was represented in an allegory on the stage.
One of his revelations deals with the future reformation of the
Church, such as fifteenth-century theology was hoping for :
a Church cleansed from the evils that stained it. The spiritual
beauty of this purified Church was revealed to his vision in
the form of a superb and precious garment, with marvellous
colours and ornaments. Another time he sees the persecuted
Church : ugly, anaemic, enfeebled. God warns hi that the
Church is going to speak, and Denis then hears the inner voice
as though it proceeded from the person of the Church quasi
ex persona Ecclesiae. The figurative form that thinking
assumes here is so direct and so sufficient to evoke the desired
associations, that no need is felt to explain the allegory in
detail. The idea of a splendid garment is fully adequate to
express spiritual purity ; thought here has resolved itself into
an image, just as it can resolve itself into a melody.
Let us recall once more the allegorical personages of the
Roman de la Rose. To us it requires an effort to picture to
ourselves Bel-Accueil, Doulce Mercy, Humble Requests. To
the men of the Middle Ages, on the other hand, these figures
had a very vivid aesthetic and sentimental value, which put
them almost on a level with those divinities which the Romans
conceived out of abstractions, like Pavor and Pallor, Con-
cordia, etc. To the minds of the declining Middle Ages, Doux
Penser, Honte, Souvenirs, and the rest, were endowed with a
quasi-divine existence. Otherwise the Roman de la Rose
would have been unreadable. One of the figures passed even
from its original meaning to still more concrete signification :
Danger in amorous parlance meant the jealous husband.
Allegory is often called in to express a thought of particular
importance. Thus the bishop of Chalons, wishing to address
a very serious political remonstrance to Philip the Good, gives
it an allegorical form and presents it to the duke at Hesdin
on Saint Andrew's Day, 1437. "Haultesse de Signourie,"
chased out of the Empire, having first fled to France, next to
the court of Burgundy, is inconsolable, and complains of being
harrowed there, too, by " Carelessness of the prince, Feebleness
of counsel, Envy of servants, Exaction of the subjects/* to
drive away which it will be necessary to oppose " Vigilance
of the prince," etc., to them. In short, the whole political
192 The Waning of the Middle Ages
argument has taken the form of a tableau vivant instead of a
newspaper leader, as it would take with us. Evidently this
was the way to create an impression, and it follows that alle-
gory still had a suggestive force which we find it very hard
to realize.
The " Burgher of Paris " in his diary is a prosaic man, who
takes little trouble to ornament his style. Nevertheless, when
he comes to the most horrible events he has to relate, that is
to say, to the Burgundian murders in Paris, in June, 141 8, he
at once rises to allegory. " Then arose the goddess of Discord,
who lived in the tower of Evil Counsel, and awoke Wrath, the
mad woman, and Covetousness and Rage and Vengeance, and
they took up arms of all sorts and cast out Reason, Justice,
Remembrance of God and Moderation most shamefully." His
narrative of the atrocities committed is entirely composed in
the symbolic fashion. "Then Madness the enraged, and
Murder and Slaughter killed, cut down, put to death, massacred
all they found in the prisons . . . and Covetousness tucked
up her skirts into her belt with Rapine, her daughter, and
Larceny, her son. . . . Afterwards the aforesaid people went
by the guidance of their goddesses, that is to say, Wrath,
Covetousness and Vengeance, who led them through all the
public prisons of Paris, etc."
Why does the author use allegory here ? To give his narra-
tive a more solemn tone than the one he uses for the daily
events which he generally notes down in his diary. He feels
the necessity of regarding these atrocious events as something
more than the crimes of a few individual malefactors ; allegory
is his way of expressing his sense of tragedy.
It is just when allegory chafes us most that it fully reveals
its dominion over the medieval mind. We can bear it more or
less in a tableau vivant where conventional figures are draped
in a fantastical and unreal apparel. The fifteenth century
dresses up its allegorical figures, as well as its saints, in the
costume of the time and has the faculty of creating new person-
ages for each thought it wants to express. To tell the moral
tale of a giddy young man, who is led to ruin by the life at
court, Charles de Rochefort, in L'Abuze en Court, invents a
whole new series of personages, like those of the Rose, and these
dim creations, Fol cuidier, Folle bombance (Foolish credulity,
Symbolism in its Decline 193
Foolish show), and the rest, are represented in the miniatures
illustrating the work like noblemen of the age. Time himself
does not require a beard or a scythe, and appears in doublets
and hose. The very commonplace aspect of these allegories
is precisely what shows their vitality.
We can understand that a human shape is ascribed to
virtues or to sentiments, but the spirit of the Middle Ages does
not hesitate to extend this process to notions which, to us,
have nothing personal. The personification of Lent was a
widely known type from 1300 onward. We find it in the
poem, La Bataille de Karesme et de CJiarnage, a theme which
Peter Breughel was to take up much later and illustrate with
his mad fancy. A current proverb said : Quaresme fait $es
flans la nuit de Pasques^ In certain towns of North Germany
a doll, called Lent, was suspended in the choir of the church
and taken down during mass on the Wednesday before Easter.
Was there a difference between the idea which people formed
of saints and that of purely symbolic personages ? Undoubt-
edly, the former were acknowledged by the Church, they had a
historical character and statues of wood and stone, but the
latter were in touch with living fancy, and, after all, we may
ask ourselves if to popular imagination Bel-Accueil or Faux
Semblant did not appear as real as Saint Barbara and Saint
Christopher.
On the other hand, there is no real contrast between medieval
allegory and Renaissance mythology. There is rather a fusion.
The mythological figures are older than the Renaissance.
Venus and Fortune, for instance, had never completely died,
and allegory, on the other hand, kept its vogue for a long time
after the fifteenth century, nowhere stronger than in English
literature. In the poetry of Froissart, Doux Semblant, Refus,
Dangier and Escondit are seen contending, as it were, with
mythological figures like Atropos, dotho, Lachesis. At first
the latter are less vivid and coloured than the allegories ; they
are dull and shadowy and there is nothing classic about them.
Gradually Renaissance sentiment brings about a complete
change. The Olympians and the nymphs get the better of
the allegorical personages, who fade away, in proportion as
the poetic glory of Antiquity is more intensely felt.
1 Lent bakes his cakes on Easter-night.
O
194 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Symbolism, with its servant allegory, ultimately became an
intellectual pastime. The symbolic mentality was an obstacle
to the development of causal thought, as causal and genetic
relations must needs look insignificant by the side of symbolic
connections. Thus the sacred symbolism of the two luminaries
and the two swords for a long time barred the road to historic
and juridical criticism of papal authority. For the symbolizing
of Papacy and Empire as the Sun and the Moon, or as the two
swords brought by the Disciples, was to the medieval mind
far more than a striking comparison ; it revealed the mystic
foundation of the two powers, and established directly the
precedence of Saint Peter. Dante, in order to investigate the
historical foundation of the pope's primacy, had first to deny
the appropriateness of the symbolism.
The time was not distant when people were bound to awake
to the dangers of symbolism; when arbitrary and futile
allegories would become distasteful and be rejected as tram-
mels of thought. Luther branded them in an invective which
is aimed at the greatest lights of scholastic theology : Bona-
ventura, Guillaume Durand, Gerson and Denis the Carthusian.
" These allegorical studies," he exclaims, " are the work of
people who have too much leisure. Do you think I should find
it difficult to play at allegory-making about any created thing
whatsoever ? Who is so feeble-witted that he could not try
his hand at it ? "
Symbolism was a defective translation into images of secret
connections dimly felt, such as music reveals to us. Videmus
nunc per speculum in aenigmate. The human -mind felt that
it was face to face with an enigma, but none the less it kept on
trying to discern the figures in the glass, explaining images by
yet other images. Symbolism was like a second mirror held up
to that of the phenomenal world itself.
CHAPTER XVI
EFFECTS OF REALISM
All that was thinkable had taken image-shape : conception
had become almost entirely dependent on imagination. Now,
a too systematic idealism (this is what realism meant in the
Middle Ages) gives a certain rigidity to the conception of the
world. Ideas, being conceived as entities and of importance
only by virtue of their relation with the Absolute, easily range
themselves as so many fixed stars on the firmament of thought.
Once defined, they only lend themselves to classification, sub-
division and distinction according to purely deductive norms.
Apart from the rules of logic, there is never a corrective at hand
to indicate a mistake in the classification, and this causes the
mind to be deluded as to the value of its own operations and
the certainty of the system.
If the medieval mind wants to know the nature or the
reason of a thing, it neither looks into it, to analyse its struc-
ture, nor behind it, to inquire into its origin, but looks up to
heaven, where it shines as an idea. Whether the question
involved is political, social or moral, the first step taken is
always to reduce it to its universal principle. Even quite
trifling and ordinary things are regarded in this light. Thus
a point is debated in the University of Paris : May examination
fees be levied for intermediate degrees ? The chancellor
thinks so ; Pierre d'Ailly intervenes to defend the opposite
view. Now, he does not start from arguments based on law
or tradition, but from an application of the text : Eadix
omnium malorum cupiditas, 1 and so he sets himself to prove
by an entirely scholastic exposition that the aforesaid exac-
tion is simoniacal, heretical, and contrary to natural and
divine law. This is what so often disappoints and wearies us
moderns in reading medieval demonstrations : they are directed
1 The root of all evil is covetousness.
195
196 The Waning of the Middle Ages
heavenwards, and lose themselves from the very start in
moral generalities and Scriptural cases.
This profound and systematic idealism betrays itself every-
where. There is an ideal and clearly defined conception of
every trade, dignity or estate, to which the individual who
belongs to it has to conform as best he may. Denis the Carthu-
sian, in a series of treatises, De vita et regimine episcoporum^
archidiacanorum, etc., etc., pointed out to all bishops,
canons, priests, scholars, princes, nobles, knights, merchants,
husbands, widows, girls, friars the ideal form of their pro-
fessional duties, and the way to sanctify their calling or con-
dition by living up to that ideal. His exposition of moral
precepts, however, remains abstract and general ; he never
brings us into contact with the realities of the occupations
or walks in life of which he speaks.
This tendency to reduce all things to a general type has been
considered a fundamental weakness in the mentality of the
Middle Ages, owing to which the power to discern and describe
individual traits was never attained. Starting from this
premise, the well-known summary of the Renaissance as the
coming of individualism would be justified. But at bottom
this antithesis is inexact and misleading. Whatever the
faculty of seeing specific traits may have been in the Middle
Ages, it must be noted that men disregarded the individual
qualities and fine distinctions of things, deliberately and of
set purpose, in order always to bring them under some general
principle. This mental tendency is a result of their profound
idealism. People feel an imperious need of always and especi-
ally seeing the general sense, the connection with the absolute,
the moral ideality, the ultimate significance of a thing. What
is important is the impersonal. The mind is not in search
of individual realities, but of models, examples, norms.
Every notion concerning the world or life had its fixed place
in a vast hierarchic system of ideas, in which it is linked with
ideas of a higher and more general order, on which it depends
like a vassal on his lord. The proper business of the medieval
mind is discrimination, displaying severally all concepts as
if they were so many substantial things. Hence the faculty
of detaching a conception from the ideal complex to which
it belongs in order to regard it as a thing by itself. When
The Effects of Realism 197
Foulques de Toulouse is "blamed for giving an alms to an Albi-
gensian woman, he answers : " I do not give it to the heretic, but
to the poor woman." Margaret of Scotland, queen of France,
having kissed Alain Chartier, the poet, whom she found asleep,
exculpates herself in these terms : " I did not kiss the man,
but the precious mouth whence have issued and gone forth so
many good words and virtuous sayings." It is the same turn
of mind which, in the field of high theological speculation,
distinguishes in God between an antecedent will, desiring the
salvation of all, and a consequent will, extending only to the
elect.
Without the brake of empirical observation, the habit of
always subordinating and subdividing becomes automatic
and sterile, mere numbering, and nothing else. No subject
lent itself better to it than the category of virtues and of sins.
Every sin has its fixed number of causes, species, noxious
effects. There are, according to Denis the Carthusian, twelve
follies, deceiving the sinner ; each of them is illustrated, fixed
and represented by Scripture texts and by symbols, so that
the whole argument displays itself like a church portal orna-
mented with sculptures. The enormity of sin should be con-
sidered from seven points of view : that of God, that of the
sinner, of matter, of circumstances, of the intention, of the
nature of the sin and of its consequences. Next, every one
of these seven points is subdivided, in its turn, into eight, or
into fourteen. There are six infirmities of the mind which
incline us to sin, etc. This systematizing of morality has
its striking analogies in the sacred books of Buddhism.
Now, this everlasting classification, this anatomy of sin,
would be apt to weaken the consciousness of sin which it
should enhance, if it were not attended with an effort of the
imagination directed to the gravity of the fault and the horrors
of the chastisements. All moral conceptions are exaggerated,
overcharged to excess, because they are always placed in
direct connection with divine majesty. In every sin, even the
least, the universe is concerned. No human soul can be
fully conscious of the enormity of sin. All the saints and the
just, the celestial spheres, the elements, the lower creatures
and inanimate objects, cry for vengeance on the sinner. Denis
strives to over-stimulate the fear of sin and of hell by detailed
198 The Waning of the Middle Ages
descriptions and terrifying images. Dante has touched with
beauty the darkness of hell : Farinata and Ugolino are heroic,
and Lucifer is majestic. But this monk, devoid of all poetic
grace, draws a picture of devouring torment and nothing
more ; his very dullness makes the horror of it. " Let us
imagine," he says, " a white-hot oven, and in this oven a naked
man, never to be released from such a torment. Does not
the mere sight of it appear insupportable ? How miserable
this man would seem to us ! Let us think how he would sprawl
in the oven, how he would yell and roar : in short, how he
would live, and what would be his agony and his sorrow when
he understood that this unbearable punishment was never to
end."
The horrible cold, the loathsome worms, the stench, hunger
and thirst, the darkness, the chains, the unspeakable filth,
the endless cries, the sight of the demons, Denis calls up all
this before us like a nightmare. Still more oppressive is the
insistence on psychic suffering : the mourning, the fear, the
empty feeling of everlasting separation from God; the inex-
pressible hatred of God, the .envy of the bliss of the elect ;
the confusion of all sorts of errors and delusions in the brain.
And the thought that this is to last in all eternity is by ingen-
ious comparisons wrought up to the fever-point of horror.
The treatise De quatuor Jtominum novissimis, from which
these details are borrowed, was the customary reading during
meal-time at the convent of Windesheim. A truly bitter
condiment ! But medieval man always preferred drastic
treatment. He was like an invalid who has been treated too
long with heroic medicines, only the most powerful stimulants
produced an effect on him. In order to make some virtue
shine in all its splendour, the Middle Ages present it in an
exaggerated form, which a sedater moralist would perhaps
regard as a caricature. Saint Giles praying God not to allow
his wound caused by an arrow to heal is their pattern of
patience. Temperance finds its models in saints who always
mix ashes with their food, chastity in those who tested their
virtue by sleeping beside a woman. If it is not some extra-
vagant act, it is the extreme youth of the saint which marks
him out as a model, Saint Nicholas refusing his mother's millr
on feast-days, or Saint Quirieus (a martyr, either three years
The Effects of Realism 199
or nine months old) refusing to be consoled by the prefect,
and thrown into the abyss.
Here, again, it is the dominant idealism which makes people
only relish the excellence of virtue in an extra strong dose.
Virtue is conceived as an idea ; its beauty shines more brightly
in the hyperbolic perfection of its essence than in the imper-
fect practice of everyday life.
Nothing shows better the primitive character of the hyper-
idealist mentality, called realism in the Middle Ages, than the
tendency to ascribe a sort of substantiality to abstract con-
cepts. Though philosophic realism did never admit these
materialist tendencies, and strove to avoid such consequences,
it cannot be denied that medieval thought frequently yielded
to the inclination to pass from pure idealism to a sort of magic
idealism, in which the abstract tends to become concrete.
Here the ties which bind the Middle Ages to a very remote
cultural past are very clearly displayed.
It was about 1300 that the doctrine of the treasure of the
works of supererogation of Christ and the saints took a fixed
form. The idea itself of such a treasure, the common pos-
session of all the faithful, in so far as they are members of the
mystic body of Christ, which is the Church, was by that time
very ancient. But the way in which it was applied, in the
sense that the superabundant good works constitute an in-
exhaustible reserve, which the Church can dispose of by retail,
does not appear before the thirteenth century. Alexandra
de Hales was the first to use the word thesaurus in the technical
sense, which it has kept ever since. The doctrine did not fail
to excite resistance. In the end, however, it prevailed and
was officially formulated in 1343 in the bull Unigeniftis of
Clement VI. There the treasure has altogether the form of
a capital confided by Christ to Saint Peter, and still increas-
ing every day. For, in proportion as men are more drawn
to justice by the distribution of this treasure, the merits,
of which it is composed, will go on accumulating.
The material conception of ethical categories made itself
felt more with regard to sin than to virtue. The Church, it
is true, has always explicitly taught that sin is not a thing or
an entity. But how could it have prevented the error, when
everything concurred to insinuate it into men's minds ? The
200 The Waning of the Middle Ages
primitive instinct which see sins as stuff which soils or corrupts,
which one should, therefore, wash away, or destroy, was
strengthened by the extreme systematizing of sin, by their
figurative representation, and even by the penitentiary tech-
nique of the Church itself. In vain did Denis the Carthusian
remind the people that it was but for the sake of comparison
that he calls sin a fever, a cold and corrupted humour popular
thought undoubtedly lost sight of the restrictions of dog-
matists. The terminology of the law, less anxious than theo-
logy as to doctrinal purity, did not hesitate, in England, to
connect with felony the notion of a corruption of the blood :
this is the realistic conception in its spontaneous form.
On one special point the dogma itself demanded this per-
fectly realist conception : that is to say, with regard to the
blood of the Redeemer. The faithful are bound to conceive
it as absolutely material. A drop of the precious blood, said
Saint Bernard, would have sufficed to save the world, but it was
shed abundantly, as Saint Thomas Aquinas expresses it in a
hymn :
"Pie Pelicane, Jesu domine,
Mo iTnmnndnm munda tuo sanguine,
Gurus una stilla salvum f acere
Totum mundum quit ab omni scelere." x
1 Pious pelican, Lord Jesus, cleanse me, impure one, by your blood, of which
one drop can save all the world from all iniquity.
Compare Marlowe's Fawtus : " See, where Christ's blood streams in
the firmament I One drop of blood will save me."
CHAPTER XVII
RELIGIOUS THOUGHT BEYOND THE LIMITS
OF IMAGINATION
The imagination was continually striving, and in vain, to
express the ineffable by giving it shape and figure. To call
up the absolute, recourse is always had to the terminology of
extension in space, and the effort always fails. From the
pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite onward, mystic authors have
piled up terms of immensity and infinity. It is always
infinite extension which has to serve for rendering the eternal
accessible to reason. Mystics exert themselves to find sug-
gestive images. Imagine, says Denis the Carthusian, a moun-
tain of sand, as large as the universe ; that every hundred
thousand years a grain be taken from it. The mountain will
disappear at last. But after such an inconceivable space of
time the sufferings of hell will not have diminished, and will
not be nearer to the end than when the first grain was removed.
And yet, if the damned knew that they would be set free when
the mountain had disappeared, it would be a great consola-
tion to them.
If, to inculcate fear and horror, the imagination disposed
of resources of appalling wealth, the expression of celestial
joys, on the other hand, always remained extremely primitive
and monotonous. Human language cannot provide a vision
of absolute bliss. It has at its disposal only inadequate super-
latives, which can do nothing but strengthen the idea arith-
metically. What was the use of producing terms of height,
or extension, or the inexhaustible ? People never could pro-
gress beyond imagery, the reduction of the infinite to the
finite, and the consequent weakening of the feeling of the
absolute. Every sensation in expressing itself lost a little
of its immediate force, every attribute ascribed to God robbed
Him of a little of His majesty.
201
202 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Thus begins the tremendous struggle of the spirit which
yearns to rise above all imagery. It is the same at all epochs
and with all races. Mystics, it has been said, have neither
birthday nor native land. But the support of imagination
cannot be given up all at once. The insufficiency of all modes
of expression is gradually accepted. First the brilliant
imagery of symbolism is abandoned, and the too concrete
formulas of dogma are avoided. But still the contemplation
of the absolute Being ever remains linked up with notions
of extension or of light. Next these notions change into
their negative opposites silence, the void, obscurity. And
as these latter formless conceptions, too, in their turn, prove
insufficient, a constant joining of each to its contrary is tried.
Finally, nothing remains to express the idea of divinity but
pure negation.
Of course, these successive stages in the abandoning of
imagery have not actually followed in strict chronological
order. All had been reached already by Denis the Areopagite.
In the following passage of Denis the Carthusian we find the
greater number of these modes of expression united. In a
revelationhe hears the voiceof God who is angry. " On hearing
this answer the monk, collected within himself, and finding
himself as transported into a region of Immense light, most
sweetly, in an intense tranquillity, by a secret call without
external sound invoked the most secret and truly hidden, the
incomprehensible God : most over-lovable God, Thou in
Thyself art the light and the region of light, in which Thy
elect sweetly come to rest, repose, sleep. Thou art like a
desert most over-vast, even and intraversable, where the
truly pious heart, entirely purified of all individual affection,
illumined from on high and inflamed by sacred ardour,
deviates without erring and errs without deviating, happily
fails and unfailingly convalesces."
We here find first the image of light, next that of sleep,
then that of the desert, and, lastly, the opposites which cancel
one another. The mystic imagination found a very im-
pressive concept in adding to the image of the desert, that
is to say, extension of surface that of the abyss, or exten-
sion of depth. The sensation of giddiness is added to the
feeling of infinite space. The German mystics, as well as
Religious Thought beyond the Limits of Imagination 203
Ruysbroeck, have made a very plastic use of this striking
image.
Master Eckhart spoke of "the abyss without mode and
without form of the silent and waste divinity." The fruition
of bliss, says Ruysbroeck, " is so immense that God Himself is
as swallowed up with all the blessed ... in an absence of
modes, which is a not-knowing, and in an eternal loss of self."
And elsewhere : " The seventh degree, which follows next . . .
is attained when, beyond all knowledge and all knowing,
we discover in ourselves a bottomless not-knowing ; when
beyond all names given to God and to creatures, we come to
expire and pass over in eternal namelessness, where we lose
ourselves . . . and when we contemplate all these blessed
spirits which are essentially sunken away, merged and lost
in their super-essence, in an unknown darkness without mode."
Always the hopeless attempt to dispense with images and
to attain " the state of void, that is mere absence of images,"
which only God can give. " He deprives us of all images and
brings us back to the initial state where we find only wild and
waste absoluteness, void of all form or image, for ever corre-
sponding with eternity."
The contemplation of God, says Denis the Carthusian, is
more adequately rendered by negations than by affirmations.
" For, when I say : Gk>d is goodness, essence, life, I seem to
indicate what God is, as if what He is had anything in com-
mon with, or any resemblance to, a creature, whereas it is
certain, that He is incomprehensible and unknown, inscrut-
able and ineffable, and separated from all He works by an
immeasurable and wholly incomparable difference and ex-
cellence." It is for this reason that the " uniting wisdom " was
called by the Areopagite : unreasonable, insane and foolish.
But whether Denis or Ruysbroeck speak of light changed
into darkness (a motif inspired by the Old Testament and
which the pseudo-Areopagite had developed), or again of
ignorance, forlonxness or of death, they never get beyond
images.
Without metaphors it is impossible to express a single
thought. All effort to rise above images is doomed to fail. To
speak of our most ardent aspirations only in negative terms does
not satisfy the cravings of the heart, and where philosophy
204 The Waning of the Middle Ages
no longer finds expression, poetry comes in again. Mysticism
has always rediscovered the road from the giddy heights of
sublime contemplation to the flowery meadows of symbolism.
The sweet lyricism of the older ITrench mystics, Saint Bernard
and the Victorines, will always come to the aid of the seer,
when all the resources of expression have been exhausted. In
the transports of ecstasy the colours and figures of allegory
reappear. Henry Suso sees his betrothed, Eternal Wisdom :
" She soared high above him in a sky with clouds, she was
bright like the morning star and shone like the radiant sun ;
her crown was eternity, her robe beatitude, her speech sweet-
ness, her kiss absolute delight ; she was remote and near, high
aloft and below ; she was present and yet hidden ; she let her-
self be approached and yet no one could grasp her."
The Church has always feared the excesses of mysticism,
and with reason. For the fire of contemplative rapture, con-
suming all forms and images, must needs burn all formulas,
concepts, dogmas, and sacraments too. However, the very
nature of mystic transport implied a safeguard for the Church.
To be uplifted to the clarity of ecstasy, to wander on the solitary
heights of contemplation stripped of forms and images, tasting
union with the only and absolute principle, was to the mystic
never more than the rare grace of a single moment. He had
to come down from the mountain-tops. The extremists, it
is true, with their following of " enfants perdus," did deviate
into pantheism and eccentricities* The others, however
and it is among these that we find the great mystics never
lost their way back to the Church awaiting them with its wise
and economic system of mysteries fixed in the liturgy. It
offered to everybody the means to get into touch at a given
moment with the divine principle in all security and without
danger of individual extravagances. It economized mystic
energy, and that is why it has always outlived unbridled
mysticism and the dangers it compassed.
" Unitive wisdom is unreasonable, insane and foolish." The
path of the mystic leading into the infinite leads to uncon-
sciousness. By denying all positive connection between the
Deity and all that has form and a name, the operation of
transcendency is really abolished: "All creatures" says
Eckhart " are mere nothing ; I do not say that they are little
Eeligious Thought beyond the Limits of Imagination 205
or aught : they are nothing. That which has no entity, is
not. All creatures have no being, for their being depends
on the presence of God." Intensive mysticism signifies return
to a pre-intellectual mental life. All that is culture is obliter-
ated and annulled.
If, notwithstanding, mysticism has, at all times, borne
abundant fruit for civilization, it is because it always rises
by degrees, and because in its initial stages it is a powerful
element of spiritual development. Contemplation demands
a severe culture of moral perfection as a preparatory condition.
The gentleness, the curbing of desires, the simplicity, the
temperance, the laboriousness practised in mystical circles,
create about them an atmosphere of peace and of pious fervour.
All the great mystics have praised humble labour and charity.
In the Netherlands these concomitant features of mysticism
moralism, pietism became the essence of a very important
spiritual movement. From the preparatory phases of in-
tensive mysticism of the few issued the extensive mysticism
of the "devotio moderna" of the many. Instead of the
solitary ecstasy of the blessed moment conies a constant and
collective habit of earnestness and fervour, cultivated by
simple townspeople in the friendly intercourse of their Frater-
houses and Windesheim convents. Theirs was mysticism by
retail. They had "only received a spark." But in their
midst the spirit lived which gave the world the work in which
the soul of the declining Middle Ages found its most fruit-
ful expression for the times to come : The Imitation, of Jesus
Christ. Thomas & Kempis was no theologian and no human-
ist, no philosopher and no poet, and hardly even a true mystic.
Yet he wrote the book which was to console the ages. Per-
haps here the abundant imagination of the medieval mind
was conquered in the highest sense.
Thomas & Kempis leads us back to everyday life.
CHAPTER
THE FORMS OF THOUGHT AND PRACTICAL LIFE
Tlie specific forms of the thought of an epoch should not
only be studied as they reveal themselves in theological and
philosophic speculations, or in the conceptions of creeds, but
also as they appear in practical wisdom and everyday life.
We may even say that the true character of the spirit of an
age is better revealed in its mode of regarding and expressing
trivial and commonplace things than in the high manifestations
of philosophy and science. For all scholarly speculation, at
least in Europe, is affiliated in a very complicated way to
Greek, Hebrew, even Babylonian and Egyptian origins, whereas
in everyday life the spirit of a race or of an epoch expresses
itself naively and spontaneously.
The mental habits and forms characteristic of the high
speculation of the Middle Ages nearly all reappear in the
domain of ordinary life. Here, too, as we might expect, primi-
tive idealism, which the schools called realism, is at the bottom
of all mental activity. To take every idea by itself, to give
it its formula, to treat it as an entity, next to combine the
ideas, to classify them, to arrange them in hierarchic systems,
always to build cathedrals with them, such, in practical life
also, is the way in which the medieval mind proceeds.
All that acquires a fixed place in life is considered as having
a reason for existence in the divine scheme. The most com-
monplace customs share this honour with the most exalted
things. A very plain instance of this may be found in the
treatment of rules of court etiquette, which we have touched
upon already in another connection. Ali&ior de Poitiers and
Olivier de la Marche considered them wise laws, judiciously
instituted by ancient kings and binding for all centuries to
come. Alienor speaks of them as of sacred monuments of
the wisdom of ages : " And then I have heard it said by the
206
The Forms of Thought and Practical Life 207
ancients who knew . . ." etc. She sees with sorrow signs of
decline. For a good many years the ladies of Flanders have
been putting the bed of a woman newly delivered of a child
before the fibre, " at which people mocked a good deal," because
formerly this was never done. What are we coming to ?
" But at present everybody does what he pleases : because of
which we may well be afraid that all will go badly." La
Marche gravely asks the following question : Why has the
"fruit-master," also the "wax-department" (le mestier de
la cire), that is to say, illumination, among his attributes ?
He answers, not less gravely : Because wax is extracted from
flowers whence the fruit comes too : " so that this matter is
very well ordained thus."
In matters of utility or of ceremony medieval authority
creates a special organ for every function, because it regards
the function as an idea and considers it as an actual thing.
The " grand sergeanty " of the king of England comprised a
dignitary whose office it was to hold the king's head when he
crossed the Channel and was suffering with sea-sickness. A
certain John Baker held this office in 1442, and after his death
it passed to his two daughters.
Of the same nature is the custom, very ancient and very
primitive, of giving a proper name to inanimate objects. We
witnessed a revival of this usage when the big guns during the ,
late war got names. During the Middle Ages it was much
more frequent. Like the swords of the heroes in the chansons
de geste, the stone mortars in the wars of the fourteenth and
fifteenth centuries had names of their own: "Le Chien
d*0r!6ans, la Gringade, la Bourgeoise, Dulle Grriete." A few
very celebrated diamonds are still known by proper names :
this, too, is a survival of a widely spread custom. Several
jewels of Charles the Bold had their names : " le sancy, les trois
freres, la hote, la balle de Flandres." If, at the present time,
ships still have names, but bells and most houses have not,
the reason lies in the fact that the ship preserves a sort of
personality, also expressed in the English usage of making
ships feminine. In the Middle Ages this tendency to personify
things was much stronger ; every house and every bell had
its name.
In the minds of the Middle Ages every event, every case,
208 The Waning of the Middk Ages
fictitious or historic, tends to crystallize, to become a parable,
an example, a proof, in order to be applied as a standing
instance of a general moral truth. In the same way every
utterance becomes a dictum, a maxim, a text. For every
question of conduct Scripture, legends, history, literature,
furnish a crowd of examples or of types, together making up a
sort of moral clan, to which the matter in question belongs.
If it is desired to make someone to pardon an offence, all the
Biblical cases of pardon are enumerated to him ; if to dissuade
him from marrying, all the unhappy marriages of antiquity
are cited. In order to free himself from blame for the murder
of the duke of Orleans, Jean sans Peur compares himself to
Joab and his victim to Absalom, rating himself as less guilty
than Joab, because he had not acted in open defiance of a
royal warning. " Ainsy avoit le bon due Jehan attrait ce
fait & moralite." a
In the Middle Ages evejyo&ejlij&e^^ argu-
ment orLjUbgxt, so as to jjiveit a foundation. In 1406, at the
national council of Paris, ^Eere"fhe question of the schism
was debated, the twelve propositions for and against renounc-
ing obedience to the pope of Avignon, all started from a Biblical
quotation. Profane orators, too, no less than preachers, choose
their text.
All the traits indicated are found united in striking fashion
in the famous plea delivered on the 8th of March, 1408, at the
hotel de Saint Pol before a princely audience, by Master Jean
Petit, divine, preacher and poet, in order to clear the duke of
Burgundy of the charge of the murder which the latter re-
pented of having confessed. It is a real masterpiece of political
wickedness, built up with perfect art and in a severe style on
the text : Radix omnium malorum owpiditas (the root of all
evil is covetousness). The whole is cunningly arranged in a
scheme of scholastic distinctions and complementary Biblical
texts, illustrated by Scriptural and historical examples and
animated by a fiendish verve. After having enumerated
twelve reasons obliging the duke of Burgundy to honour,
love and avenge the king of France, Maitre Petit draws two
applications from his text: covetousness makes apostates
and it makes traitors. Apostasy and treason are divided and
1 Thus good duke John had drawn the moral inference of the case
The Forms of Thought and Practical Life 209
subdivided, and then illustrated by three examples. Lucifer,
Absalom and Athalia rise up before the imagination of the
hearers as the archetypes of a traitor. Eight truths are
brought forward to justify tyrannicide. Referring to one of
the eight, he says : " I shall prove this truth by twelve reasons
in honour of the twelve apostles," And he cites three sen-
tences of the doctors, three of the philosophers, three of the
jurists and three from Scripture. ]?rom the eight truths eight
corollaries are derived, completed by a ninth. By the aid of
allusions or insinuations he revives all the old suspicions which
hung over the memory of the ambitious and debauched prince :
his responsibility for the disaster of the " bal des ardents,"
where the young king's company, disguised as wild men,
miserably perished by fire, while the king himself narrowly
escaped ; his plans of murder and poisoning, hatched in the
Oelestine monastery, in the course of his conversations with
" the sorcerer," Philippe de Mezieres. The notorious leaning
of the duke towards necromancy furnished an opportunity
for describing very picturesque scenes of horror. Maitre
Petit is even familiar with the demons whom Orleans con-
sulted ; he knows their names and the way in which they were
dressed. He goes so far as to ascribe a sinister meaning to
the delirious utterances of the mad king.
All this makes up the major term of the syllogism. The
minor follows it, point by point. Grounding themselves on
the general propositions which had raised the case to the plane
of fundamental ethics and had artfully roused a sentiment of
shuddering horror, the direct accusations burst out in a flood
of passionate hatred and defamation. The pleading lasted
for four hours, and at the end Jean sans Peur pronounced the
words: "I avouch you" (Je vous avoue). The justifica-
tion was written out in four costly copies for the duke and his
nearest relations, ornamented with gilding and miniatures, and
bound in pressed leather. It was also for sale.
The tendency to give each particular case the character
of a moral sentence or of an example, so that it becomes some-
thing substantial and unchallengeable, the crystallization of
thought, in short, finds its most general and natural expression
in the proverb. In the thought of the Middle Ages proverbs
have performed a very living function. There were hundreds
210 The Waning of the Middle Ages
in current use in every nation. The greater number are
striking and concise. Their tone is often ironical, their accent
always that of bonhomie and resignation. The wisdom we
glean from them is sometimes profound and beneficent. They
never preach resistance. "Les grans poissons mangent les
plus petis." " Les mal vestus assiet ondos ou vent." " Nul
n'est chaste si ne besongne." " Au besoing on s'aide du
diable." " II n'est si ferr6 qui ne glice." * To the laments
of moralists about the depravation of man the proverbs oppose
a smiling detachment. The proverb always glozes over iniquity.
Now it is naively pagan and now almost evangelical. A people
which has many proverbs in current use will be less given to
talking nonsense, and so will avoid many confused arguments
and empty phrases. Leaving arguments to cultured people,
it is content with judging each case by referring to the authority
of some proverb. The crystallization of thought in proverbs
is therefore not without advantage to society.
Proverbs in their crude simplicity were thoroughly in
accordance with the general spirit of the literature of the
epoch. The level reached by authors was but little higher
than that of the proverbs. The dicta of Eroissart often read
like proverbs gone wrong. " It is thus with feats of arms :
sometimes one loses, another time one wins." "There is
nothing of which one does not tire." It is therefore safer,
instead of hazarding moral sentences of one's own, to use
well-established proverbs like Geffroi de Paris, who lards his
rhyming chronicle with them. The literature of the time is full
of ballads of which each stanza ends with a proverb, as,
for instance, the Ballade de Foug&res of Alain Chartier, the
Complaincte de Eco of Ooquillart, and several poems by Jean
Molinet, not to mention Villon's well-known ballad which was
entirely composed of them. The 171 stanzas of the Passe
Temps d'Oysivete, by Robert Gaguin, nearly all end in some
phrase looking like a proverb, although the greater number
are not found in the best-known collections. Did Gaguin
invent them, then 1 In that case we should have a still more
curious indication of the vital function of the proverb at this
1 The big fishes eat the smaller. The badly dressed are placed with their
back to the mod. None is chaste if he has no business. At need we let the
devil help us. No horse is so well shod that it never slips.
The Forms of Thought and Practical Life 211
epoch, if we see them here arising in an individual mind, in
statu nascendi, as it were.
In political speeches and in sermons, proverbs are in fre-
quent use. Gerson, Jean de Varennes, Jean Petit, Guillaume
Kllastre, Olivier Maillard, take pains to strengthen their
arguments by the most common ones. " Qui de tout se tait,
de tout a paix. Chef bien peign6 porte mal bacinet. Qui
commun sert, nul ne Ten paye." 1
Belated to the proverb, in so far as it is a crystallized form
of thought, is the motto, which the declining Middle Ages
cultivated with marked predilection. It differs from it in
that it is not, like the proverb, a wise adage of general appli-
cation, but a personal maxim or exhortation. To adopt a
motto is, so to say, to choose a text for the sermon of one's
life. The motto is a symbol and a token. Marked in golden
letters on every article of the wardrobe and of the equipment,
it must have exercised a suggestive influence of no mean
importance. The moral tone of these mottoes is mostly that
of resignation, like that of the proverbs, or that of hope. The
motto should be mysterious. " Quand sera ce ? Tost ou
tard vienne. Va oultre. Autre fois mieulx. Plus deuil que
joye." 2 The greater number refer to love. " Aultre naray.
Vostre plaisir. Souvienne vous. Plus que toutes." 3 When
of such a nature they were worn on armour and caparisons.
Those engraved in rings have a more intimate note : " Mon
cuer avez. Je le desire. Pour toujours. Tout pour vous." 4
A complement to mottoes is found in the emblem, like the
knotty stick of Louis of Orleans with the motto " Je Pen-vie,"
a gambling term meaning " I challenge," to which Jean sans
Peur replied with a plane and the words " Ic houd," that is to
say, " accepted." Another instance is the flint-and-steel of
Philip the Good. With the emblem and the motto we enter
the sphere of heraldic thought, of which the psychology is yet
to be written. To the men of the Middle Ages the coat of arms
1 He who is silent about all things, is troubled by nothing. A well-groomed
head wears the helmet badly. He who serves the common weal, is paid by
none for his trouble.
When will it be ? Soon or late it may come. Onward. Better next
time. More sorrow than joy.
* I shall have no other. Your pleasure. Bemember. More than all
*You have my heart. I desire it. For ever. AH for you.
212 The Waning of the Middk Ages
was undoubtedly more than a matter of vanity or of genealo-
gical interest. Heraldic figures in their minds acquired a
value almost like that of a totem. Whole complexes of pride
and ambition, of loyalty and devotion, were condensed in the
symbols of lions, lilies or crosses, which thus marked and
expressed intricate mental contexts by means of an image.
The spirit of casuistry, which was greatly developed in the
Middle Ages, is another expression of the same tendency to
isolate each thing as a special entity. It is another effect of
the dominant idealism. Every question which presents itself
must have its ideal solution, which will become apparent as
soon as we have ascertained, by the aid of formal rules, the
relation of the case in question to the eternal verities. Casuis-
try reigns in all the departments of the mind : alike in morals
and in law, and in matters of ceremony, of etiquette, of tourna-
ments and the chase, and, above all, of love. We have already
spoken of the influence which chivalrous casuistry exercised
on the origins of the laws of war. Let us quote some more
examples from the Arbre des Batailles of Honore Bonet.
Should a member of the clergy aid his father or his bishop ?
Is one bound to make good borrowed armour which one has
lost during a battle ? May one fight a battle on festal days 1
Is it better to fight fasting or after a meal ?
No subject lent itself better to the distinction of casuistry
than that of prisoners of war. To take noble and rich prisoners
was, at that time, the main point of the military profession.
In what circumstances may one escape from captivity ? What
is a safe conduct worth ? To whom does an escaped and
recaptured prisoner belong ? May a prisoner on parole fly,
if his victor puts hi in chains ? Or may he do so, if his
captor forgot to ask his parole ? In Le Jouvencel two captains
dispute for a prisoner before the commander-in-chief . " I
seized him first," says one, " by the arm and by the right hand,
and tore his glove from him." " But to me," says the other,
" he gave that same hand with his parole."
Besides idealism, a strong formalism is at the bottom of all
the traits enumerated. The innate belief in the transcen-
dental reality of things brings about as a result that every
notion is strictly defined and limited, isolated, as it were, in a
plastic form, and it is this form which is all-important. Mortal
The Forms of Thought and Practical Life 213
sins are distinguished from venial sins according to fixed
rules. In law, culpability is established in the first place by
the formal nature of the deed. The ancient judicial adage,
" The deed judges the man," had lost nothing of its force!
Although jurisprudence had been long ago freed from the
extreme formalism of primitive law, which knew no difference
between the intentional and the involuntary deed and did
not punish an attempt that had miscarried, yet traces of a
severe formalism existed in great number at the dose of the
Middle Ages. Thus, there was a rule of long standing that a
slip of the tongue in the formula of an oath rendered it null
and void, the oath being a sacred thing. In the thirteenth
century an exception was made in favour of foreign merchants
who only knew the language of the country imperfectly, and
it was conceded that their incorrect language in taking the
oath should not lose them their rights.
The extreme sensibility to everything touching honour is
an effect of the general formalism. A nobleman is blamed
for having the caparison of his horse ornamented with his
armorial bearings, because, if the horse, " a brute beast,"
should stumble at the joust, the coat of arms would be dragged
through the sand and the whole family dishonoured.
The formal element occupied a large place in everything
connected with vengeance, expiations, reparations for wounded
honour. The right of vengeance, a very vital element in the
customs of France and the Netherlands in the fifteenth cen-
tury, was exercised more or less according to fixed rules. It
is not always furious anger which urges people to acts of
violence in pursuit of vengeance ; amends for offended honour
are sought according to a well-regulated plan. It is, above
all, a question of shedding blood, not of killing ; sometimes
care is taken to wound the victim only in the face, the arms,
or the thighs.
The satisfaction sought for, being formal, is symbolic. In
political reconciliations in the fifteenth century, symbolic
actions have a very large share : demolition of houses which
recall the crime, erection of commemorative crosses or chapels,
injunctions to block up a doorway, etc., not to mention ex-
piatory processions and masses for the dead. After his recon-
ciliation with his brother at Rouen in 1469, Louis XTs firsl
214: The Waning of the Middle Ages
care is to have the ring which the bishop of Lisieux gave to
Charles in marrying him to Normandy as its duke, broken
on an anvil in the presence of the notables.
The chronicle of Jean de Roye records a striking instance
of this craving for symbols and forms. One Laurent Guernier
had been hanged by mistake at Paris in 1478 ; he had obtained
a reprieve, but his pardon arrived too late, A year later his
brother obtained permission to have the body honourably
buried. " And before this bier went four town criers of the
aforesaid town sounding their rattles, and on their breasts
were the arms of the aforesaid Guernier, and around that bier
were four tapers and eight torches, carried by men dressed in
mourning and bearing the aforesaid crest. And in this way
it was carried, passing through the aforesaid city of Paris . . .
as far as the gate of Saint Anthony, where the aforesaid corpse
was placed on a cart draped in black to take it to Provins to
be buried. And one of the aforesaid criers who walked before
the aforesaid corpse, cried: 'Good people, say your pater
nosters for the soul of the late Laurent Guernier, in his life
an inhabitant of Provins, who was lately found dead under an
oak-tree 1 "
The mentality of the declining Middle Ages often seems to
us to display an incredible superficiality and feebleness. The
complexity of things is ignored by it in a truly astounding
manner. It proceeds to generalizations unhesitatingly on the
strength of a single instance. Its liability to wrong judgment
is extreme. Inexactitude, credulity, levity, inconsistency, are
common features of medieval reasoning. All these defects
are rooted in its fundamental formalism. To explain a situa-
tion or an event, a single motive suffices, and, for choice, the
most general motive, the most direct or the grossest. To
Burgundian party-feeling, for example, there could be but
a single ground which could have urged the duke of Burgundy
to compass the murder of the duke of Orleans : he wished to
avenge the (assumed) adultery of the queen with Orleans.
In every controversy people would disregard all the features
of the case save a few, whose significance they exaggerated at
pleasure. Thus the presentment of a fact, in the minds of the
epoch,. is always like a primitive woodcut, with strong and
simple lines and very clearly marked contours.
The Forms of Thought and Practical Life 215
So much for " simplistic " habits of mind. As to ill-con-
sidered generalization, it manifests itself on every page of the
literature of that time. From a single case of impartiality
reported of the English of olden time, Olivier de la Marche
concludes that at that period the English were virtuous, and
because of that had been able to conquer Prance. The impor-
tance of a particular case is exaggerated, because it is seen in
an ideal light. Moreover, every case can be paralleled in
sacred history, and so be exalted to higher significance. In
1404 a procession of students at Paris was assaulted : two were
wounded, the clothes of a third were torn. This was enough
for the chancellor of the University, carried away by the heat
of his indignation, and by a simple consonance, " Les enfants,
les jolis escoliers comme agneaux innocens," 1 to launch into
comparison of the incident to the massacre of Bethlehem.
If for every particular case an explanation is so easily
admitted, and, once admitted, takes root in the mind without
meeting with resistance, then the danger of wrong judgments
is extremely great. Nietzsche said that abstaining from
wrong judgments would make life impossible, and it is probable
that the intense life which we sometimes envy past centuries,
was partly due to the facility of false judgments. In our own
day too, in times which require the utmost exertion of national
force, the nerves need the help of false judgment. The men
of the Middle Ages lived in a continual mental crisis. They
could not for a moment dispense with false judgments of the
grossest kind. If, in the fifteenth century, the cause of the
dukes of Burgundy could persuade so many Frenchmen first
to breach of fealty and next to hostility to their country, this
political sentiment can only be explained by a whole tissue of
emotional conceptions and confused ideas.
It is in this light that the general and constant habit of ridi-
culously exaggerating the number of enemies killed in battle
should be considered. Ghastellain gives a loss of five nobles
on the side of the duke at the battle of Gavre, as against twenty
or thirty thousand of the Ghent rebels.
What are we to say, lastly, of the curious levity of the
authors of the close of the Middle Ages, which often impresses
us as an absolute lack of mental power 1 It sometimes seems
1 The children, the pretty scholars, like innocent Iambs.
216 The Waning of the Middle Ages
as if they were content to present to their readers a series of
vague pictures, and felt no need whatever of really hard
thinking. Superficial description of outward circumstances
this is all we get from writers like Froissart and Monstrelet.
Compared with Herodotus, to say nothing of Thucydides, their
narrative is disjointed, empty, without pith or meaning. They
do not distinguish the essential from the accidental. Their
lack of precision is deplorable. Monstrelet was present at the
interview of the duke of Burgundy with Joan of Arc, when a
prisoner : he does not remember what was said. Thomas
Basin himself, who conducted the process of rehabilitation,
says in his chronicle that Joan was born at Vaucouleurs
instead of Domremy, and that she was conducted to Tours
by Baudricourt himself, whom he calls lord of the town instead
of captain, while he is mistaken by three months as to the
date of her first interview with the dauphin. Olivier de la
Marche, master of the ceremonies and an impeccable courtier,
constantly muddles the genealogy of the ducal family and
goes so far as to make the marriage of Charles with Margaret
of York take place after the siege of Neuss in 1475, though
he was present at the wedding festivities in 1468. Even
Commines is not exempt from surprising inexactitudes.
The credulity and the lack of critical spirit are too general
and too well known to make it necessary to cite examples.
It goes without saying that here the degree of erudition makes
a great difference. Basin and Molinet treated the popular
belief that Charles the Bold would come back as a fable.
Ten years after the battle of Nancy, people were still lending
money which was to be reimbursed on his return.
"J'ay veu chose incongneue:
Ting mort ressusciter,
Et sur sa revenue
Par milliers achapter.
L'un dit : il est en vie,
L'autre: ce n'est quo vent.
Tous bons cueurs sans envie
Le regrettent souvent.** 1
1 1 have seen an unknown thing : A dead man coming to life, And on his
retain Buy for thousands. The one says : he is alive. The other : it is but
wind. All good hearts* void of envy, Regret his loss often.
The Forms of Thought and Practical Life 217
A mentality, dominated like that of the declining Middle
Ages by a lively imagination, by naive idealism and by strong
feeling, easily believes in the reality of every concept which
presents itself to the mind. When once an idea has received
a name and a form, its truth is presumed ; it glides, so to
say, into the system of spiritual figures and shares in their
credibility.
On the one hand, their clear outlines and frequently anthro-
pomorphic character give ideas a marked degree of fixity and
immobility ; on the other hand, the meaning of a conception
runs a constant risk of being lost in the too vivid form. The
principal person of the long allegorical and satirical poem of
Eustaohe Deschamps, Le Miroir de Manage, is called Franc
Vouloir. Folly and Desire advise him to marry, Repertory
of Science dissuades him. Now, if we ask ourselves what
Deschamps wanted to express by the abstraction Franc Vouloir,
it appears that the idea oscillates between the careless liberty
of the;bachelor and free will in a philosophic sense. The personi-
fication has more or less absorbed the idea which gave it
birth. As undecided as the character of the central figure is
the moral tone of the poem. The pious praise of the spiritual
marriage and of the contemplative life contrasts strangely
with the customary and rather vulgar mockery of women and
of female virtue. The author sometimes puts exalted truths
into the mouth of Folly and Desire, though their part is that
of the devil's advocate. It is very hard to decide what was
the personal conviction of the poet, and to what degree he
was serious.
To distinguish clearly the serious element from pose and
playfulness, is a problem that crops up in connection with
nearly all the manifestations of the mentality of the Middle
Ages. We saw it arise in connection with chivalry, and
with the forms of love and of piety. We always have to
remember that in more primitive cultural phases than ours,
the line of demarcation between sincere conviction and
" pretending " often seems to be wanting. What would be
hypocrisy in a modern mind, is not always so in a medieval
one.
The general want of balance, characterizing the soul of this
epoch, in spite of the clear-cut form of its ideas, is especially
218 The Waning of the Middle Ages
felt in the domain of superstition. On the subject of sorcery,
doubt and rationalistic interpretations alternate with the
blindest credulity. We can never tell precisely to what degree
this belief was sincere. Philippe de M&zieres, in the Songe
du Vieil Pelerin, tells that he himself learned the magic arts
from a Spaniard. During more than ten years he did not
succeed in forgetting his infamous knowledge. " A sa volent6 ne
povoit pas bien extirper de son cuer les dessusdits signes et
Peffect d'iceulx contre Dieu." 1 At last, " through the grace
of God, by dint of confessing and resisting, he was delivered
from this great folly, ^hich is an enemy to the Christian
soul."
During the horrible campaign of persecution against sor-
cerers in 1461, known as the " Vauderie d' Arras," both the
people and the magistrates gravely doubted the reality of the
alleged crimes. Outside the town of Arras, says Jacques du
CHercq, " not one person in a thousand believed that it was
true that they practised the aforesaid sorcery. Such things
were never before heard of happening in these countries."
Nevertheless, the town suffered severely in consequence:
people would no longer shelter its merchants or give them
credit, for fear that, accused of witchcraft, on the morrow,
perhaps, they might lose all their possessions by confiscation.
One of the inquisitors, who claimed to be able to discover the
guilty at sight, and went so far as to declare that it was impos-
sible for a man to be wrongly accused of sorcery, afterwards
went mad. A poem full of hatred accused the persecutors of
having got up the whole affair out of covetousness, and the
bishop himself called the persecution " a thing intended by
some evil persons," Philip the Good, having asked the advice
of the Faculty of Louvain, several of its members declared
that the sorcery was not real. Upon which the duke, who,
in spite of the archaic turn of his mind, was not super-
stitious, sent the king-at-arms of the Golden Fleece to Arras.
Then the executions and the imprisonments ceased. Later
on, all the processes were annulled, which fact the town
celebrated by a joyful feast with representations of edify-
ing "moralities."
1 He could not voluntarily extirpate from his mind the aforesaid signs
and their effect against God.
The Forms of Thought and Practical Life 219
The opinion that the rides through the ak and the orgies
of the witches' sabbath were but delusions which the devil
suggested to the poor foolish women, was already rather
widely spread in the fifteenth century. Froissart, describing
the striking case of a Gascon nobleman and his familiar demon
called Horton (he surpasses himself here in exactness and
vividness of narrative), treats it as an "error." But it is
an error caused by the devil, so the rationalizing interpreta-
tion, after all, goes only half-way. Gerson alone goes so far as
to suggest the notion of a cerebral lesion, the others confine
themselves to the hypothesis of diabolical illusions. Martin
Lefranc, provost of the church of Lausanne, in the Champion
des Dames, which he dedicated to Philip the Good in 1440,
defended this opinion.
" Je ne croiray tant que je vive
Que femme corporellement
Voit par Pair comme merle ou grive,
Dit le Champion prestement.
Quant la pcmrelle est en sa couche,
Pour y donnir et reposer,
L'ennemi qui point ne se couche
Se vient encoste alle* poser.
Lors illusions composer
Ltd scet sy tres soubtillement
Qu'elle croit faire ou proposer
Ce qu'elle songe settlement.
Force la vielle songera
Que stir tin chat ou stir tux chien
A Passemble'e s'en ira ;
Mais certes il n'en sera rien :
Et sy n'est baston ne mesrien
Qtti le pent ting pas enlever." 1
In general the mental attitude towards supernatural facts
1 As long as I live I shall not believe That a woman can bodily Travel
through the air like blackbird or thrash, Said the Champion forthwith. . . .
When the poor woman lies in her bed, In order to sleep and to rest there,
The enemy who never lies down to sleep Comes and remains by her side.
Then to call up illusions Before her he can so subtly, That she thinks she does
or proposes to do What she only dreams. Perhaps the gammer will dream
That on a cat or on a dog She will go to the meeting ; But certainly nothing
wffl happen ; And there is neither a stick nor a beam Which could lift her a
step*
220 The Waning of the Middle Ages
was a vacillating one. Rational interpretation, timid credu-
lity, or the suspicion of diabolical ruses, have the upper
hand by turns. The Church did its best to combat supersti-
tions. Friar Eichard, the popular preacher at Paris, has the
mandrakes brought to him to be burned, " which many foolish
people kept in safe places, having such great faith in this
ordure, that, indeed, they firmly believed, that so long as
they had it (provided it were very neatly wrapped up in
silk or linen folds) they would never be poor so long as they
lived."
Dogmatic theology was always studious to inculcate the
exact distinction between matters of faith and of superstition.
Benedictions and conjurations, says Denis the Carthusian in
his treatise Contra vitia swperstitionum, have no effect in them-
selves. They operate only in so far as they are pronounced
as humble prayers, with pious intention and placing one's
hope in God. Since popular belief, nevertheless, attributes
magical virtue to them, it would be better that the clergy
forbade these practices altogether.
Unhappily, the zeal of the Church for the purity of the
faith did not affect demonoinania. Its own doctrine prevented
it from uprooting belief in it. For it kept to the norm, fixed
by the authority of Saint Augustine and Saint Thomas :
Omnia quae visibiliter fiunt in hoc rwmdo, possunt fieri per
daemones. x Conjurations, says Denis, continuing the argument
we have just cited, often take effect in spite of the absence of
a pious intention, because then the devil has taken a hand
in it. This ambiguity left room for a good deal of uncer-
tainty. The fear of sorcery and the blind fury of persecu-
tion continued to darken the mental atmosphere of the age.
The official confirmation of both the theory and the prac-
tice of persecution was effected in the last quarter of the
fifteenth century by the MaUeus maleficarum, the Hammer
for Witches, by two German Dominicans, which appeared in
1487, and by the bull, Summis desiderantes, of Pope Innocent
Vm, of 1484.
So towards the end of the Middle Ages this dark system
of delusion and cruelty grew slowly to completion. All the
deficiencies of medieval thinking and its inherent tendencies
that happens visibly in this world, can be done by demons.
The Forms of Thought and Practical Life 221
to gross error had contributed to its building. The fifteenth
century transmitted it to the coming age like a horrible disease,
which for a long time neither classical culture nor Protestant
reformation nor the Catholic revival were able or even willing
to cure.
CHAPTER XIX
ART AND LIFE
If a man of culture of 1840 had been asked to characterize
French civilization in the fifteenth century in a few words, his
answer would probahly have been largely inspired by impres-
sions from Barante's Histoire des Dues de Bourgogne and Hugo's
Notre Dame de Paris. The picture called up by these would
have been grim and dark, scarcely illuminated by any ray of
serenity and beauty.
The experiment repeated to-day would yield a very different
result. People would now refer to Joan of Arc, to Villon's
poetry, but above all to the works of art. The so-called
primitive Flemish and French masters Van Eyck, Rogier van
der Weyden, Foucquet, Memling, with daus Sluter, the sculptor,
and the great musicians would dominate their general idea of
the epoch. The picture would altogether have changed its
colour and tone. The aspect of mere cruelty and misery as
conceived by romanticism, which derived its information chiefly
from the chronicles, would have made room for a vision of
pure and naive beauty, of religious fervour and profound mystic
peace.
It is a general phenomenon that the idea which works of
art give us of an epoch is far more serene and happy than that
which we glean in reading its chronicles, documents, or even
literature. Plastic art does not lament. Even when giving
expression to sorrow or pain it transports them to an elegiac
sphere, where the bitter taste of suffering has passed away,
whereas the poets and historians, voicing the endless griefs of
life, always keep their immediate pungency and revive the
harsh realities of bygone misery.
Now, our perception of former times, our historical organ,
so to say, is more and more becoming visual. Most educated
people of to-day owe their conception of Egypt, Greece, or the
222
Art and Life 223
Middle Ages, much more to the sight of their monuments, either
in the original or by reproductions, than to reading. The
change of our ideas about the Middle Ages is due less to a
weakening of the romantic sense than to the substitution of
artistic for intellectual appreciation.
Still, this vision of an epoch resulting from the contemplation
of works of art is always incomplete, always too f ayourable,
and therefore fallacious. It has to be corrected in more than
one sense. Confining ourselves to the period in question, we
first have to take into consideration the fact that, proportion-
ately, far more of the written documents than of the monuments
of art have been preserved. The literature of the declining
Middle Ages, with some few exceptions, is known to us fairly
completely. We have products of all genres : the most elevated
and the most vulgar, the serious and the comic, the pious and
the profane. Our literary tradition reflects the whole life of
the epoch. Written tradition, moreover, is not confined to
literature : official records, in infinite number, enable us to
augment almost indefinitely the accuracy of our picture.
Art, on the contrary, is by its very nature limited to a less
complete and less direct expression of life. Moreover, we only
possess a very special fraction of it. Outside ecclesiastical art
very little remains. Profane art and applied art have only
been preserved in rare specimens. This is a serious want,
because these are just the forms of art which would have most
clearly revealed to us the relation of artistic production to social
life. The modest number of altar-pieces and tombs teaches us
too little in this respect ; the art of the epoch remains to us
as a thing apart from the history of the time. Now, really to
understand art, it is of great importance to form a notion of
the function of art in life ; and for that it does not suffice to
admire surviving masterpieces, all that has been lost asks our
attention too.
Art in those times was still wrapped up in life. Its function
was to fill with beauty the forms assumed by life. These forms
were marked'and potent. Life was encompassed and measured
by the rich efflorescence of the liturgy : the sacraments, the
canonical hours of the day and the festivals of the ecclesiastical
year. All the works and all the joys of life, whether dependent
on religion, chivalry, trade or love, had their marked form.
224 The Waning of the Middle Ages
The task of art was to adorn all these concepts with charm
and colour ; it is not desired for its own sake, but to decorate
life with the splendour which it could bestow. Art was not
yet a means, as it is now, to step out of the routine of every-
day life to pass some moments in contemplation ; it had to be
enjoyed as an element of life itself, as the expression of life's
significance. Whether it served to sustain the flight of piety
or to be an accompaniment to the delights of the world r it
was not yet conceived as mere beauty.
Consequently, we might venture the paradox that the Middle
Ages knew only applied art. They wanted works of art only
to make them subservient to some practical use. Their pur-
pose and their meaning always preponderated over their purely
aesthetic value. We should add that the love of art for its
own sake did not originate in an awakening of the craving for
beauty, but developed as a result of superabundant artistic
production. In the treasuries of princes and nobles, objects of
art accumulated so as to form collections. No longer serving
for practical use, they were admired as articles of luxury and
of curiosity ; thus the taste for art was born which the Renais-
sance was to develop consciously.
In the great works of art of the fifteenth century, notably
in the altar-pieces and tombs, the nature of the subject was
far more important than the question of beauty. Beauty was
required because the subject was sacred or because the work
was destined for some august purpose. This purpose is always
of a more or less practical sort. The triptych served to in-
tensify worship at the great festivals and to preserve the
memory of the pious donors. The altar-piece of the Lamb
by the brothers Van Eyck was opened at high festivals only.
Religious pictures were not the only ones which served a prac-
tical purpose. The magistrates of the towns ordered represen-
tations of famous judgments to decorate the law courts, in
order to solemnly exhort the judges to do their duty. Such
are the judgment of Cambyses, by Gerard David, at Bruges ;
that of the Emperor Otto, by Dirk Bouts, at Louvain ; and the
lost pictures by Rogier van der Weyden, once at Brussels.
The following example may serve to illustrate the importance
attached to the subjects represented. In 1384 an interview
took place at Lelinghem for the purpose of bringing about an
Art and Life 225
armistice between France and England. The duke of Berry
had the naked walls of the old chapel, where the negotiating
princes were to meet, covered with tapestry representing battles
of antiquity. But John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, as soon
as he saw them on entering, demanded that these pictures of
war should be removed, because those who aspire to peace ought
not to have scenes of combat and of destruction before their
eyes. The tapestries were replaced by others representing the
instruments of the Passion.
The importance of the subject is closely connected with the
artistic value in the case of portraits, which even now preserve
some moral significance, as souvenirs or heirlooms, because the
sentiments determining their use are as vital as ever. In the
Middle Ages portraits were ordered for all sorts of purposes,
but rarely, we may be certain, to obtain a masterpiece of art.
Besides gratifying family affection and pride, the portrait
served to enable betrothed persons to make acquaintance. The
embassy sent to Portugal by Philip the Good in 1428, to ask
for the hand of a princess, was accompanied by Jan van Eyck,
with orders to paint her portrait. Court chroniclers liked to
keep up the fiction that the royal fiance had fallen in love with
the unknown princess on seeing her portrait for instance,
Richard II of England when courting the little Isabelle of
France, aged six. Sometimes it is even said that a selection
was made by comparing portraits of different parties. When
a wife had to be found for the young Charles VI, according to
the Beligieux de Saint Denis, the choice lay between a Bavarian,
an Austrian and a Lorraine duchess. A painter of talent was
sent to the three courts ; three portraits were submitted to
the king, who chose the young Isabella of Bavaria, judging her
by far the most beautiful.
Nowhere was the practical use of works of art weightier than
in connection with tombs, by far the most important domain of
the sculpture of the epoch. The wish to have an effigy of the
deceased was so strong that it claimed satisfaction even before
the construction of the tomb. At the burial of a man of rank,
he is represented either by a living man or by an effigy. At
the funeral service of Bertrand du Guesclin, at Saint Denis,
" f our men-at-arms, armed cap-&-pie, mounted on four chargers,
well appointed and caparisoned, representing the dead man
226 The Waning of the Middle Ages
as he was alive," entered the church. An account of the Polig-
nacs of 1375 relating to a funeral ceremony shows the item :
" Six shillings to Blaise for representing the dead knight at the
funeral.** At royal interments a figure of leather, in state dress,
represented the deceased. Great pains were taken to obtain
a good likeness. Sometimes there is more than one of these
effigies in the cortege. Visitors to Westminster Abbey know
these figures. Perhaps the origin of making funeral masks,
which began in France in the fifteenth century, is to be found
here.
As all art was more or less applied art, the distinction be-
tween artists and craftsmen did not arise. The great masters
in the service of the courts of Flanders, of Berry, or of Burgundy,
each of them an artist of a very marked personality, did not
confine themselves to painting pictures and to illuminating
manuscripts ; they were not above colouring statues, painting
shields and staining banners, or designing costumes for tour-
naments and ceremonies. Thus Melchior Broederlam, court
painter to the first duke of Burgundy, after holding the same
position in the household of his father-in-law, the count of
Flanders, puts the finfalnng touches to five sculptured chairs
for the palace of the counts. He repairs and paints some
mechanical apparatus at the castle of Hesdin, used for wetting
the guests with water by way of a surprise. He does work on
a carriage for the duchess. He directs the sumptuous decora-
tion of the fleet which the duke had assembled at Sluys in
1387 for an expedition against the English, which, however,
did not take place. So, too, at wedding festivities and funeral
ceremonies court painters were laid under contribution. Statues
were painted in Jan van Eyck's workshop. He himself made
a sort of map of the world for Duke Philip, on which the towns
and the countries were painted with marvellous delicacy. Hugo
van der Goes designed posters advertising a papal indulgence
at Ghent* When the Archduke Maximilian was a prisoner at
Bruges in 1488, the painter Gerard David was sent for, to
decorate with pictures the wickets and shutters of his prison.
Of all the handiwork of the masters of the fifteenth century,
only a portion of a very special nature has survived : some
tombs, some altar-pieces and portraits, numerous miniatures,
also a certain number of objects of industrial art, comprising
Art and Life 227
vessels used in religious worship, sacerdotal dress and church
furniture, but of secular work, except woodwork and chimneys,
scarcely anything is left. How much more should we know of
the art of the fifteenth century if we could compare the bath-
ing and hunting pieces of Jan van Byck and Rogier van der
Weyden with their piet&s and madonnas. It is not only pro-
fane pictures we lack. There are whole departments of applied
art of which we can hardly even form a conception. For this
we lack the power to compare with the priestly vestments that
have been preserved, the court costumes with their precious
stones and tiny bells, that have perished : we lack the actual
sight of the brilliantly decorated war-ships of which miniatures
give us but a conventional and clumsy representation. Frois-
sart, who, as a rule, is little susceptible to impressions of beauty,
fairly exults in his descriptions of the splendours of a decked-
out fleet, with its streamers, gay with blazonry, floating from
the mast-heads, and some reaching to the water. The ship of
Philippe le Hardi, decorated by Broederlam, was painted azure
and gold ; large heraldic shields surrounded the pavilion of the
castle ; the sails were studded with daisies and the initials of
the duke and the duchess, and bore the motto II me tarde.
The nobles vied with each other in lavishing money on the
decoration of their vessels. Painters had a good time of it,
says Froissart ; there were not enough of them to go round,
and they got whatever prices they asked. According to him,
many nobles had their ship-masts entirely covered with gold-
leaf. Guy de Tr&nouille spent 2,000 on decorations. " And
all this was paid by the poor people of France. . . ."
These lost products of decorative art would have revealed to
us, above all, extravagant sumptuousness. This trait is cha-
racteristic of the epoch ; it is to be found equally in the works
which we do possess, but as we study these only for the sake
of their beauty, we pay little attention to this element of
splendour and of pomp, which no longer interests us, but which
was just what people of that time prized most.
Burgundo-French culture of the expiring Middle Ages tends
to oust beauty by magnificence. The art of this period exactly
reflects this spirit. All that we cited above as characteristics
of the mental processes of the epoch : the craving to give a
definite form to every idea, and the overcrowding of the mind
228 The Waning of the Middle Ages
with figures and forms systematically arranged all this reap-
pears in art. There, too, we find the tendency to leave nothing
without form, without figure, without ornament. The flam-
boyant style of architecture is like the postlude of an organist
who cannot conclude. It decomposes all the formal elements
endlessly ; it interlaces all the details ; there is not a line which
has not its counter-line. The form develops at the expense of
the idea, the ornament grows rank, hiding all the lines and
all the surfaces. A horror vacui reigns, always a symptom of
artistic decline.
All this means that the border-line between pomp and beauty
is being obliterated. Decoration and ornament no longer serve
to heighten the natural beauty of a thing ; they are overgrow-
ing it and threaten to stifle it. The further we get away from
pure plastic art, the more this rankness of formal decorative
motifs is accentuated. This may be very clearly observed in
sculpture. In the creation of isolated figures this overgrowth
of forms does not occur : the statues of Moses' well and the
" plourants " of the tombs are as sober as the figures of Dona-
tello. But where sculpture is performing a decorative function
we at once find the overgrowth. In looking at the tabernacle
of Dijon, every one will be struck by a lack of harmony between
the sculpture of Jacques de Baerze and the painting of Broeder-
lam. The picture, painted for its own sake, is simple and
sober ; the reliefs, on the contrary, in which the purpose is
decorative, are complicated and overloaded. We notice the
same contrast between painting and tapestry. Textile art, even
when representing scenes and figures, remains limited by its
technique to decorative conception and expression ; hence we
find the same craving for excessive ornamentation.
In the art of costume, the essential qualities of pure art, that
is to say, measure and harmony, vanish altogether, because
splendour and adornment are the sole objects aimed at. Pride
and vanity introduce a sensual element incompatible with
pure art. No epoch ever witnessed such extravagance of
fashion as that extending from 1350 to 1480. Here we can
observe the unhampered expansion of the aesthetic sense of the
time. All the forms and dimensions of dress are ridiculously
exaggerated. The female head-dress assumes the conical shape
of the " hennin," a form evolved from the little coif, keeping
Art and Life 229
the hair under the kerchief. High and bombed foreheads are
in fashion, with the temples shaved. Low-necked dresses make
their appearance. The male dress had features still more
bizarre the immoderate length of the points of the shoes,
called " poulaines," which the knights at Nicopolis had to cut
off, to enable them to flee ; the laced waists ; the balloon-
shaped sleeves standing up at the shoulders ; the too long
" houppelandes " and the too short doublets ; the cylindrical
or pointed bonnets ; the hoods draped about the head in the
form of a cock's comb or a flaming fire. A state costume was
ornamented by hundreds of precious stones.
The taste for unbridled luxury culminated in the court fetes.
Every one has read the descriptions of the Burgundian festivities
at Lille in 1454, at which the guests took the oath to undertake
the crusade, and at Bruges in 1468, on the occasion of the
marriage of Charles the Bold with Margaret of York. It is
hard to imagine a more absolute contrast than that of these
barbarous manifestations of arrogant pomp and the pictures of
the brothers Van Eyck, Dirk Bouts and Bogier van der Weyden,
with their sweet and tranquil serenity. Nothing could be more
insipid and ugly than the " entremets," consisting of gigantic
pies enclosing complete orchestras, full-rigged vessels, castles,
monkeys and whales, giants and dwarfs, and all the boring
absurdities of allegory. We find it difficult to regard these
entertainments as something more than exhibitions of almost
incredible bad taste.
Yet we must not exaggerate the distance separating the two
extreme forms of the art of the fifteenth century. In the first
place, it is important to realize the function of festivals in the
society of that time. They still preserved something of the
meaning they have in primitive societies, that of the supreme
expression of their culture, the highest mode of a collective
enjoyment and an assertion of solidarity. At epochs of great
renovations of society, like that of the French Revolution, we
see that festivals resume this social and aesthetic function.
Modern man is free, when he pleases, to seek his favourite
distractions individually, in books, music, art or nature. On
the other hand, at a time when the higher pleasures were
neither numerous nor accessible to all, people felt the need
of such collective rejoicings as festivals. The more crushing
230 The Waning of the Middle Ages
the misery of daily life, the stronger the stimulants that -will
be needed to produce that intoxication with beauty and delight
without which life would be unbearable. The fifteenth century,
profoundly pessimistic, a prey to continual depression, could
not forgo the emphatic affirmation of the beauty of life, afforded
by these splendid and solemn collective rejoicings. Books were
expensive, the country was unsafe, art was rare ; the individual
lacked the means of distraction. All literary, musical and
artistic enjoyment was more or less closely connected with
festivals.
Now festivals, in so far as they are an element of culture,
require other things than mere gaiety. Neither the elementary
pleasures of gaming, drinking and love, nor luxury and pomp
as such, are able to give them a framework. The festival re-
quires style. If those of modern times have lost their cultural
value, it is because they have lost style. In the Middle Ages
the religious festival, because of its high qualities of style
founded on the liturgy itself, for a long time dominated all
the forms of collective cheerfulness. The popular festival,
which had its own elements of beauty in song and dance, was
linked up with those of the Church. It is towards the fifteenth
century that an independent form of civil festival with a style
of its own disengages itself from the ecclesiastical one. The
" rhetoricians " of Northern France and the Netherlands are
the representatives of this evolution. Till then only princely
courts had been able to equip secular festivals with form and
style, thanks to the resources of their wealth and the social
conception of courtesy.
Nevertheless, the style of the courtly festival could not but
remain greatly inferior to that of religious festivals. In the
latter worship and rejoicing in common were always the ex-
pression of a sublime thought, which lent them a grace and
dignity that even the excesses of their frequently burlesque
details could not affect. On the other hand, the ideas glorified
by the secular feast were nothing more than those of chivalry
and of courtly love. The ritual of chivalry, no doubt, was rich
enough to give these festivities a venerable and solemn style.
There were the accolade, the vows, the chapters of the orders,
the rules of the tournaments, the formalities of homage, service
and precedence, all the dignified proceedings of kings-at-arms
Art and Life 231
and heralds, all the brightness of blazonry and armour. But
this did not suffice to satisfy all aspirations. The court fetes
were expected to visualize in its entirety the dream of the
heroic life. And here style failed. For in the fifteenth century
the apparatus of chivalrous fancy was no longer anything but
vain convention and mere literature.
The staging of the amazing festivities of Lille or of Bruges
is, so to say, applied literature. The ponderousness of material
representation destroyed the last remainder of charm which
literature with the lightness of its airy reveries had hitherto
preserved. The unfaltering seriousness with which these mon-
strous pageants were organized is truly Burgundian. The ducal
court seems to have lost, by its contact with the North, some
qualities of the French spirit. For the preparation of the
banquet of Lille, which was to crown and conclude a series of
banquets which the nobles provided, each in his turn, vying
with each other in magnificence, Philip the Good appointed
a committee, presided over by a knight of the Golden Fleece,
Jean de Lannoy. The most trusted counsellors of the duke
Antoine de Croy, the chancellor Nicolas Eolin himself
were frequently present at the sessions of the committee, of
which Olivier de la Marche was a member. When the latter
in his memoirs comes to this chapter, a feeling of awe still comes
over him. "Because great and honourable achievements
deserve a lasting renown and perpetual remembrance . .,"
thus he begins the narrative of these memorable things. It
is needless to reprint it here, as it belongs to the loci communes
of historical literature.
Even from across the sea people came to view the gorgeous
spectacle. Besides the guests, a great number of noble specta-
tors were present at the feast, disguised for the most part*
First every one walked about to admire the fixed show-pieces ;
later came the * c entremets," that is to say , representations of
" personages " and tableaux vivants. Olivier himself played
the important part of Holy Church, making his appearance in
a tower on the back of an elephant, led by a gigantic Turk.
The tables were loaded with the most extravagant decorations-
There were a rigged and ornamented carack, a meadow sur-
rounded by trees with a fountain, rocks and a statue of Saint
Andrew, the castle of Lusignan with the fairy M61usine, a bird-
232 The Waning of the Middle Ages
shooting scene near a windmill, a wood in which wild beasts
walked about, and, lastly, a church with an organ and singers,
whose songs alternated with the music of the orchestra of
twenty-eight persons, which was placed in a pie.
The problem for us is to determine the quality of taste or
bad taste to which all this bears witness. It goes without say-
ing that the mythological and allegorical tenor of these " entre-
mets " cannot interest us. But what was the artistic execution
worth ? What people looked for most was extravagance and
huge dimensions. The tower of Gorcum represented on the
table of the banquet of Bruges in 1468 was 46 feet high. La
Marche says of a whale, which also figured there : " And certainly
this was a very fine entremets, for there were more than forty
persons in it." People were also much attracted by mechanical
marvels : living birds flying from the mouth of a dragon con-
quered by Hercules, and such-like curiosities, in which, to us,
any idea of art is altogether lacking. The comic element was
of a very low class : boars blow the trumpet in the tower of
Gorcum ; elsewhere goats sing a motet, wolves play the flute,
four large donkeys appear as singers and all this in honour of
Charles the Bold, who was a good musician.
I would not, however, suggest that there may not have been
many an artistic masterpiece among these pretentious and ridi-
culous curiosities. Let us not forget that the men who enjoyed
these Gargantuan decorations were the patrons of the brothers
Van Eyck and of Rogier van der Weyden the duke himself,
Bolin, the donor of the altars of Beaune and of Autun, Jean
Chevrot, who commissioned Rogier to paint " The Seven Sacra-
ments/' now at Antwerp. What is more, it was the painters
themselves who designed these show-pieces. If the records do
not mention Jan van Eyck or Rogier as having contributed
to similar festivities, they do give the names of the two Mar-
mions and Jacques Daret. For the fete of 1468 the services of
the whole corporation of painters were requisitioned ; they were
summoned in haste from Ghent, Brussels, Louvain, Tirlemont,
Mons, Quesnoy, Valenciennes, Douai, Cambray, Arras, Lille,
Ypres, Courtray, Oudenarde, to work at Bruges. It is impos-
sible to believe that their handiwork was ugly. The thirty
vessels decorated with the arms of the duke's domains, the
sixty images of women dressed in the costume of their country,
Art and Life 233
" carrying fruit in baskets and birds in cages. . . ." I should
be ready to give more than one mediocre church-picture to see
them.
We may go further, at the risk of being thought paradoxical,
and affirm that we have to take this art of show-pieces, which
has disappeared without leaving a trace, into account, if we
would thoroughly understand the art of Glaus Sluter.
Of all the forms of art, sepulchral sculpture is most fettered
by the exigencies of its purpose. The sculptors charged with
making the ducal tombs were not left free to create beautiful
things ; they had to exalt the glory of the deceased prince.
The painter can always give free rein to his imagination ; he
is never obliged to limit himself strictly to commissioned work*
It is probable, on the other hand, that the sculptor of this
epoch rarely worked except on specified tasks. The motifs of
his art, moreover, are limited in number and fixed by a rigorous
tradition. It is true that painters and sculptors are equally
servants of the ducal household ; Jan van Byck, as well as
Sluter and his nephew, Glaus de Werve, bore the title of
" varlet de chambre," but for the two latter, the service is far
more real than for the painters. The two great Dutchmen
whom the irresistible attraction of French art life drew for
good from their native country were completely monopolized
by the duke of Burgundy. Glaus Sluter inhabited a house
at Dijon which the duke placed at his disposal ; there he
lived as a gentleman, but at the same time as a servant of
the court. His nephew and successor, Glaus de Werve, is
the tragic type of an artist in the service of princes : kept
back at Dijon year after year, to finish the tomb of Jean sans
Peur, for which the financial means were never forthcoming,
he saw his artistic career, so brilliantly begun, ruined by fruit-
less waiting.
Thus the art of the sculptor at this epoch is a servile art.
On the other hand, sculpture is generally little influenced by
the taste of an epoch, because its means, its material and its
subjects are limited and little subject to change. When a great
sculptor appears, he creates everywhere and always that opti-
mum of purity and simplicity which we call classic. The
human form and its drapery are susceptible of few variations.
The masterpieces of carving of the different ages are very much
234 The Waning of the Middle Ages
alike, and, for us, Sluter's work shares this eternal identity of
sculpture.
Nevertheless, on examining it more closely, we notice that
especially the art of Sluter bears the marks of being influenced
by the taste of the time (not to call it Burgundian taste) as far
as the nature of sculpture permits. Sluter's works have not
been preserved as they were, and as the master intended them
to be. We must picture the well of Moses as it was in 1418,
when the papal legate granted an indulgence to whosoever
should come to visit it in a pious spirit. It must be remembered
that the well is but a fragment, a part of a calvary with which
the first duke of Burgundy of the house of Valois intended to
crown the well of his Carthusian monastery of Champmol. The
principal part, that is to say, the crucified Christ with the
Virgin, Saint John and Mary Magdalen, had almost completely
disappeared before the French Revolution. There remains only
the pedestal, surrounded by the statues of the six prophets who
predicted the death of the Saviour, with a cornice supported
by angels. The whole composition is in the highest degree a
representation, " une ceuvre parlante," a show, closely related
as such to the tableaux vivants or the " personnages " of the
princely entries and of the banquets. There, too, the subjects
were borrowed, for choice, from the prophecies relating to the
coming of Christ. Like these " personnages," the figures sur-
rounding the well hold scrolls containing the text of their pre-
dictions. It rarely happens in sculpture that the written word
is of such importance. We can only fully realize the marvel-
lous art here displayed in hearing these sacred and solemn
words. Immolabit eum universa multitude* filiorum Israel ad
vesperum ; this is Moses' sentence. Foderunt manus meas et
pedes meos, dinumeraverunt omnia ossa mea ; this is David's.
Jeremiah says : O vos omnes qui transitis per viam, atienditeet
videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus. 1 Isaiah, Daniel, Zachariah,
all announce the death of the Lord. It is like a threnody of
six voices rising up to the cross. Now in this feature lies the
1 Exodus zii. 6 : " And the whole assembly of the congregation of Israel
shall kill it in the evening." Psalm xxii. 16, 17 : " They pierced My hands
and My feet. They told all My bones." Lamentations of Jeremiah i. 12 :
" AH ye that pass by, behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto My
sorrow/'
Art and Life 235
essence of the work. The gestures of the hands by which the
attention is directed to the texts are so emphatic, and there is
an expression of such poignant grief on the faces, that the whole
is in some danger of losing the ataraxia which marks great
sculpture. It appeals too directly to the spectator. Compared
with the figures of Michelangelo, those of Sluter are too
expressive, too personal. If more had come down to us of
the calvary supported by the prophets than the head and the
torso of Christ, of a stark majesty, this expressive character
would be still more evident.
The spectacular character of the calvary of Champmol also
came into prominence in the luxurious decorations of the work.
We must picture it in all its polychrome splendour, for Jean
Malouel, the artist, and Herman of Cologne, the gilder, were not
sparing of vivid colours and brilliant effects. The pedestals
were green, the mantles of the prophets were gilt, their tunics
red and azure with golden stars. Isaiah, the gloomiest of all,
wore a dress of gold-cloth. The open spaces were filled with
golden suns and initials. The pride of blazonry displayed itself
not only round the columns below the figures, but on the cross
itself, which was entirely gilt. The extremities of the arms of
the cross, shaped like capitals, bore the coats of arms of Bur-
gundy and Flanders. Can one ask for better proof of the
spirit in which the duke conceived this great monument of his
piety ? As a crowning " bizarrerie," a pair of spectacles of
gilded brass, the work of Hannequin de Hacht, were placed on
Jeremiah's nose.
This serfdom of a great art controlled by the will of a princely
patron is tragic, but it is at the same time exalted by the
heroic efforts of the great sculptor to shake off his shackles.
The figures of the " plourants " around the sarcophagus had
for a long time been an obligatory motif in Burgundian sepul-
chral art. These weeping figures were not meant to express
grief in general ; the sculptor was bound to give a faithful
representation of the funeral cortege with the dignitaries present
at the burial. But the genius of Sluter and his pupils succeeded
in transforming this motif into the most profound expression
of mourning known in art, a funeral marfch in stone.
Is it so certain, after all, that we are right iythfafring of th
artist as struggling with the lack of taste and: refinement of hft
236 The Waning of the Middle Ages
patron ? It is quite possible that Sluter himself considered
Jeremiah's spectacles a very happy find. In the men of that
epoch artistic taste was still blended with the passion for what
is rare or brilliant. In their simplicity they coiild enjoy the
bizarre as if it were beauty. Objects of pure art and articles
of luxury and curiosity were equally admired. Long after the
Middle Ages the collections of princes contained works of art
mixed up indiscriminately with knick-knacks made of shells
and of hair, wax statues of celebrated dwarfs and such-like
articles. At the castle of Hesdin, where side by side with art
treasures the " engins d'esbatement " (contrivances for amuse-
ment) usual in princely pleasure-grounds were found in abun-
dance, Caxton saw a room ornamented with pictures represent-
ing the history of Jason, the hero of the Golden Fleece. The
artist is unknown, but was probably a distinguished master.
To heighten the effect, a " machinerie " was annexed which
could imitate lightning, thunder, snow and rain, in memory of
the magic arts of Medea.
In the shows at the entries of princes inventive fancy stuck
at nothing. When Isabella of Bavaria made her entry into
Paris in 1389, there was a white deer with gilt antlers, and a
wreath round its neck, stretched out on a " lit de justice,"
moving its eyes, antlers, feet, and at last raising a sword. At
the moment when the queen crossed the bridge to the left of
Notre Dame, an angel descended " by means of well-constructed
engines " from one of the towers, passed through an opening
of the hangings of blue taffeta with golden fleurs-de-lis which
covered the bridge, and put a crown on her head. Then the
angel " was pulled up again as if he had returned to heaven
of his own accord." Philip the Good and Charles VIII were
treated to similar descents. Lefevre de Saint Eemy greatly
admired the spectacle of four trumpeters and twelve nobles on
artificial horses, " sallying forth and caracoling in such a way
that it was a fine thing to see."
Time the destroyer has made it easy for us to separate pure
art from all these gewgaws and bizarre trappings, which have
completely disappeared. This separation which our aesthetic
sense insists upon, did not exist for the men of that time.
Their artistic life was still enclosed within the forms of social
life. Art was subservient to life. Its social function was to
Art and Life 237
enhance the importance of a chapel, a donor, a patron, or a
festival, but never that of the artist. Fully to realize its
position and scope in this respect is now hardly possible. Too
little of the material surroundings in which art was placed,
and too few of the works of art themselves, have come down to
us. Hence the priceless value of the few works by which pri-
vate life, outside courts and outside the Church, is revealed to
us. In this respect no painting can compare with the portrait
of Jean Arnolfim and of his wife, by Jan van Eyck, in the
National Gallery. The master, who, for once, need not portray
the majesty of divine beings nor minister to aristocratic pride,
here freely followed his own inspiration : it was his friends
whom he was painting on the occasion of their marriage. Is
it really the merchant of Lucca, Jean Arnoulphin, as he was
called in Flanders, who is represented ? Jan van Eyck painted
this face twice (the other portrait is at Berlin) ; we can hardly
imagine a less Italian-looking physiognomy, but the descrip-
tion of the picture in the inventory of Margaret of Austria,
" Hernoul le fin with his wife in a chamber," leaves little room
for doubt. However this may be, the persons represented were
friends of Van Eyck ; he himself witnesses to it by the ingenious
and delicate way in which he signs his work, by an inscription
over the mirror : Johannes de Eyck fuit hie, 1434.
" Jan van Eyck was here." Only a moment ago, one might
think. The sound of his voice still seems to linger in the silence
of this room. All that tenderness and profound peace, which
only Rembrandt was to recapture, emanate from this picture.
That serene twilight hour of an age, which we seemed to know
and yet sought in vain in so many of the manifestations of its
spirit, suddenly reveals itself here. And here at last this spirit
proves itself happy, simple, noble and pure, in tune with the
lofty church music and the touching folk-songs of the time.
So perhaps we imagine a Jan van Eyck escaping from the
noisy gaiety and brutal passions of court life, a Jan van Eyck
of the simple heart, a dreamer. It does not require a great
effort of fancy to call up the " varlet de chambre " of the duke,
serving the great lords against his will, suffering all the disgust
of a great artist obliged to belie his sublime ideal of art by
contributing to the mechanical devices of a festival.
Nothing, however, justifies us in forming such a conception
238 The Waning of the Middle Ages
of Ms personality. TMs art, which we admire, bloomed in the
atmosphere of that aristocratic life, which repels us. The little
we know of the lives of fifteenth-century painters shows them
to us as men of the world and courtiers. The duke of Berry
was on good terms with his artists. Froissart saw hi in
familiar conversation with Andr6 Beauneveu in his marvellous
castle of Mehun sur Yevre. The three brothers of Limburg,
the great illuminators, come to offer the duke, as a New Year's
present, a surprise in the shape of a new illuminated manuscript,
which turned out to be " a dummy book, made of a block of
white wood painted to look like a book, in which there were
no leaves and nothing was written." Jan van Eyck, without
doubt, moved constantly in court circles. The secret diplo-
matic missions entrusted to him by the duke required a man
of the world. He passed, moreover, for a man of letters,
reading classic authors and studying geometry. Did he not,
by an innocent whim, disguise in Greek letters his modest
device, Als ik kan (As I can) ?
The intellectual and moral life of the fifteenth century seems
to us to be divided into two clearly separated spheres. On the
one hand, the civilization of the court, the nobility and the rich
middle classes : ambitious, proud and grasping, passionate and
luxurious. On the other hand, the tranquil sphere of the
" devotio modepia," of the Imitation of Christ, of Buysbroeck
and of Saint Colette. One would like to place the peaceful
and mystic art of the brothers Van Eyck in the second of these
spheres, but it belongs rather to the other. Devout circles
were hardly in touch with the great art that flourished at this
time. In music they disapproved of counterpoint, and even
of organs. The rule of Windesheim forbade the embellish-
ment of the singing by modulations, and Thomas & Kempis
said : " If you cannot sing like the nightingale" and the lark,
then sing like the crows and the frogs, which sing as God meant
them to." The music of Dufay, Busnois, Okeghem, developed
in the chapels of the courts. As to painting, the writers of
the "devotio moderna" do not speak of it; it was outside
their range of thought. They wanted their books in a simple
form and without illuminations. They would probably have
regarded the altar-piece of the Lamb as a mere work of pride,
and actually did so regard the tower of Utrecht Cathedral.
'APRIL" BY THE BROTHERS TAX LMBURG. FRO* THE CALENDAR OP THE
-TEES RICHES HEURES DU ITJC PE BERRY."
[See tese 270.
Art and Life 239
The great artists generally worked for other circles than
those of the devout townspeople. The art of the brothers Van
Eyck and of their followers, though it sprang up in municipal
surroundings and was fostered by town circles, cannot be called
a bourgeois art. The court and the nobility exercised too power-
ful an attraction. Only the patronage of princes permitted
the art of miniature to raise itself to the degree of artistic
refinement which characterizes the work of the brothers of
limburg and the artists of the Hours of Turin. The employers
of the great painters were, besides the princes themselves, the
great lords, temporal or spiritual, and the great upstarts with
whom the Burgundian epoch abounds, all gravitating towards
the court. The ground for the difference between Franco-
Flemish and Dutch art in this period lies in the fact that the
latter still preserves some traits of simple soberness recalling
the little out-of-the-way towns, such as Haarlem, where it was
born. And even Dirk Bouts went south and painted at Lou-
vain and Brussels.
Among the patrons of fifteenth-century art may be named
Jean Chevrot, bishop of Tournay, whom a scutcheon designates
as the donor of that work of touching and fervent piety, now
at Antwerp, " The Seven Sacraments." Chevrot is the type of
the court prelate ; as a trusted counsellor of the duke, he was
full of zeal for the affairs of the Golden Fleece and for the
crusade. Another type of donor is represented by Pierre
Bladelin, whose austere face is seen on the Middelburg altar-
piece, now at Berlin. He was the great capitalist of those times ;
from the post of receiver of Bruges, his native town, he rose to
be paymaster-general of the duke. He introduced control and
economy into the ducal finances. He was appointed treasurer
of the Golden Fleece and knighted. He was sent to England
to ransom Charles of Orleans. The duke wished to charge him
with the administration of the finances of the expedition against
the Turks. He employed his wealth, which was the wonder of
his contemporaries, on works of embankment and the founding
of a new town in Flanders, to which he gave the name of
Middelburg, after the town in Zeeland of that name.
Other notable donors Judocus Vydt, the canon Van de
Paele, the Croys, the Lannoys belonged to the very rich, noble
or burgher, ancient or new, of their time. Most famous of all
240 The Waning of the Middle Ages
is Nicolas Rolin, the chancellor, " sprung from little people,"
jurist, financier, diplomat. The great treaties of the dukes,
from 1419 to 1435, are his work. " He used to govern every-
thing quite alone and manage and bear the burden of all busi-
ness by himself, be it of war, be it of peace, be it of matters of
finance." By methods which were not above suspicion he
amassed enormous wealth, which he spent on all sorts of pious
and charitable foundations. Nevertheless, people spoke with
hatred of his avarice and pride, and had no faith in the devo-
tional feelings which inspired his pious works. This man
whom we see in the Louvre kneeling so devoutly in the picture
painted for Mm by Jan van Eyck for Autun, his native town,
and again in that by Rogier van der Weyden, destined for
his hospital of Beaune, passed for a mind only set on earthly
things. " He always harvested on earth," says Ohastellain, " as
though the earth was to be his abode for ever, in which his
understanding erred and his prudence abased him, when he
would not set bounds to that, of which his great age showed
hi the near end." This is corroborated by Jacques du
Clercq in these terms : " The aforesaid chancellor was reputed
one of the wise men of the kingdom, to speak temporally ; for
as to spiritual matters, I shall be silent."
Are we, then, to look for a hypocritical expression in the face
of the donor of La Vierge au Chancelier Rolin ? Let us re-
member, before condemning him, the riddle presented by the
religious personality of so many other men of his time, who
also combined rigid piety with excesses of pride, of avarice and
of lust. The depths of these natures of a past age are not
easily sounded.
In the piety interpreted by the art of the fifteenth century,
the extremes of mysticism and of gross matojialism meet. The
faith pictured here is so direct that no earthly figure is too
sensual or too heavy to express it. Van Eyck may drape his
angels and divine personages with ponderous and stiff brocades,
glittering with gold and precious stones ; to call up the celestial
sphere he has no need of the flowing garments and sprawling
limbs of the baroque style.
Yet neither this art nor this faith is primitive. By using
the term primitive to designate the masters of the fifteenth
century we run the risk of a misunderstanding. They are
Art and Life 241
primitive in a purely chronological sense, in so far as, for us,
they are the first to come, and no older painting is known to
us. But if to this designation we attach the meaning of a
primitive spirit, we are egregiously mistaken. For the spirit
which this art denotes is the same which we pointed out in
religious life : a spirit rather decadent than primitive, a spirit
involving the utmost elaboration, and even decomposition, of
religious thought through the imagination.
In very early times the sacred figures had been seen as end-
lessly remote : awful and rigid. Then, from the twelfth century
downward, the mysticism of Saint Bernard introduced a
pathetic element into religion, which contained immense possi-
bilities of growth. In the rapture of a new and overflowing
piety people tried to share the sufferings of Christ by the aid
of the imagination. They were no longer satisfied with the
stark and motionless figures, Infinitely distant, which roman-
esque art had given to Christ and His Mother. All the forms
and colours which imagination drew from mundane reality
were now lavished by it upon the celestial beings. Once let
loose, pious fancy invaded the whole domain of faith and gave
a minutely elaborate shape to every holy thing.
At first verbal expression had been in advance of pictorial
and plastic art. Sculpture was still adhering to the formal
rigidity of preceding ages, when literature undertook to des-
cribe all the details, both physical and mental, of the drama
of the cross. A sort of pathetic naturalism arose, for which
the Meditationes vitae Christi, early attributed to Saint Bona-
ventura, supplied the model. The nativity, the childhood, the
descent from the cross, each received a fixed form, a vivid
colouring. How Joseph of Arimathea mounted the ladder,
how he had to press the hand of the Lord in order to draw out
the nail, was all described in minute detail.
In the meantime, towards the end of the fourteenth century,
pictorial technique had made so much progress that it more
than overtook literature in the art of rendering these details.
The naive, and at the same time refined, naturalism of the
brothers Van Eyck was a new form of pictorial expression ;
but viewed from the standpoint of culture in general, it was
but another manifestation of the crystallizing tendency of
thought which we noticed in aU the aspects of the mentality
B
242 The Waning of the Middle Ages
of the declining Middle Ages. Instead of heralding the advent
of the Benaissance, as is generally assumed, this naturalism is
rather one of the ultimate forms of development of the medieval
mind. The craving to turn every sacred idea into precise
images, to give it a distinct and clearly outlined form, such as
we observed in Gerson, in the Roman de la Rose, in Denis the
Carthusian, controlled art, as it controlled popular beliefs
and theology. The art of the brothers Van Eyck closes a
period.
PORTRAIT OP THE CHANCELLOR ROLIN. BY ROGIER VAN DEB
WEYDEN.
[See page 240.
CHAPTER XX
THE AESTHETIC SENTIMENT
The study of the art of an epoch remains incomplete unless
we try to ascertain also how this art was appreciated by con-
temporaries : what they admired in it, and by what standards
they gauged beauty. Now, there are few subjects about which
tradition is so defective as the aesthetic sentiment of past
ages. The faculty and the need of expressing in words the
sentiment of beauty have only been developed in recent
times. What sort of admiration for the art of their time was
felt by the men of the fifteenth century ? Speaking generally,
we may assert that two things impressed them especially :
first, the dignity and sanctity of the subject ; next, the astonish-
ing mastery, the perfectly natural rendering of all the details.
Thus we find, on the one hand, an appreciation which is rather
religious than artistic ; on the other hand, a naive wonder,
hardly entitled to rank as artistic emotion. The first to leave
us critical observations on the painting of the brothers Van
Eyck and Eogier van der Weyden was a Genoese man of
letters, of the middle of the fifteenth century, Bartolomeo
Fazio. Most of the pictures he speaks of are lost. He praises
the beautiful and chaste figure of a Virgin, the hair of the
archangel Gabriel, " surpassing real hair," the holy austerity
expressed by the ascetic face of Saint John the Baptist, and
a Saint Jerome who " seems to be alive." He admires the
perspective of the cell of Jerome, a ray of light falling through
a fissure, drops of sweat on the body of a woman in a bath,
an image reflected by a mirror, a burning lamp, a landscape
with mountains, woods, villages, castles, human figures, the
distant horizon, and, once again, the mirror. The terms he
uses to vent his enthusiasm betray merely a naive curiosity,
losing itself in the unlimited wealth of details, without arriv-
ing at a judgment on the beauty of the whole. Such is the
243
244 The Waning of the Middle Ages
appreciation of a medieval work by a mind which is still
medieval.
A century later, after the triumph of the Renaissance, it is
just this minuteness in the execution of details which is con-
demned as the fundamental fault of Flemish art. According
to the Portuguese artist, Francesco de Holanda, Michelangelo
spoke about it as follows :
"Flemish painting pleases all the devout better than
Italian. The latter evokes no tears, the former makes them
weep copiously. This is not a result of the merits of this
art ; the only cause is the extreme sensibility of the devout
spectators. The Flemish pictures please women, especially
the old and very young ones, and also monks and nuns, and
lastly men of the world who are not capable of understanding
true harmony. In Flanders they paint, before all things, to
render exactly and deceptively the outward appearance of
things. The painters choose, by preference, subjects provok-
ing transports of piety, like the figures of saints or of prophets.
But most of the time they paint what are called landscapes
with plenty of figures. Though the eye is agreeably impressed,
these pictures have neither art nor reason ; neither symmetry
nor proportion ; neither choice of values nor grandeur. In
short, this art is without power and without distinction ;
it aims at rendering minutely maixy things at the same time,
of which a single one would have sufficed to call forth a man's
whole application."
It was the medieval spirit itself which Michelangelo judged
here. Those whom he called the devout are people of the
medieval spirit. For him the ancient beauty has become a
thing for the small and the feeble. Not all his contemporaries
thought as he did. In the North many continued to venerate
the art of their ancestors, among them Diirer and Quentin
Metsys, and Jan Scorel, who is said to have kissed the altar-
piece of the Lamb. But Michelangelo here truly represents
the Renaissance as opposed to the Middle Ages. What he
condemns in Flemish art are exactly the essential traits of
the declining Middle Ages : the violent sentimentality, the
tendency to see each thing as an independent entity, to get
lost in the multiplicity of concepts. To this the spirit of the
Renaissance is opposed, and, as always happens, only realizes
The ^Esthetic Sentiment 245
its new conception of art and of life by temporally misjudging
the beauties and the truths of the preceding age.
The consciousness of aesthetic pleasure and its expression
are of tardy growth. A fifteenth-century scholar lite Fazio,
trying to vent his artistic admiration, does not get beyond
the language of commonplace wonder. The very notion of
artistic beauty is still wanting. The aesthetic sensation
caused by the contemplation of art is lost always and at once
either in pious emotion or a vague sense of well-being.
Denis the Carthusian wrote a treatise, De venustate mundi
et pulcfwitudine Dei. The difference of the two words of the
title at once indicates his point of view : true beauty only
appertains to God, the world can only be venustus pretty.
All the beauties of creation, he says, are but brooks flowing
from the source of supreme beauty. A creature may be
called beautiful in so far as it shares in the beauty of the
divine nature, and thereby attains some measure of harmony
with it. As a starting-point of aesthetics, this is large and
sublime, and might well serve as a basis for the analysis of
all particular manifestations of beauty. Denis did not invent
Ms fundamental idea : he founds himself on Saint Augustine
and the pseudo-Areopagite, on Hugues de Saint Victor and
Alexandre de Hales. But as soon as he tries really to analyse
beauty, the deficiency of observation and expression is appa-
rent. He borrows even his examples of earthly beauty from
his predecessors, especially from Hugues and Richard de Saint
Victor : a leaf, the troubled sea with its changing hues, etc.
His analysis is very superficial. Herbs are beautiful, because
they are green; precious stones, because they sparkle; thehuman
body, the dromedary and the camel, because they are appro-
priate to their purpose ; the earth, because it is long and
large ; the heavenly bodies, because they are round and light.
Mountains are admirable for their enormous dimensions,
rivers for the length of their course, fields and woods for their
vast surface, the earth for its immeasurable mass.
Medieval theory reduced the idea of beauty to that of per-
fection, proportion and splendour. Three things, says Saint
Thomas, are required for beauty: first, integrity or perfec-
tion, because what is incomplete is ugly on that account ; next,
true proportion or consonance; lastly, brightness, because
246 The Waning of the Middle Ages
we call beautiful whatever has a brilliant colour. Denis
the Carthusian tries to apply these standards, but he hardly
succeeds : applied aesthetics are seldom successful. When the
idea of beauty is so highly intellectualized, it is not surprising
that the mind passes at once from earthly beauty to that
of the angels and of the empyrean, or to that of abstract
conceptions. There was no place, in this system, for the
notion of artistic beauty, not even in connection with music,
the effects of which, one would have supposed, could not fail
to suggest the idea of beauty of a specific character.
Musical sensation was immediately absorbed in religious
feeling. It would never have occurred to Denis that he might
admire in music or painting any other beauty than that of
holy things themselves.
One day, on entering the church of Saint John at Bois-le-
Duc, while the organ was playing, he was instantly trans-
ported by the melody into a prolonged ecstasy.
Denis was one of those who objected to introducing the
new polyphonous music into the church. Breaking the voice
(fractio vocis), he says, seems to be the sign of a broken
soul ; it is like curled hair in a man or plaited garments in
a woman : vanity, and nothing else. He does not mean
that there are not devout people whom melody stimulates
into contemplation, therefore the Church is right in tolerating
organs ; but he disapproves of artistic musiq which only
serves to charm those who hear it, and especially to amuse
the women. Certain people who practised singing in melodic
parts assured Mm they experienced a certain pleasurable
pride, and even a sort of lasciviousness of trhe heart (lascivia
animi). In other words, to describe the exact nature of
musical emotion the only terms he can find are those denoting
dangerous sins.
From the earlier Middle Ages onward many treatises on
the aesthetics of music were written, but these treatises, con-
structed according to the musical theories of antiquity, which
were no longer understood, teach us little about the way in
which jfche men of the Middle Ages really enjoyed music. In
analysing musical beauty, fifteenth-century writers do not get
beyond the vagueness and naiveness which also characterized
their admiration of painting. Just as, in giving expression
The ^Esthetic Sentiment 247
to the latter, they only praise the lofty character of the treat-
ment and the perfect rendering of nature, so in music only
sacred dignity and imitative ingenuity are appreciated. To the
medieval spirit, musical emotion quite naturally took the form
of an echo of celestial joy. " For music " says the honest
rhetorician Molinet, a great lover of music, like Charles the
Bold " is the resonance of the heavens, the voice of the angels,
the joy of paradise, the hope of the air, the organ of the
Church, the song of the little birds, the recreation of all gloomy
and despairing hearts, the persecution and driving away of
the devils." The ecstatic character of musical emotion, of
course, did not escape them. " The power of harmony "
says Pierre d'Ailly " is such that it withdraws the soul from
other passions and from cares, nay, from itself."
The high valuation of the imitative element in art entailed
graver dangers for music than for painting. Composition of
the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries really suffered from the
craze for naturalistic music, such as the caccia (whence English
"catch"), originally representing a hunt with baying and
yelping hounds and blowing horns. At the beginning of the six-
teenth century, a pupil of Josquin de Pres, Jannequin, composed
several " Inventions " of this stamp, representing, amongst
others, the battle of Marignano, the street-cries of Paris,
the singing of birds and the chattering of women. Fortu-
nately, the musical inspiration of the epoch was far too rich
and alive to be enslaved by such an artificial theory; the
masterpieces of Dufay, Binchois or Okeghem are free from
imitative tricks.
Substituting for beauty the notions of measure, order and
appropriateness offered a very defective explanation of it.
One other means at least satisfied deeper aesthetic instincts :
the reduction of beauty to the sensation of light and splen-
dour. To define the beauty of spiritual things, Denis the
Carthusian always compares them^to light. Wisdom, science,
art, are so many luminous essences, illuminating the mind
by their brightness.
This tendency to explain beauty by light' sprang from a
strongly marked predilection of the medieval mind. When
we leave definitions of the idea of beauty aside, and examine
the aesthetic sense of the epoch in its spontaneous expres-
248 The Waning of the Middle Ages
sions, we notice that nearly always when men of the Middle
Ages attempt to express aesthetic enjoyment, their emotions
are caused by sensations of luminous brightness or of lively
movement.
Froissart, for example, is not, as a rule, very susceptible
to impressions of pure beauty. His endless narratives leave
him no time for that. There are one or two spectacles, how-
ever, which never fail to enrapture MTYI : that of vessels on
the sea with their pavilions and streamers, with their rich
decoration of many-coloured blazons, sparkling in the sun-
shine ; or the play of reflected sunlight on the helmets and
cuirasses, on the points of the lances, the gay colours of the
pennons and banners, of a troop of cavaliers on the march.
Eustache Deschamps has expressed his sense of the beauty
of mills in movement and of a ray of sunlight scintillating in
a dewdrop. La Marche was struck by the beauty of reflected
sunlight on the blonde hair of a cavalcade of German and
Bohemian noblemen. These displays of pathetic sentiment
are important, because in i^ej^eenth jcentury they are
extremely rare.
This fondness for all that glitters reappears in the general
gaudiness of dress, especially in the excessive number of
precious stones sewed on the garments. After the Middle
Ages this sort of ornament will be replaced by ribbons and
rosettes. Transferred to the domain of hearing, this partiality
for brilliant things is shown by the naive pleasure taken in
tinkling or clicking sounds. La Hire wore a red mantle covered
all over with little silver bells like cow-bells. At an entry
in 1465, Captain Salazar was accompanied by twenty men-
at-arms, the harness of whose horses was ornamented with
large silver bells. The horses of the counts of Charolais
and of Saint Pol were adorned in the same way, also those of
the lord of Croy, at the entry of Louis XI into Paris in 1461.
At festivals jingling florins or nobles were often sewn on to
the dress.
To determine the taste in colours characteristic of the
epoch would require a comprehensive and statistical research,
embracing the chromatic scale of painting as well as the colours
of costume and decorative art. Perhaps costume would
prove to be the best clue to the nature of the taste for colour,
The ^Esthetic Sentiment 249
because there it exhibits itself most spontaneously. Now, we
have very few specimens of the materials used at that time,
except in church vestments. Descriptions of costumes for
tournaments and festivals, on the other hand, are very numer-
ous. The following summary aims only at giving a pro-
visional impression, based on an examination of these descrip-
tions. It is necessary to observe that they refer to garments
of state and of luxury, differing, as to colour, from ordinary
costume, but showing the aesthetic sense more freely. When
we consult the accounts published by Monsieur Couderc of
a great Parisian tailor of the fifteenth century, we find that
the quiet colours, grey, black and violet, occupy a large place,
whereas in festal garments the most violent contrasts and
the most vivid colours abound. Bed predominates ; at some
princely entries all the accoutrements were in red. White
comes next in popularity. Every combination of colours was
allowed : red with blue, blue with violet. In an " entremets "
described by La Marche a lady appeared in violet-coloured
sil& on a hackney covered with a housing of blue silk, led
by tiiree men in vermilion-tinted silk and in hoods of green
silk.
Black was already a favourite colour, even in state apparel,
especially in velvets. Philip the Good, in his later yiears,
constantly dressed in black, and had his suite and horses
arrayed in the same colour. King Rene, who was always in
quest of what was refined and distinguished, combined grey
and white with black. Together with grey and violet, black
was far more in vogue than blue and green, whereas yellow
and brown are, as yet, almost completely wanting. Now,
the relative rarity of blue and of green must not be simply
ascribed to an aesthetic predilection. The symbolic meaning
attached to blue and green was so marked and peculiar as
to make them almost unfit for usual dress. They were the
special colours of love. Blue signified fidelity ; green, amorous
passion.
"H te fauldra de vert vestir,
C'est la livre'e aux amoureux. . . .*' *
i You will have to dress in green, It is the livery of lovers. . . .
250 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Thus says a song of the fifteenth century. Deschamps
says of the lovers of a lady :
"Li tins se vest pour li de vert,
L'autre de bleu, 1'autre de blanc,
L'autre s'en vest vermeil com sane,
Et cilz qui plus la veult avoir
Pour son grant dueil s'en vest de noir." x
Although other colours also had their meaning in amorous
symbolism, a man exposed himself specially to raillery by
dressing in blue or in green, above all in blue, for a suggestion
of hypocrisy was mixed up with it. Christine de Pisan makes
a lady say to her lover who draws attention to his blue dress :
" Au bleu vestir ne tient mie le fait
N'a devises porter, d'amer sa dame,
Mais au servir de loyal cuer parfait
Elle sans plus, et la garder de blasme.
... La gist I'amour, non pas.au bleu porter,
Mais puet estre que plusieurs le meffait
De faulset^ cuident couvrir soubz lame
Par bleu porter, . . ." a
That is probably why, by a very curious transition, blue,
instead of being the colour of faithful love, came to mean
infidelity too, and next, besides the faithless wife, marked
the dupe. In Holland the blue cloak designated an adulterous
woman, in France the " cote bleue " denotes a cuckold. At
last blue was the colour of fools in general.
Whether the dislike of brown and yellow sprang from an
aesthetic aversion or from their symbolic signification remains
undecided. Perhaps an unfavourable meaning was attributed
to them, because they were thought ugly.
"Gris et tann6e puis bien porter
Car ennuye* suis d'esp&rance," *
1 Some dress themselves for her in green, Another in blue, another in white,
Another dresses himself in vermilion like blood, And he who desires her most
Because of his great sorrow, dresses in black.
a To wear blue is no proof Nor to wear mottoes, of love, for one's lady, But
to serve her with a perfectly loyal heart And no others, and to keep her from
blame. . . . Love lies in that, not in wearing blue. But it may be that many
think To cover the ofEence of falsehood under a tombstone, By wearing
blue. . . .
9 1 may well wear grey and tan For hope has only brought me pain.
The Esthetic Sentiment 251
Grey and brown were both colours of sadness, yet grey
was much in demand for festal apparel, whereas brown was
very rare.
Yellow meant hostility. Henry of Wurtemberg passed
before Philip of Burgundy with all his retinue dressed in yellow,
" and the duke was informed that it was meant for him."
After the middle of the fifteenth century, there seems to be
a temporary diminution of black and white in favour of blue
and yellow. In the sixteenth century, at the same time when
artists begin to avoid the naive contrasts of primary colours,
the habit of using bizarre and daring combinations of colours
for costume vanishes too.
In so far as art is concerned, it might be supposed that
this change was due to the influence of Italy, but the facts
do not confirm this. Gerard David, who carries on most
directly the tradition of the primitive school, already shows
this refinement of colour-sentiment. It must therefore be
regarded as a tendency of a more general character. Here is
a domain in which the history of art and that of civilization
have still a great deal to learn from each other.
CHAPTER XXI
VERBAL AND PLASTIC EXPRESSION COMPARED
With each attempt to draw a sharp line of demarcation
between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, this border-
line has receded further and further backward. Ideas and
forms which one had been accustomed to regard as character-
istic of the Renaissance proved to have existed as early as
the thirteenth century. Accordingly, the word Renaissance
has been so much extended by some as to include even Saint
Francis of Assisi. But the term, thus understood, loses its
genuine meaning. On the other hand, the Renaissance,
when studied without preconceived ideas, is found to be full
of elements, which were characteristic of the medieval spirit
in its full bloom. Thus it has become nearly impossible to
keep up the antithesis, and yet we cannot do without it,
because Middle Ages and Renaissance by the usage of half
a century have become terms which call up before us, by
means of a single word, the difference between two epochs,
a difference which we feel to be essential, though hard to
define, just as it is impossible to express the difference of
taste between a strawberry and an apple.
To avoid the inconvenience inherent in the unsettled nature
of the two terms Middle Ages and Renaissance, the safest
way is to reduce them, as much as possible, to the meaning
they originally had f or instance, not to speak of Renaissance
in reference to Saint Francis of Assisi or the ogival style.
Nor should the art of Glaus Sluter and the brothers Van
Eyck be called Renaissance. Both in form and in idea it
is a product of the waning Middle Ages. If certain historians
of art have discovered Renaissance elements in it, it is be-
cause they have confounded, very wrongly, realism and Renais-
252
PORTRAIT OP
asaaoL BJ JAN VAS not
[See *o*e 254.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 253
sauce. Now this scrupulous realism, this aspiration to render
exactly all natural details, is the characteristic feature of the
spirit of the expiring Middle Ages. It is the same tendency
which we encountered in all the fields of the thought of the
epoch, a sign of decline and not of rejuvenation. The triumph
of the Renaissance was to consist in replacing this meticulous
realism by breadth and simplicity.
The art and literature of the fifteenth century in Erance and
in the Netherlands are almost exclusively concerned with giving
a finished and ornate form to a system of ideas which had long
since ceased to grow. They are the servants of an expiring
mode of thought. Now, the literature and the art of a period
in which artistic creation is almost limited to mere paraphras-
ing of ideas fully thought out, will differ widely from each
other in their value for future ages. Let us consider roughly,
for a moment, the impression left upon us, on the one hand,
by the literature of the fifteenth century, and on the other
hand by its painting. Villon and Charles d'Orleans apart, most
of the poets will appear superficial, monotonous and tiresome.
Always allegories with insipid personages and hackneyed moral-
izing, always the same themes repeated to satiety : the sleeper
in the orchard, who, in a dream, sees a symbolic lady ; the walk
at daybreak in the month of May ; the " debate " on a love case ;
in short, an exasperating shallowness, cloying romanticism,
vapid imagery. We shall rarely glean a thought there which
is worth being remembered, or an expression which dwells in
our memory. The artists, on the other hand, are not only very
great, like Van Eyck, Foucquet, or the unknown who painted
" The Man with the Glass of Wine," but nearly all, even the
mediocre ones, arrest our attention by each detail of their work
and hold us by their originality and freshness. Yet their con-
temporaries admired the poets much more than the artists.
Why was the flavour lost in the one case and preserved in the
other ?
The explanation is that words and images have a totally
different aesthetic function. If the painter does nothing but
render exactly, by means of line and colour, the external
aspect of an object, he yet always adds to this purely formal
reproduction something inexpressible. The poet, on the con-
trary, if he only aims at formulating anew an already expressed
254 The Waning of the Middle Ages
concept, or describing some visible reality, will exhaust the
whole treasure of the ineffable. Unless rhythm or accent
save it by their own charms, the effect of the poem will depend
solely on the echo which the subject, the thought in itself,
awakens in the soul of the hearer. A contemporary will be
thrilled by the poet's word, for the thought which the latter
expresses also forms an integral part of his own life, and it
will appear the more striking to him in so far as its form is
more brilliant. A happy selection of terms will suffice to make
the expression of it acceptable and charming to Mm. As soon,
however, as this thought is worn out and no longer responds
to the preoccupations of the soul of the period, nothing of
value is left to the poem except its form. No doubt, that is
of extreme value. Sometimes it is so fresh and so touching
that it makes us forget the insignificance of the contents. A
new beauty of form was already revealing itself in the literature
of the fifteenth century ; still, in the greater number of its
productions, the form as well was worn out and the qualities
of rhythm and tone are poor. In such a case, without novelty
of thought or form, nought remains but an interminable post*
lude on hackneyed themes, a poetry without a future.
The painter of the same epoch and of the same mentality
as the poet will have nothing to fear from time. For the
inexpressible which he has put into his work will always be
there as fresh as on the first day. Let us consider the por-
traits of Jan van Eyck, the somewhat pointed and pinched
face of his wife, the aristocratic, impassible and morose head
of Baudouin de Lannoy, the suffering and resigned visage of
the Arnolfini at Berlin, the enigmatic candour of " Leal
Souvenir " in the National Gallery. In each of these physiog-
nomies the personality was probed to the last inch. It is
the prof oundest character-drawing possible. These characters
were not analysed by the artist, but seen as a whole and then
revealed to us by his picture. He could not have described
them in words, even though he had been, at the same time,
the greatest poet of his age. Painting, even when it professes
no more than to render the outward appearance of things,
preserves its mystery for all time to come.
Hence the art and the literature of the fifteenth century,
though born of the same inspiration and the same spirit, in-
"LEAL SOUVENIR." "BY JAN VAN ETCK.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 255
evitably produce on us quite different effects. Apart from this
fundamental difference, it may be shown, by the comparison
of particular specimens, that the literary and the pictorial
expression hare far more traits in common than might be
supposed from our general appreciation of the one and the
other.
Let us take the brothers Van Eyck as being the most eminent
representatives of the art of the epoch. Who are the men of
letters to be matched with them, in order to compare their
inspiration, their modes of expression ? We have to look
for them in the same environment whence came the great
painters, that is to say, as we demonstrated above, in the
environment of the court, the nobility and the rich middle
classes. There we may assume an affinity of spirit to exist.
The literature which may be matched with the art of the
brothers Van Eyck is that which the patrons of painting
protected and admired.
At first sight the comparison seems to bring to light an
essential difference. Whereas the subject-matter of the
artists is almost entirely religious, the profane genre preponder-
ates in literature. Still, we must remember that the profane
element occupied a much larger place in painting than might
be supposed from what has been preserved. On the other
hand, we run some risk of overrating a little the preponderance
of profane literature. The history of literature, being natur-
ally concerned with the tale, the romance, the satire, the song,
historical writings, might easily lead us to forget that pious
works always occupied the first and the largest place in the
libraries of the time. In order to make a fair comparison
between fifteenth-century painting and literature, we must
begin by imagining side by side with the surviving altar-
pieces and portraits all sorts of worldly and even frivolous
paintings, such as hunting or bathing scenes. The above-
named Fazio mentions a picture by Rogier van der Weyden
representing a woman in a sweating-bath, with two laughing
young men peeping through a chink.
Art aixd letters in the fifteenth century share the general and
essential tendency of the spirit of the expiring Middle Ages :
that of accentuating every detail, of developing every thought
and every image to the end, of giving concrete form to every
256 The Waning of the Middle Ages
concept of the mind. Erasmus tells us that he once heard a
preacher in Paris preach during forty days on the Parable of
the Prodigal Son, so that he devoted all Lent to it. He
described his journeys on his setting out and on his return,
the bill of fare of his meals at the inns, the mills he passed, his
dicing, etc., torturing the texts of prophets and evangelists
to find some that might seem to give some support to his
twaddle. " And because of that the ignorant multitude and
the fat big-wigs considered him almost a god."
To realize the place conceded to the minute execution of
details, it suffices to examine some paintings by Jan van Eyck.
Let us first take the Madonna of the chancellor Eolin, at the
Louvre. In any other artist the laborious exactness with
which the materials of the dresses are painted, also the marble
of the tiles and the columns, the reflections of the window-
panes, and the chancellor's breviary, would give an impression
of pedantry. Even in him the exaggerated finish of the details,
as in the ornaments of the capitals, on which a whole series
of Biblical scenes is represented, is hurtful to the general effect.
But it is especially in the marvellous perspective opened
behind the figures of the Virgin and the donor that his passion
for details is given rein. " The dumbfounded spectator," as
Monsieur Durand-Gr6ville says in describing this picture, " dis-
covers between the head of the divine child and the Virgin's
shoulder, a town full of pointed gables and elegant belfries,
with a big church with numerous buttresses, and a vast square,
cut across all its length by a staircase on which come and go
and run countless little touches of the brush, which are so
many living figures ; his eye is next attracted by a curved
bridge swarming with groups of people who pass and repass ;
it follows the meanderings of a river on which tiny barks make
ripples ; and in the midst of which, on an island smaller than
the nail of a child's finger, rises up a lordly castle with numer-
ous turrets, surrounded by trees ; it traces on the left a quay
planted with trees, and covered with foot-passengers ; it goes
even further, passing beyond the green hill-tops, rests for a
moment on the distant line of snowy mountains, to lose itself,
at last, in the infinite space of a sky, which is hardly blue,
where floating vapours are vaguely discerned."
Are not unity and harmony lost in this aggregation of details^
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 257
as Michelangelo affirmed of Flemish art in general ? Hav-
ing recently seen the picture again, I can no longer deny
it, as I formerly did on the strength of recollections many
years old.
Another work of the master, which lends itself particularly
to the analysis of endless detail, is the " Annunciation " in the
Hermitage, at Petrograd. If the triptych of which this picture
formed the right wing ever existed as a whole, it must have
been a superb creation. Van Eyck here developed all the
virtuosity of a master conscious of his power to overcome all
difficulties. Of all his works it is the most hieratic and, at the
same time, the most refined. He followed the iconographic
rules of the past in using as a background for the apparition
of the angel the ample space of a church and not the intimacy
of a bedchamber, as he did in the altar-piece of the Lamb,
where the scene is full of grace and tenderness. Here, on the
Contrary, the angel salutes Mary by a ceremonious bow ; he
is not represented with a spray of lilies and a narrow diadem ;
he carries a sceptre and a rich crown, and about his lips there
is the stiff smile of the sculpture of JSgina. The splendour of
the colours, the glitter of the pearls, the gold and the precious
stones, surpass those of all the other angelic figures painted
by Van Eyck. His coat is green and gold, his mantle of bro-
cade is red and gold, his wings are covered with peacock
feathers. The book of the Virgin and the cushion before her
are executed with painstaking and minute care. In the church
there is a profusion of anecdotal details. The tiles of the pave-
ment are ornamented with the signs of the zodiac and scenes
from the lives of Samson and of David. The wall of the apse
is decorated with the figures of Isaac and of Jacob in the medal-
lions between the arches, and that of Christ on the celestial
globe between two seraphim in a window, besides other
mural paintings representing the finding of the child Moses
and the giving of the tables of the Law, all explained by legible
inscriptions. Only the decoration of the wooden ceiling,
though still discernible, remains indistinct.
This time unity and harmony are not lost in the accumula-
tion of details. The twilight of the lofty edifice envelops all
with mysterious shade, so that the eye can only with difficulty
distinguish the anecdotal details.
258 The Waning of the Middle Ages
It is the privilege of the painter that he can give the rein
to his craving for endless elaboration of details (perhaps one
ought to say, that he can comply with the most impossible
demands of an ignorant donor) without sacrificing the general
effect. - The sight of this multitude of details fatigues us no
more than the sight of reality itself. We only notice them if
our attention has been directed to them, and we soon lose
sight of them, so that they serve only to heighten effects of
colouring or perspective.
When the same boundless passion for details is displayed
in literature, the effect is quite different. In the first place,
literature proceeds in another way ; it sets itself to enumerate
all the ideas and all the objects which the mind of the poet
associates with his subject. Most of the authors of the fifteenth
century are singularly prolix. They do not know the value
of omission, they fill the canvas of their composition with all
the details that present themselves, but without giving, as
does painting, an accurate image of their particular features
they confine themselves to enumerating them. It is a
strictly quantitative method, whereas that of painting is
qualitative.
Another difference between the two modes of expression
proceeds from the fact that the relation between the essential
and the accidental is not the same in both. In painting we
can hardly distinguish between principal and accessory ele-
ments. Everything is essential. The principal subject may
be of no interest to the spectator or in his opinion badly ren-
dered, without the work losing its charm, on that account.
Unless the religious sentiment preponderates over aesthetic
Appreciation, the spectator before the altar-piece of the Lamb
will regard with as much, perhaps with more profound emo-
tion, the flowery field of the principal scene, the procession
of adorers of the Lamb, the towers behind the trees in the back-
ground, as the central figures of the composition in their
august divinity. His glance will stray from the rather un-
interesting figures of God, the Virgin, and Saint John the
Baptist, to those of Adam and Eve, to the portraits of the
donors, to the charming perspective of the sunlit street and
the little brass kettle with the towel. He will hardly ask if
the mystery of the Eucharist has here found its most appro-
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 259
priate expression, so much will he be enchanted by the touching
intimacy and the incredible perfection of all these details,
purely accessory in the eyes of those who ordered and who
executed the masterpiece.
Now, in the expression of details the artist is absolutely
free. Whereas he is tied down by rigid convention in the
composition of his principal theme he may give a free rein
to his imagination in all other respects. He may paint the
materials, the vegetation, the horizons, the faces, just as his
genius prompts him ; the wealth of detail will no more over-
load his picture than flowers weigh down a dress which they
adorn.
In the poetry of the fifteenth century the relation of the
essential to the accident is reversed. The poet is generally
free as regards his principal subject ; something novel is
expected from him. As to accessories, however, he is tied
down by tradition ; there is a conventional way of expressing
each detail, from which, though he may be unconscious of it,
he can hardly deviate ; the flowers, the delights of nature,
sorrows and joys, all these are sung in a fashion which varies
but little. Moreover, the salutary limitation which the dimen-
sion of his picture imposes upon the artist does not exist for
the poet, as a rule. Hence, to be worthy of this liberty the
poet should be relatively greater than the artist. Even
mediocre painters may delight posterity, whereas the mediocre
poet is forgotten.
To make the effect of the abuse of details in a fifteenth-
century poem felt, it would be necessary to quote it entirely.
As this is impossible, we must content ourselves with con-
sidering a few fragmentary specimens.
Alain Chartier in his day was held to be a great poet. He
was compared to Petrarch, and even Clement Marot placed
him in the first rank. We may, therefore, fairly compare his
work with that of the greatest painters of his time, and set
the description of nature with which his Livre des Quafre
Dames opens against the landscape of the altar-piece of the
Lamb.
One spring morning the poet goes out for a walk, to drive
away his persistent melancholy.
260 The Waning of the Middle Ages
"Pour oublier melencolie,
Et pour faire chiere plus lie,
Ung doulx matin aux champs issy,
An premier jour qu'amours ralie
Les cueurs en la saison jolie. . . ." 1
All this is conventional and without any special grace of
rhytjim or of accent. Then fdjllows the description of a spring
morning :
"Tout autour oiseaulx voletoient,
Et si tres-douLcement chantoient
Qu'il n'est cueur qui n'en fust joyeulx.
Et en chantant en Pair montoient,
Et puis Tun Pautre surmontoient
A I'estriv6e a qui mieulx mieulx.
Le temps n'estoit roie nueux,
De bleu estoient vestuz les cieux,
Et le beau soleil cler luisoit." 2
The mention of these delights would not have lacked charm
if the author had known where to stop. But he was not so
discreet ; having gone through all the singing birds, he con-
tinues his enumeration at a jog-trot :
" Les arbres regarday fLourir,
Et lievres et connins courir.
Du printemps tout s'esjouyssoit.
La sembloit amour seignourir.
Nul n'y peult vieillir ne mourir,
Ce me semble, tant qu'il y soit.
Des erbes ung flair doulx issoit,
Que 1'air sery adoulcissoit,
Et en bruiant par la valee
Ung petit ruisselet passoit,
Qui les pays amoitissoit,
Dont 1'eaue n'estoit pas salee.
La buvoient les oysillons,
Apres ce que des grisillons,
1 To forget melancholy, And to cheer myself, One sweet morning I went out
into the fields On the first day on which love joins Hearts in the beautiful
season.
1 AU around birds were flying, And they sang so very sweetly That there is
no heart that would not be gladdened by it. And while singing they rose
up in the air, And then passed and repassed each other, Vying with each other
aa to which should rise highest. The weather was not cloudy at all. The
heavens were clad in blue. And the beautiful sun was ghi-rymg brightly.
THE ANNUNCIATION. BY JAN VAN EYCK.
[See page 257.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 261
Des mouschettes et papillons
Hz avoient pris leur pasture.
Lasniers, aoutours, esmerillons
Vy, et mouches aux aguilions,
Qui de beau zniel paveillons
Firent aux arbres par mesure.
De 1'autre part fut la closture
D'tulg pr6 gracieuz, on nature
Sema les fleurs sur la verdure,
Blanches, jaunes, rouges et perses.
D'arbres flouriz fut la ceinture,
Aussi blancs que se neige pure
Les couvroit, ce sembloit paincture,
Taut y eut de couleurs diverses." x
A brook brawls over pebbles, fishes swim in it, a grove
spreads its twigs on the bank, forming a green curtain. And
then the birds reappear : ducks, turtle-doves, pheasants and
herons ; all the birds from here to Babylon, as Villon would
say.
The artist and the poet, both striving to render the beauty
of nature, both dominated by the tendency to fasten on each
detail, nevertheless arrive, because of the diversity of their
methods, at a very different result. Unity and simplicity in
the picture, in spite of the mass of details, monotony and form-
lessness in the poem.
But are we right in comparing poetry with painting, with
respect to expressive power ? Should we not rather take
prose, less tied down to obligatory motifs, freer in its choice of
means to give an exact vision of reality ?
One of the fundamental traits of the mind of the declining
Middle Ages is the predominance of the sense of sight, a pre-
dominance which is closely connected with the atrophy of
1 1 saw the trees blossom, And hares and rabbits run. Everything rejoiced
at the spring. Love seemed to hold sway there. None could age or die, It
seemed to me, so long as he was there. From the herbs arose a sweet smell,
Which the clear air made sweeter still, And purling through the valley A little
brook passed Moistening the lands Of which the water was not salt. There
drank the little birds After they had fed upon crickets, Little flies and butter-
flies. I saw there lanners, hawks and merlins, And flies with a sting (wasps)
Who made pavilions of fine honey In the trees by measure. In another part
was. the enclosure Of a charming meadow, where nature Strewed flowers
on the verdure White, yellow, red and violet. It was encircled by blossoming
trees As white as if pure snow Covered them, it looked like a painting, So many
various colours there were.
262 The Waning of the Middle Ages
thought. Thought takes the form of visual images. Really
to impress the mind a concept has first to take a visible shape.
The insipidity of allegory could be borne, because the satis-
faction of the mind lay in the vision. This constant need of
expressing the visible was far better fulfilled by pictorial than
by literary means. And again better by prose than by poetry,
because it conforms more easily to the visualizing turn of
mind. The prose of the fifteenth century in general is superior
to its poetry, because prose, like painting, could attain a high
degree of direct and powerful realism, which was denied to
poetry by its stage of development and by its proper nature.
There is one author, especially, who, by the eminent clear-
ness of his vision of external things, reminds us of Van Eyck,
namely, Georges Ohastellain. He was a Fleming from the Alost
district. Though he calls himself "a loyal Frenchman/' "a
Frenchman by birth," it is highly probable that Flemish was
his mother-tongue. La Marche calls him " a born Fleming,
though writing in the French language." He himself likes
to lay stress on his rusticity ; he speaks of " his coarse speech,"
he calls himself " a Flemish man, a man of the cattle-breeding
marshes, rude, ignorant, stammering of tongue, greasy of
mouth and of palate and quite bemired with other defects,
proper to the nature of the land." His Flemish birth explains
the heaviness of his flowery speech, his pompous and turgid
grandiloquence ; in short, his truly " Burgundian " style, which
makes him almost unbearable to the French reader. It is a
formal style, of somewhat elephantine character. But it is
also to his Flemish cast of mind that Chastellain owes his lucid
and penetrating vision and the richness of his colouring.
There are undeniable affinities between Chastellain and Jan
van Eyck. In his best moments Chastellain equals Van Eyck
at his worst, and that is saying a good deal. Let us recall the
group of singing angels of the altar-piece of the Lamb. Those
heavy dresses of red and gold brocade, loaded with precious
stones, those too expressive grimaces, the somewhat puerile
decoration of the lectern all this in painting is the equivalent
of the showy Burgundian prose. It is a rhetorician's style
transferred to painting. Now, whereas this rhetorical element
occupies but a small place in painting, it is the principal thing
in Chasteflain's prose, where the clear observation and the
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 263
vivid realism are too often drowned in the flood of flowery
phrases and stilted terms.
Only, when Chastellain describes an event which grips his
visualizing mind, he evinces an imaginative strength, which
makes him very interesting. He has no more ideas than his
contemporaries and colleagues ; his arsenal, like theirs, is stocked
with nothing but moral, pious and chivalrous commonplaces ;
his speculations never go below the surface. But his powers
of observation are remarkably keen and his descriptions very
lively.
The portrait he drew of Duke Philip has all the vigour of a
Van Eyck. He delights in the description of scenes of action
and passion, displaying a degree of true and simple realism
which would have made this chronicler an excellent novelist.
Take, for instance, his narrative of a quarrel between the duke
and his son Charles, which took place in 1457. His visual
perception is nowhere so vivid as here ; all the outward cir-
cumstances of the event are rendered with perfect clearness.
A few rather long quotations are indispensable.
The difference arose in connection with a vacancy in the
household of the young count of Charolais. The old duke
wanted, contrary to his promise, to give the place to a member
of the family of Croy, then in high favour. Charles, who did
not share his father's feelings for that family, had destined it
for one of his friends.
"Le due donques par un lundy qui estoit le jour Saint-
Anthoine, apres sa messe, aiant bien desir que sa maison
demorast paisible et sans discention entre ses serviteurs, et que
son fils aussi fist par son conceil et plaisir, apres que ji avoit
dit une grant part de ses heures et que la cappelle estoit vuide
de gens, il appela son fils & venir vers luy et lui dist doucement :
'Charles de 1'estrif qui est entre les sires de Sempy et de
H6meries pour le lieu de chambrelen, je vueil que vous y
mettez ces et que le sire de Sempy obtiengne le lieu vacant.'
Adont dist le conte : * Monseigneur, vous m'avez bailli6 une
f ois vostre ordonnance en laquelle le sire de Sempy n'est point,
et monseigneur, s'il vous plaist, je vous prie que ceste-l& je la
puisse garder.' ' Dea,' ce dit le due lors, ' ne vous chailliez des
ordonnances, c'est & moy & croistre et & diminuer, je vueil que
le sire de Sempy y soit mis.' * Hahan ! ' ce dist le conte (car
264 The Waning of the Middle Ages
ainsi jurait tousjours), c monseigneur, je vous prie, pardonuez-
moy, car je ne le pourroye faire, je me tiens a ce que vous
m'avez ordonne. Ce a fait le seigneur de Croy, qui m'a brasse
cecy, je le vois bien.' ' Comment,' ce dist le due, ' me d6sob6y-
rez-vous ? ne ferez-vous pas ce que je veuil ? ' c Monsei-
gneur, je vous ob6yray volentiers, mais je ne feray point cela.'
Et le due, & ces mots, enfelly de ire, respondit : * Ha ! garsson,
d6sobeyras-tu a ma volent6 ? va hors de mex yeux,' et le sang,
avecques les paroles, ltd tira &, cceur, et devint pS/le et puis &
coup enflamb6 et si espoentable en son vis, comme je Toys
recorder au clerc de la chapelle qui seul estoit empres luy, que
hideur estoit a le regarder." . . - 1
The duchess, who was present at this dispute, was so much
frightened by her husband's look, that she tried to lead her
son out of the oratory, and pushed him before her, to get out
of range of his father's wrath. But they had to turn several
corners before coming to the door of which the clerk had the
key. "Caron, open the door for us," says the duchess, but
the clerk falls at her feet, praying her to persuade her son to
ask pardon, before leaving the chapel. In answer to his
mother's urgent request, Charles answers in a loud voice :
"D6a, madame, monseigneur m'a deffendu ses yeux et est
1 The duke then, on a Monday, which was Saint Anthony's day, after mass,
being very desirous that his house should remain peaceful and without
dissensions between his servants, and that his son, too, should do his will
and pleasure, after he had already said a great part of his hours, and the chapel
was empty of people, called his son to come to him and said to him gently :
" Charles, the quarrel which is going on between the lords of Sempy and of
H&neries, about this place of chamberlain, I wish that you put a stop to it,
and that the lord of Sempy obtains the vacancy." Then said the count :
" Monseigneur, you once gave me your orders in which the lord of Sempy
is not mentioned, and monseigneur, if you please, I pray you, that I may keep
to them." " D3a," this said the duke then* "do not trouble yourself about
orders, it belongs to me to augment and to dirm'-niRh, I wish that the lord of
Sempy be placed there." " Hahan ! " this said the count (for he always
swore like that), " monseigneur, I beg you, forgive me, for I could not do it,
I abide by what you have ordered me. This was done by my lord of Oroy,
who played me this trick, I can see that." "How," this said the duke," will
you disobey me ? will you not do what I wish ? " " Monseigneur, I shall
gladly obey you. But I shall not do this." And the duke, at these words,
choking with anger, replied : " Ha. ! boy, will you disobey my will ? Go out
of my sight," and the blood with these words rushing to his heart, he turned
pale and then all at once flushed and there came such a horrible expression
on his face, as I heard from the clerk of the chapel, who alone was with him,
that it was hideous to look at him. ; . .
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 265
indigne sur moy, par quoy, apres avoir eu celle deffense, je
ne m*y retourneray point si tost, ains m'en yray &, la garde de
Dieu, je ne scay ou." 1 Then is heard the voice of the duke,
who has remained in his seat, paralysed with fury . . . and
the duchess in an agony of fear says to the clerk : "My friend,
open the door quickly, quickly, we must be gone, or we are
lost."
On returning to his apartments, the old duke, beside himself
with anger, fell into a fit of mental aberration ; about nightfall
he left Brussels alone, on horseback, insufficiently dressed and
without warning anyone. "Les jours pour celle heurre
d'alors estoient courts, et estoit fa basse vespree quant ce
prince droit-cy monta & cheval, et ne demandoit riens autre
f ors estre emmy les champs seid et & par luy. Sy porta ainsy
Paventure que ce propre jour-lJi, apres un long et fipre gel, il
faisoit un releng, et par une longue 6paisse bruyne, qui avoit
couru tout ce jour Ik, vespree tourna en pluie bien menue,
mais tres-mouillant et laquelle destrempoit les terres et rompoit
glasces avecques vent qui s'y entrebouta." 2
Both this passage, and the preceding one, are assuredly not
lacking in simple and natural force. In the description which
follows of the nocturnal ride of the duke, as he wanders through
the fields and woods, Chastellain has mixed his pompous rhe-
toric with this spontaneous naturalism, which produces a very
bizarre effect. Starving and tired, the old duke, having lost
his way, vainly calls for help. He narrowly escapes falling
into a river which he takes for a road. He is wounded by
falling with his horse. He listens in vain for the crowing of a
cock, or the barking of a dog, which might have indicated some
habitation to him. At last he perceives a glimmer and tries
to get to it ; loses sight of it, finds it again and reaches it at
last. "Mais plus Tapprochoit, plus sambloit hideuse chose
1 Faith, madam, monseigneur has forbidden me to come into hie sight and
is indignant at me, so that, after this prohibition, I shall not return to him
so soon, but under God's care, I shall go away, I do not know where.
* The days were short at that time, and it was already evening when that
prince here mounted his horse, and asked nothing but to be alone out in the
fields. It so happened that on that day after a long and sharp frost it had
begun to thaw, and because of -a lasting thick fog which had been about all
day, in the evening a fine but very penetrating rain began to fall, which soaked
the fields and broke the ice as did the wind which joined in.
566 The Waning of the Middle Ages
yb espoentable, car feu partoit d'une mote d'en plus de mille
ieux, avecques grosse fumiere, dont nul ne pensast a celle
lieure fors que ce fust ou purgatoire d'aucune me ou autre
illusion de I'ennemy, . . ." * Upon this he stops, but sud-
denly remembers that charcoal-burners are in the habit of
lighting such kilns in the depths of woods. However he does
not find a house anywhere near, and begins roaming about
once more. At last the barking of a dog directs him to the
hovel of a poor man, where he finds rest and food.
Other episodes furnished Chastellain with themes for striking
descriptions, such as the judicial duel between the two burghers
of Valenciennes, mentioned above ; the nocturnal quarrel at
the Hague, between the envoys of Friesland and some Bur-
gundian noblemen whose sleep they disturb by playing at
" touch and go " in the room above on their pattens ; the riot
at Ghent in 1467, at the entry of the new Duke Charles, which
coincided with the fair of Houthem, whither the people were
in the habit of taking the shrine of Saint Lievin in a procession.
In all these pages we admire the author's faculty of observa-
tion. A number of spontaneous details betray his strongly
visual perception. The duke facing the rebels sees before
him " a multitude of faces in rusty helmets, framing the grin-
ning beards of villains, biting their lips." The lout who forces
his way to the window, by the duke's side, wears a gauntlet of
blackened iron with which he strikes the window-sill to com-
mand silence.
The gift of finding the right and simple word accurately to
describe things seen is, at bottom, the same visual power
which enables Van Eyck to give his portraits their perfect
expression. Only, in literature, this realism remains enslaved
by conventional forms and suffocated under a heap of arid
rhetoric.
In this respect painting was greatly in advance of literature.
It was already expert in the technique of rendering the effects
of light. MMature-painters especially were occupied with
the problem of fixing the light-effect of a moment. In painting,
1 But the more he approached it, the more it seemed a hideous and frightful
thing, for fire came out of a mound in more than a thousand places with thick
smoke, and, at that hour, anybody would think that it was the purgatory of
some soul or some other illusion of the devil.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 267
the effect of a light in the dark was first successfully achieved by
Geertgen of Sint Jan of Haarlem, in his " Nativity," but long
before this the illuminators had tried to render the light of the
torches reflected on the cuirasses in the scene of the appre-
hension of Christ. The master who illuminated the Cu&r
d 9 Amours e&pris by King Rene had already succeeded in
painting a sunrise and the most mysterious twilights, the
master of the " Heures d'Ailly " a sun breaking through the
clouds after a thunderstorm. On the other hand, the literary
means for rendering the effects of light were still primitive.
But, perhaps, we should seek in another direction the literary
equivalent of this faculty for fixing the impression of a moment.
It would rather seem to lie in the current use, in the literature
of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, of oratio recta. At no
other epoch has the effect of direct speech been so eagerly
sought. The endless dialogues of which Froissart makes use,
even to make a political situation clear, are often empty
enough, nay, even tedious ; still sometimes the impression of
something immediate and instantaneous is produced in a very
vivid manner, for instance in the following dialogue, which
we should think of as being shouted. " Lors il entendi les
nouvelles que leur ville estoit prise. * Et de quel gens ? '
demande-il. Eespondirent ceulx qui & luy parloient : * Ce
sont Bretons ! ' * Ha/ dist-il, e Bretons sont mal gent, ils
pilleront et ardront la ville et puis partiront.' * Et quel
cry crient-ils ? ' dist le chevalier. c Certes, sire, ils orient
La Trimouille!'" 1
To quicken the movement of the dialogue I*roissart is rather
too fond of the trick of making one interlocutor repeat with
astonishment the last words of the other. " ' Monseigneur,
Gaston est mort/ * Mort 1 ' dist le conte. ' Certes, mort est-il
pour vray, monseigneur.' " 2
And elsewhere : " Si luy demanda, en cause d'amours et de
lignaige, conseil. 'Conseil,' respond! 1'archevesque, 'certes,
1 Then he heard the news that their town was taken. "And by what people?"
he asks. Those with whom he was speaking answered, " They are Bretons ! "
" Ha," says he, " Bretons are bad people, they will pillage and burn and after-
wards depart.*' " And what war-cry do they cry ? " said the knight. " Sure,
my lord, they cry La Trimouille ! "
* " My lord, Gaston is dead." " Bead ? " said the count. " Indeed, he ifl
dead in sooth, my lord. 9 '
268 The Waning of the Middle Ages
beaux nieps, c'est trop tard. Vous vou!6s clore Testable quand
le cheval est per du/ " 1
Poetry, too, used the trick of short alternating sentences a
good deal.
" Mort, je me plaing De qui ? De toy.
Que t'ay je fait ? Ma dame as pris,
C'est v&ite*. Dy moy pour quoy.
H me plaisoit Tu as mespris." a
Here the means have become the object. The virtuosity of
these jerky dialogues was carried to an extreme in the ballad
of Jean Meschinot, in which France accuses Louis XI. In
each of the thirty lines, questions and answers alternate,
sometimes more than once. Still, this bizarre form does not
destroy the effect of the political satire. This is the first
stanza :
" Sire . . . Que veux ? Entendez . . . Quoy ? Mon cas.
Or dy. Je suys . . . Qui ? La destruicte France !
Par qui ? Par vous. Comment ? En tous estats.
Tu mens. Non fais. Qui le dit ? Ma souffrance.
Que souffres tu ? Meschief Quel ? A oultrance.
Je n'en croy rien. Bien y pert. N'en dy plus !
Las ! si f eray. Tu perds temps. Quelz abus !
Qu'ay-je mal fait ? Contre paix Et comment ?
Guerroyant , . . Qui ? Vos amys et congnus.
Parle plus beau Je ne puis, bonnement." 3
With Froissart the sober and accurate description of out-
ward circumstances sometimes acquires tragic force, just
because it leaves out all psychological speculation, as for
instance in the episode of the death of the young Gaston
1 So he asked him for counsel in matters of love and lineage. The arch-
bishop answered, " Counsel, sure, good nephew, it is too late for that. You
want to shut the stable when the horse is lost."
* Death I complain. Of whom ? Of you. What have I done to you ?
You have taken my lady. That is so. Tell me why ? It pleased me.
You mistook.
* Sire . . . What do you want ? Listen ... To what ? To my case.
Speak out. lam . . . Who? Devastated France! By whom ? By you.
How? In all estates. You He. I do not. Who says so? My sufferings. What
do you suffer ? Misery. Which ? The extremity of misery. I do not
believe a word of it. Evidently. Do not say any more about it. Alas !
I must. It is no use. What a shame 1 What have I done ill ? You have
sinned against peace. And how? By warring. With whom ? With your
friends and kinsmen. Speak more pleasingly. I cannot, in truth.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 269
Phebus, killed by his father in a fit of anger. Froissart's soul
was a photographic plate. Under the uniform surface of his
own style we may discern the qualities of the various story-
tellers who communicated to him the endless number of his
items of news. For example, all that was told him by his
travelling companion, the knight Espaing du Lyon, has been
admirably rendered.
In short, whenever the literature of the period works by
means of direct observation, without conventional trammels,
it approaches painting, without however rivalling it. There-
fore we should not look for the equivalents of painted landscapes
or interiors in literary descriptions of nature. Painting of
the fifteenth century produced marvels of perspective, because
there the masters could let themselves go, as landscapes were
accessory and did not suffer from the same severe restrictions
as the principal subject. Notice the contrast between the
principal scene and the background of the " Adoration of the
Magi " in the " Trfes riches heures de Chantflly." The figures
in the foreground are affected and bizarre, the scene is over-
crowded, whereas the view of Bourges in the distance attains
a perfect serenity and harmony.
In literature, on the other hand, the feeling for nature was
not free, neither was the manner of expressing it. Love of
nature had taken the form of the pastoral and was therefore
controlled by sentimental and aesthetic convention. The poems
in which the beauty of flowers and the song of birds are sung
proceed from an inspiration quite different from that which
gave birth to painted landscapes. Literature in describing
nature moves on another plane than painting.
Nevertheless it is in the pastoral that we can trace the
development of the literary feeling for nature. Side by side
with the poems of Alain Chartier, cited above, we may place
those of the royal shepherd Rene singing in a disguised form
his love for Jeanne de Laval, in the pastoral poem of Regnault
et Jehanneton. There we find ingenuous gaiety and freshness ;
the king even tried, not without success, to render the effect
of night closing in, but all this is far from being great art, like
that of the calendars in the breviaries.
The pictures of the months in the calendar of the " Trfes
riches heures de Chantilly " enable us to compare the espres-
270 The Waning of the Middle Ages
sion of the same motif in art and in literature, and that strongly
in favour of the former. The reader will remember the glorious
castles which ornament the background of the miniatures of
the brothers of Limburg ; September with the vintage in pro-
gress and the castle of Saumur, rising like a vision behind it,
the steeples of the towers with their high weather-vanes, the
pinnacles and the graceful chimneys, all shooting up like tall
white flowers against the deep blue of the sky ; or December
and the sombre towers of Vincennes looming threateningly
behind the leafless woods. What means or methods had a
poet like Eustache Deschamps at his disposal to rival scenes
like these when he produced a sort of literary counterpart to
them in a series of poems, in praise of seven castles of Northern
Prance ? The description of architectural forms at which he
tried his hand in the lines devoted to the castle of Bievre was
by no means successful. So he limited himself to enumerating
the delights which these castles provided ; thus, speaking of
Beaute, he says :
"Son filz ainsn6, daulphin de Viennois,
Donna le nom a ce lieu de Beaute.
Et c'est bien drois, car moult est delectables :
L'en y oit bien. le rossignol chanter ;
Maine 1'ensaint, les haulz bois profitables
Du noble pare puet 1'en veoir branler. . . .
Les prez sont pres, les jardins deduisables,
Les beaus preaulx, fontenis bel et cler,
Vignes aussi et les terres arables,
Moulins tournans, beaus plains a regarder." *
What a difference between the effect of these lines and
that of the miniature ! And yet the method is the same : it
is an enumeration of the things seen (or, in the case of the
poet, things heard). But the view of the artist embraces a
definite and limited space, in which he not merely has to
collect a number of things, but also to harmonize and blend
them into a single whole. In the miniature of February Paul
1 His eldest son, the dauphin of Viennois, Gave this spot the name of
Beauty. And justly, for it is very delectable : One hears the nightingale
sing there ; The river Maine surrounds it, the lofty pleasant woods Of the
noble park may be seen waving on the wind. Meadows are near, pleasure-
gardens, The fine lawns, beautiful and dear fountains, Also vineyards and
arable lands, Turning mills, plains beautiful to view.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 271
of Limburg assembled all the peculiarities of winter : peasants
warming themselves before the hearth, the wash drying,
crows on the snow, the sheepfold and beehives, the barrels
and the cart, and the wintry landscape in the background
with the tranquil village and the solitary house on the hill. All
this mass of details is worked into the peaceful harmony of
the landscape, and the unity of the picture is perfect. The
poet, on the other hand, suffers his gaze to roam at will, but
never concentrates it ; and there is no framework to compel
him to give unity to his work.
In an epoch of pre-eminently visual inspiration, like the
fifteenth century, pictorial expression easily surpasses literary
expression. Although representing only the visible forms
of things, painting nevertheless expresses a profound inner
sense, which literature when it limits itself to describing
externals wholly fails to do.
The poetry of the fifteenth century often gives us the im-
pression of being almost devoid of new ideas. The inability
to invent new fiction is general. The authors rarely go beyond
the touching up, embellishing or modernizing of old subject-
matter. TVTiat may be called a stagnation of thought prevails,
as though the mind, exhausted after building up the spiritual
fabric of the Middle Ages, had sunk into inertia. The poets
themselves are aware of this feeling of fatigue. Deschamps
laments :
"H&as ! on dit que je ne fads mds rien,
Qui jadis fis mainte chose nouvelle ;
La raison est que je n'ay pas merrien
Dont je fisse chose bonne ne belle," x
In the fifteenth century the old romances of chivalry are
recast from verse into very prolix prose. This " unrhyming "
" d6rimage "is another sign of the general stagnation of
fancy. Nevertheless it marks at the same time an important
broadening in the general conception of literature. In the
more primitive stages of literature verse is the primary mode
of expression. As late as the thirteenth century every sub-
ject, even natural history or medicine, seemed to lend itself
i Alas ! it is said that I no longer make anything, I who fo f rl y ,
many new things ; The reason is that I have no subject-matter Of which to
make good or fine things.
272 The Waning of the Middle Ages
to treatment in verse, because the principal mode of assimilat-
ing a written work was still hearing it recited and getting it
by heart. Even the "chansons de geste," it seems, were
chanted to a uniform melody. Individual and expressive decla-
mation, as we understand it, was unknown in the Middle Ages.
The growing predilection for prose means that reading was
superseding recitation. Another custom, dating from the
same epoch, testifies to this transition, namely the division of a
work into small chapters with summaries, whereas formerly
scarcely any division had been thought necessary. In fifteenth-
century literature prose was, to a certain degree, the more
refined and artistic form.
The superiority of prose is, however, purely formal; it lacks
novelty of thought just as much as poetry. Froissart is the
type of this extreme shallowness of thought and facility of
expression. The simplicity of his ideas is surprising. Only
three or four motives or sentiments are known to him : fidelity,
honour, cupidity, courage, and these in their simplest forms.
He uses no allegorical or mythological figures, never touches
on theology, and even moral reflections are almost wholly
absent. He goes on narrating, without effort, correctly, and
yet he remains empty, because he has but the mechanical
exactitude of a cinematograph. His moral reflections, when
they do occur, are so commonplace as to be almost bewildering.
Certain conceptions are, with him, always accompanied by
fixed judgments. He cannot speak of Germans without recall-
ing their cupidity and their barbarous treatment of prisoners.
Even the quotations from Froissart which are currently pre-
sented to us as piquant prove when read in their context to
lack the point attributed to them. On reading his apprecia-
tion of the first Duke of Burgundy of the house of Valois, " sage,
froid et imaginatif, et qui sur ses besognes yeoit au loin," 1 we
think we have lighted upon a penetrating and concise analysis
of character. Only, Froissart applied these terms to almost
everybody !
The poverty and sterility of Froissart's mind, as compared
with Chastellain's, for example, is all the more evident, as
his style is wholly devoid of rhetorical qualities. Now it is
rhetoric which in the literature of the fifteenth century signal-
1 Wise, frigid and imaginative, and far-sighted in business.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 273
izes the coming of the new spirit. For readers of that age lack
of novelty in the matter was made up for by the aesthetic
enjoyment of an ornate style. Everything seemed to them to
be new when garbed in far-fetched and turgid phrases. It
is an error to suppose that only literature cultivated this
stylistic ornamentation, and that art was exempt from it.
Art also displays the same pursuit of novelty and rich variety
of expression. In the pictures of the brothers Van Eyck
there are parts which might be called " rhetorician-like " :
for example, the figure of Saint George presenting Canon van
de Paele to the Virgin at Bruges. The magnificent helmet,
the gilt armour, in which a naive classicism is apparent, the
dramatic gesture of the saint, all this is closely akin to Chas-
tellain's grandiloquence. The same tendency recurs in the
figure of the archangel Michael in the small triptych of Dresden
and in the group of angels singing and playing, on the altar-
piece of the Lamb. It is also present in the work of the
brothers of Limburg : for instance, in the bizarre magnificence
of their c< Adoration of the three Magi."
Unless the ornate form be so charming and so novel as to
suffice in itself for giving life to a piece of verse, the poetry of
the fifteenth century is happiest when it is not aspiring to
express an important thought, nor aiming at elegance of style.
When it is content to call up a simple image or scene, or to
express a simple sentiment, it is not without vigour. Hence
it is more successful in short pieces than in long-winded com-
positions and grave subjects. In the roundel and the ballad,
constructed on a single airy theme, all grace depends on tone,
rhythm and vision ; in fact, the more the artistic song of the
time approaches the popular song, the greater is its charm.
The end of the fourteenth century is a turning-point in the
relations between music and lyrical poetry. The song of the
preceding period was intimately linked with musical recitation,
The common type of the lyrical poet of the Middle Ages is
always the poet-composer. Guillaume de Machaut used to
compose the melodies of his poems. He also fixed the custom-
ary lyrical forms of his time : roundels, ballads, etc. He
invented the " dSbat," the contention of different parties on
a moot point. His roundels and ballads are very airy, simple*
in form and thought ; they have little colour ; all these are
274 The Waning of the Middle Ages
merits, for a poem that is sung should not be too expressive.
Here is an example :
"Au departir de vous mon cuer vous lais
Et je m'en vois dolans et esploure*s.
Pour vous sfcrvir, sans retraire jamais,
Au departir de vous mon cuer vous lais.
Et par m'ame, je n'arai bien ne pais,
Jusqu'au retour, einsi desconfort6s.
Au departir de vous mon cuer vous lais
Et je m'en vois dolans et esplour^s." 1
In Eustache Deschamps we no longer find composer and poet
united. Hence his ballads are much more vivid and highly
coloured than Machaut's, therefore often more interesting and
yet of an inferior poetical style.
The roundel, because of its very structure, preserved the airy
and fluent character of a song to be set to music, even after
poets ceased to be composers.
" M'aimerez-vous bien,
Dictes, par vostre ame ?
Mais que je vous ame
Plus que nulle rien,
M'aimerez-vous bien ?
Dieu mit tant de bien
En vous, que c'est basme
Pour ce je me clame
Vostre. Mais combien
M'aimerez-vous bien ? " a
These lines are by Jean Meschinot. The simple and pure
talent of Christine de Pisan lends itself admirably to these
fugitive effects. She versified with the facility characteristic
of the epoch, without much variety of form or thought, in a
subdued tone and with a slight touch of melancholy. Her
poems remind us of those ivory tablets of the fourteenth cen-
tury, which always represent the same motifs : a hunting
scene, episodes of the Roman de la Rose or of Tristram and
1 On parting from you I leave yon my heart And I go away lamenting
and weeping. To serve you without ever retracting. And by my soul, I
shall indeed have no peace Till my return, being thus discomforted.
a Do you love me indeed ? Tell me, by your soul. If I love you More than
anything, Will you love me indeed ? God put so much goodness In you that
it is balm ; Therefore I proclaim myself Yours. But how much Will you love
met
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 275
Yseult, yet always retain a certain freshness and impeccable,
though conventional, gracef illness. When in Christine courtly
sweetness goes hand in hand with the simplicity of the popular
song, we hear an accent of the most exquisite purity.
We print the dialogue of two lovers who meet after a
separation.
"Tu soies le tres bien venu,
M'amcmr, or m'embrace et me baise
Et comment t'es tu maintemi
Pols ton depart ? Sain et bien aise
As tu est6 toujours ? Qa vien
Cost6 moy, te si6 et me conte
Comment t'a est6, mal ou bien,
Car de ce vueil savoir le compte.
Ma dame, a qui je sttis tenu
Plus que atiltre, a nul n'en desplaise,
Saches que desir m'a tenu
Si court qu'oncques n'oz tel mesaise,
Ne plaisir ne prenoie en rien
Loings de vous. Amours, qui cuers dompte,
Me disoit : ' Loyaut6 me tien,
Car de ce vueil savoir le compte.'
Dont m'as tu ton serment tenu,
Bon gr6 t'en S9ay, par saint Nicaise ;
Et puis que sain es revenu
Joye arons assez ; or t'apaise
Et me dis se scez de combien
Le mal qu'en as eu a plus monte
Que cil qu'a souffert le cuer mien,
Car de ce vueil savoir le compte.
Plus mal que vous, si com retien,
Ay eu, mais dites sanz mesconte,
Quans baisiers en aray je bien ?
Car de ce vueil savoir le compte." *
1 You are most welcome, My love ; now embrace me and kiss me. And
how have yon been Since your departure ? Healthy and at ease Have you
always been ? Here, come Beside me ; sit down and tell me How you have
been, well or not, For of this I want to have an account.
Lady, to whom I am bound More than to anyjother, may it displease
no one, Enow that desire so curbed me That I never had such discomfort
Nor did I take pleasure in anything Far from you. Love, who tames hearts,
Said to me : " Remain faithful to me, For of this I want to have an account."
So you kept your oath to me, I thank you much for it by saint Nicaise ;
276 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Here is a girl deploring the absence of her lover :
" H a au jour d'td un mois
Que mon ami s'en ala.
Mon cuer'remaint morne et cois,
H a au jour d'ui un mois.
* A Dieu,' me dit, ' je m'en vois ' ;
Ne puis a moy ne parla,
H a au jour d'ui un mois." x
Here are words of consolation, addressed to a lover ;
" Mon ami, ne plourez plus ;
Car tant me faittes piti
Que mon cuer se rent conclus
A vostre doulce amisti6.
Beprenez autre maniere ;
Pour Dieu, plus ne vous doiilez,
Et me faittes bonne chiere :
Je vueil quanque vous voulez." 2
What gives these verses their abiding womanly charm is their
spontaneous tenderness, their simplicity devoid of all pomp and
pretension. Christine was content to follow the inspiration of
her heart. But this is also the reason why her poems so often
show the defect, characteristic of the poetry and music of all
epochs of feeble inspiration, that of exhausting all their vigour
in the opening lines. How many poems do we find with a fresh
and striking theme, which begin like a blackbird's song, only
to lose themselves in thin rhetoric after the first stanza ! The
poet (or in music, the composer), after stating his theme, had
And as you came back safe and sound We shall have joy enough ; now be
appeased And tell me if you know by how much The grief you had from it
exceeds That which my heart has suffered, For of this I want to have an
account.
More grief than you, as I think, I had, but tell me without miscalculation,
How many kisses shall I have for it T For of this I want to have an account.
1 It is a month to-day Since my lover departed. My heart remains gloomy
and silent. It is a mouth to-day. " Good-bye," Ipte said, " I am going " ;
Since then he has not spoken to me. It is a month to-day,
* Friend, weep no more ; For I am so touched with pity That my heart
gives itself up To your sweet friendship. Change your bearing ; For God's
sake, be sad no longer. And show me a cheerful face : I am willing whatever
you will.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 277
come to the end of his inspiration. We are constantly disil-
lusioned in this way by most of the fifteenth-century poets.
Here is an example taken from the ballads of Christine de
Pisan:
" Quant chactoa s'en revieut de Post
Pour quoy demeures tu derriere ?
Et si scez que m'amour entiere
T'ay bailtee n garde et depost." 3
One expects the motif of the dead lover who reappears. But
we are deceived : after two more insignificant stanzas the poem
finishes. What freshness there is in the first lines of Eroissart's
Debat dou Cheval et dou Levrier :
"Eroissarfe d'Escoc revenoit
Sus tin cheval qui gris estoit,
Un blazxc levrier menoit en lasse.
* Las,' dist le leader, * je me lasse,
Grisel, quant nous reposerons ?
n est heure que nous mengons.' " a
After this the charm is lost ; the author, in short, had no
other inspiration than a moment's vision of the two animals
conversing.
The motifs are occasionally of incomparable grandeur and
suggestive force, but the development remains most feeble.
The theme of Pierre Mchault in his Danse <mx Aveugles was
masterly ; the everlasting dance of the human race about the
thrones of the three blind deities, Love, Fortune, and Death.
He only succeeded in working it up into very mediocre poetry.
An anonymous poem, entitled Exclamation des Os Sainct Inno-
cent, begins by making the charnel-houses of the famous church-
yard speak :
"Les os sommes des povres trespasses.
Cy amassez par monceaulx compassez,
Rompus, cassez, sans reigje ne compas. . . ." 8
i When everybody comes back from the army Why do you stay behind ?
Yet you know that I pledged you My loyal love to keep*
* Froissart came back from Scotland On a horse which was grey, He led
a white greyhound in a leash. "Alas," said the greyhound, "I am tired,
Grisel, when shall we rest ? It is time we were feeding."
We are the bones of the poor dead, Here heaped up by measured mounds,
Broken, fractured, without rule or measure.
278 The Waning of the Middle Ages
What an exordium for a weird lament ! Yet what follows
is a most commonplace memento mori.
All these themes have only been realized visually. Such
vision may supply an artist with material for a most grand
conception and consummate execution ; it is insufficient for
a poet.
CHAPTER XXII
VERBAL AND PLASTIC EXPRESSION COMPARED
n
The superiority of painting to literature in point of expres-
siveness is not, however, absolute and complete. There are
regions where it does not exist, and these we must now consider.
The whole domain of the comic is much more open to litera-
ture than to plastic art. Unless it stoops to caricature, art
can only express the comic in a slight degree. In art the
comic tends at once to become serious again ; we do not laugh
on looking at Breughel, although we admire in him the same
force of droll fancy which makes us laugh in reading Rabelais.
Only where the comic forms but a slight accessory can pictorial
expression rival the written word. We can observe it in what
is called genre painting, which may be considered the most
attenuated form of the comic.
The disproportionate refinement of details which we noticed
above as being characteristic of the paintings of the epoch
tends insensibly to change into the pleasure of relating petty
curious facts. Whereas in the room of Arnolfini the minutiae
do not injure the solemn intimacy of the picture in the least,
they have become mere curiosities in the master of F16malle.
His Joseph on the " Altar of Merode " is occupied with making
mouse-traps. With him all the details are " genre," with an
almost imperceptible flavour of the comic about them. Be-
tween his manner of painting an opened window-shutter, a
sideboard, a chimney, and that of Van Eyck, there is all
the difference between purely pictorial vision and " genre "
painting.
Now here comes to light a clear advantage of speech over
pictorial representation. As soon as something more than
mere vision has to be expressed, literature, thanks to its
279
280 The Waning of the Middle Ages
faculty of expressing moods explicitly, takes the lead. Let
us remember again Deschamps' ballads, celebrating the beauty
of the castles, which we compared with and found inferior
to the perfect miniatures of the brothers of Limburg. These
poems of Deschamps lack power and splendour ; he has not
succeeded in reproducing the vision of these glorious halls.
But now compare the ballad in which he paints himself,
lying ill in his poor little castle of Fismes, kept awake by the
cries of barn-owls, starlings, crows and sparrows, nesting in
his tower.
"C'est tine estrange melodie
Qui ne semble pas grant deduit
A gens qui sont en maladie.
Premiers les corbes font savoir
Pour certain si tost qu'il est jour :
De fort crier font leur pouoir,
Le gros, le gresle, sanz sejour ;
Mieulx vauldroit le son d'un tabour
Que telz cris de divers oyseaulx,
Puis vient la proie ; vaches, veaulx,
Crians, muyans, et tout ce miit,
Quant on a le cervel trop vuit,
Joint du moustier la sonnerie,
Qui tout 1'entendement destruit
A gens qui sont en maladie." - 1
At night the owls come with their sinister screeching, evok-
ing thoughts of death :
" C'est froit hostel et xnal reduit
A gens qui sont en maladie." a
This trick of the mere enumeration of a multitude of details
loses its wearisome character, as soon as the faintest trace of
humour is mixed up with it. la the middle of a very prolix
allegorical poem, L'Espinette amoureuse, Froissart diverts us
i It is a strange melody, Which is not felt as a great amusement By people
who are ill. First the ravens let us know For certain as soon as it is day:
They cry aloud with all their might In deep and shrUl tones, without interrup-
tion. Even the sound of a drum would be better Than those cries of various
birds. Next come the cattle going to pasture, cows, calves, Bellowing,
lowing, and all this is noxious When one has an empty brain, With the bells
of the church qMfag in, And destroying altogether the understanding Of
people who are ill.
'It is a cold hostelry and ill refuge for people who are ill.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 281
by the enumeration of some sixty games at which he used to
play at Valenciennes as a boy. The descriptions of burgher
customs or of the female toilet, long though they be, do not
fatigue us, because they contain a satirical element which
was lacking in the poetical descriptions of the beauty of spring.
From the "genre" to the burlesque is but a step. But
here again painting may rival literature in expressive power.
Before 1400 art had already attained some mastery of this
element of burlesque vision which was to reach its full growth
in Pieter Breughel in the sixteenth century. We find it in
the figure of Joseph in the " Flight into Egypt " by Broeder-
lam at Dijon and, again, in the three soldiers asleep in the
picture of the " Three Marys at the Sepulchre," at one time
attributed to Hubert Van Eyck. Of the artists of the epoch
none took more pleasure in effects of bizarre jocularity than
Paul of Hamburg. A spectator of the "Purification of the
Virgin " wears a kind of bent wizard's cap, a yard long, and im-
moderately wide sleeves. The font displays three monstrous
masks, shooting out their tongues. In the framework of the
" Visitation/' we see a soldier in a tower fighting with a snail,
and a man wheeling away on a barrow a pig playing the
bagpipes.
The literature of the epoch is bizarre in nearly every page,
and very fond of burlesque. A vision worthy of Breughel is
called up by Deschamps in the ballad of the watchman on
the tower of Sluys ; he sees the troops for the expedition
against England collecting on the beach ; they appear to him
like an army of rats and mice.
' . " Avaat, avant I tirez-vous a.
Je roy merveille, ce me semble.
Et quoy, guette, que vois-tu 1& ? s
Je voy dix nolle rats ensemble
Et madnte souris qui s'assemble
Dessus la rive de la mer. . . .'* *
On another occasion, sitting at table, absent-minded and
gloomy, Deschamps suddenly began to notice the way in
which the courtiers were eating : some chewing like pigs ;
i Forward, forward, come here- I see a marvellous thing, it seems to me.
And [S watchman, do yon see there 1-1 see ten thousand rats together
And a multitude of race collecting On the seashore. . . .
282 The Waning of the Middle Ages
some gnawing like mice, or using their teeth like a saw;
others whose beards moved up and down or who made such
horrible faces that they looked like devils.
As soon as literature sets to work to depict the life of the
masses, it shows this realism full of vitality and good humour,
which was to develop abundantly, but not till later, in paint-
ing. The peasant receiving in his hovel the duke of Burgundy,
who has lost his way, reminds us, by the portrait which
Chastellain draws of him, of Breughel's types. The Pastoral
deviates from its central theme, which is sentimental and
romantic, to find in the description of shepherds eating, danc-
ing, and courting, matter for a naive naturalism with a spice
of burlesque.
Wherever the eye suffices for communicating the sense of
the comic, however airy it may be, art is able to express it
as well as, or better than, literature. Apart from this, pictorial
art can never render the comic. Line and colour are impotent
wherever the comic effect lies in a point of wit. literature is
incontestably sovereign both in the low-comedy genre of the
farce and the fabliaux, and in the higher domain of irony.
It is especially in erotic poetry that irony developed ; by
adding its acrid flavour it refined the erotic genre ; it purified
it at the same time by introducing into it an element of a
serious nature. Outside the pale of love-poetry irony was
still heavy and clumsy. It is worth remarking that a French
writer of the fourteenth or fifteenth century, speaking ironic-
ally, often takes care to inform his reader of the fact. Des-
champs praises his age ; all is well, peace and justice reign
everywhere :
" L'en me demande chaseun jour
Qu'il me semble du temps que voy,
Et je respons : c'est tout honour,
LoyautS, verit6 et foy,
Largesce, prouesce et arroy,
CharitS et biens qui s'advance
Pour le commun ; mais, par ma loy,
Je ne di pas quanque je pence." 1
1 People ask me every day What I think of the present times, And I answer :
it is all honour, Loyalty, truth and faith, LiberaJity, heroism and order, Charity
and advancement Of the common weal ; but, by my faith, I do not say wh&1*
I think.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 283
Another ballad, of the same tenor, has the refrain : " Tons
ces poins a rebours retien" ; x a third ends with the words :
"Prince, s'il est par tout generalment
Comme je say, toute vertu liabonde ;
Mais tel m'orroit qui diroit : ' n so ment J . . ." a
A wit of the end of the fifteenth century entitles an epi-
gram : " Sonbz une meschante paincture faicte de mauvaises
couleurs et du plus meschant peinctre du monde, par maniere
d'yronnie par maltre Jehan Robertet." 8
When dealing with love, on the other hand, irony had
already often attained a high degree of refinement. In this
region it blended with the gentle despondency and the languish-
ing tenderness which renewed the erotic poetry of the fifteenth
century. For the first time we hear the poet voice his melan-
choly with a smile about his own misfortune, such as Villon
giving himself the air of " 1'amant remis et renie " 4 or Charles
of Orleans singing his little songs of disillusion. Nevertheless
the figure " Je riz en pleurs " 5 is not Villon's invention.
Long before hi the scripture word, risus dolore miscebitur
et extrema gaudii luctus owwpat* had given a text for poetical
application. Othe de Granson, for example, had said :
ou lit et jeuner & la table
Eire plourant et en plaignant chanter." 7
And again :
" Je prins congie de ce tresdoulz enfant
Les yeulx mouilliez et la bouche riant," 8
Alain Chartier made use of the same motif in various ways :
l Take all these points just the other way about.
2 Prince, if it is generally everywhere As I know : every virtue abounds ;
But many a man hearing me will say : He lies.
Under a bad picture done in bad colours and by the most paltry painter
of the world, in an ironical manner by master Jehan Roberfcet.
The shelved and rejected lover.
5 I laugh in tears.
8 Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful ; and the end of that mirth is
wake and fasting at the board, Laughing in tears and lament-
Ttook^eave of this most sweet child With tearful eyes and a laughing
mouth.
284 The Waning of the Middle Ages
" Je n'ay bouche qui puisse rire,
Que les yeulx ne la desmentissent :
Car le cueur Ten vouldroit desdire
Par les lerxnes qui des yeulx issent." 1
He says of a disconsolate lover :
" De faire chiere s'efforoit
Et menoit une joye fainte,
Et & chanter son cueur forcoit
Non pas pour plaisir, mats pour crainte,
Car tous jours ung relaiz de plainte
S'enlassoit au ton de sa voix,
Et revenoit a son attainte
Co-nriTne 1'oysel au chant du bois." a
Very near akin to the motif of laughter and tears is that
of the poet who at the end of his poem denies his own sorrow,
as, for example, Alain Chartier :
" Cest livret voult dieter et faire escripre
Pour passer temps sans courage villain
Ung simple clerc que Pen appelle Alain
Qui parle ainsi d'amours pour oyr dire." 8
Othe de Granson had already pretended to speak of secret
love only " par devinaille." 4 King Een6 treated this motif
in a fantastic manner at the end of his Guer d' Amours espris.
His valet, with a candle in his hand, tries to find out if the
king has really lost his heart, but finds no hole in his side.
" Sy me dist tout en soubzriant
Que je donnisse seulement
Et que n'avqye nullement
Pour ce mal garde de morir." 5
1 My mouth cannot laugh, Without my eyes belying it : For the heart
would deny it By the tears issuing from the eyes.
a He constrained himself to be cheerful And showed a feigned joy, And
forced his heart to sing Not for pleasure, but for fear, For ever a remainder
of complaint Entwined itself with the tone of his voice, And reverted to its
purpose Like the ousel singing in the wood.
This booklet meant to dictate and to describe To pass the time without
vulgar mood A simple clerk called Alain Who speaks thus of love by hear-
say.
4 By guessing.
5 So he told me smiling That I should lie down and sleep And that I should
not at all Be afraid to die of this evil.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 285
By losing the impeccable gravity characteristic of them
in preceding epochs, the ancient conventional forms of erotic
poetry became penetrated by a new meaning. Charles
d' Orleans makes use of personifications and of allegories like
all his predecessors, but, by some slight surplus of stress,
he adds an almost imperceptible flavour of raillery, and this
gives them an affecting note, which is lacking in the graceful
figures of the Roman de la Rose. He sees his own heart as a
double of himself.
** Je suyB celluy au cueur vestu de noir. . . ." x
Occasionally in his extravagant personifications, the comical
element has the upper hand :
"Un jour a mon cueur devisoye
Qui en secret a moy parloit,
Et en parlant lui demandoye
Se point d'espargne fait avoit
D*aucuns biens quant Amours servoit :
II me dist que tres voulentiers
La verit6 m'en compteroit,
Mais qu'eust visits ses papiers.
" Quand ce m'eut dit, il print sa voye
Et d'avecques moy se partoit.
Apres entrer je le v&>ye
En ung comptouer qu'il avoit :
La, de ca et de la qu&roit,
En cherchant plusieurs vieulx caiers
Car le vray monstrer me vouloit,
qu'eust visitez ses papiers. . . ." 2
Not always, however ; in the following lines the comic is
not dominant ;
1 1 am the wight whose heart is draped in black.
One day I was talking with my heart Which secretly spoke to me, And in
talking I asked it If it had saved No goods when serving Love : It said that
quite willingly It would tell me the truth about it, As soon as it had consulted
its papers.
Having told me this it went away And from me departed. Next I saw it
enter In an office it had : There it rummaged here and there In looking for
several old writing-books, For it would show me the truth, As soon as it had
consulted its papers.
286 The Waning of the Middle Ages
" Ne hurtez plus a 1'uis de ma pensee,
Soing et Soucy, sans tant vous travailler ;
Car elle dort et ne veult s'esveiller,
Toute la nuit en peine a despens6e.
"En dangler est, s'elle n'est bien pansee ;
Cessez, cessez, laissez la sommeiller ;
Ne hurtez plus & Puis de ma pensee,
Soing et Soucy, sans tant vous travailler. . . ." *
For the spirit of the epoch nothing heightened so much
the acrid flavour of sad and sensitive love as the addition
of an element of profanation. Eeligious travesty has created
something better than the obscenities of the Cent Nouvelles
Nouvelles ; it furnished the form for the tenderest love-poem
which that age produced : L'Amant rendu Cordelier d VOb-
servance d 9 Amours.
Already the poetical club of Charles d' Orleans had imagined
a literary brotherhood whose members, in analogy to the
reformed Franciscans, called themselves " amourex de Pob-
servance." The author of L'Amant rendu Cordelier developed
this motif. Who is this author ? Is it really Martial d'Au-
vergne ? It is hard to believe it, so much does this poem
rise above the level of his work.
The poor disillusioned lover comes to renounce the world
in the strange convent, where only " the martyrs of love "
are received. He tells the Prior the touching story of his
despised love ; the latter exhorts him to forget it. Under
a medieval guise we seem to perceive already the genre of
Watteau. Only the moonlight is wanting to remind us of
Pierrot. " Was she not in the habit," asks the Prior, " of giving
you a sweet look or saying *'God save you ' in passing ? "
'* I had not got so far in her good graces," replies the lover ;
" but at night I stood about the door of her house, and looked
up at the eaves."
1 Do not knock at the door of my mind any more, Anxiety and Care ; do
not give yourselves so much trouble ; For it sleeps and does not want to wake,
It has passed all the night in solicitude.
It will be in danger, if not well nursed ; Stop, stop, let it sleep ; Do not
knock at the door of my mind any more, Anxiety and Gare ; do not give
yourselves so much trouble.
iiYBBBT TAN DUVEKYOOHDE. BY AN UNKNOWN 3IASTEB.
[See page 288
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 287
" Et puis, quant je oyoye les verriSres
De la maison qui cliquetoient,
Lors me sembloit que mes prieres
Exauss^es d'elle sy estoient." *
" Were you quite sure that she noticed you ? " asks the Prior.
" Se m'aist Dieu, j'estoye taut ravis,
Que ne savoye mon sens ne estre,
Car, sans parler, m'estoit advis
Que le vent ventoit sa fenestre
Et que m'avoit bien peu cognoistre,
En disant bas : c Doint bonne nuyt,'
Et Dieu scet se j'estoye grant maistre
Apres cela toute la nuyt." a
Then he slept in glory.
"Tenement estoie restaure*
Que, sans touraer ne travailler,
Je faisoie un somme dor6,
Sans point la nuyt me resveiller,
Et puis, avant que m'abiller,
Pour en rendre a Amours louanges,
Baisoie troys fois mon orUlier,
En riant a par moy aux anges." s
When he is solemnly received into the order, the lady
who had despised fr faints and a little gold heart enamelled
with tears, which he had given her, falls from her dress.
" Les aultres, pour leur mal couvrir
A force leurs cueurs retenoient,
Passans temps a clorre et rouvrir
Les heures qu'en leurs maans tenoient,
Dont souvent les feuHles tournoient
En signe de devocion ;
Mais les deulz et pleurs que menoient
. ^ Monstroient bien leur aiffection." 4
."' -
* And then, when I heard the window Of the house which clattered, Then
it seemed to me that my prayers Had been heard by her.
2 So help me God, I was so ravished That I was scarcely conscious, For,
without being told, it seemed to me That the wind moved her window And
she could well have recognized me, Perhaps saying softly : " Good nigfct,
then," and God knows I felt like a prince After this all night.
8 1 felt so refreshed That without turning about or tossing, I enjoyed golden
slumber, Without waking up all night, And then, before dressing To praise
Love for it, I kissed my pillow thrice, While laughing silently at the angels.
4 The others, to hide their affliction Controlled their hearts by force, Passing
the time in closing and opening again The breviaries they held in their hands,
288 The Waning of the Middle Ages
The Prior enumerates his new duties to him, warning
never to listen to the nightingale's song, never to sleep under
" eglantine and mayflower," and, above all, never to look a
woman in the eyes. The exhortation ends in a long string of
eight-lined stanzas, being variations to the theme " Sweet eyes."
** Doux yeulx qui tousjours vont et viennent ;
Doux yeulx eschauffans le plisson,
De ceulx qui amoureux deviennent. . . .
" Doux yeulx a cler esperlissans,
Qui dient : C'est fait quant tu vouldras,
A ceulx qu'ils sentent bien puissans. . . ." I
Towards the middle of the fifteenth century all the con-
ventional genres of erotic poetry are of a languishing tenor,
and bear the stamp of resigned melancholy. Even cynical
contempt of woman grows refined. In the Quinze Joyes de
Manage the mischievous and gross purpose is tempered by
wistful sentimentality. By its sober realism, by the elegance
of its form and the subtlety of its psychology, this work is
a precursor of the " novel of manners " of modern times.
In all that concerns the expression of love, literature pro-
fited by the models and the experience of a long series of past
centuries. Masters of such diversity of spirit as Plato and
Ovid, the troubadours and the wandering students, Dante
and Jean de Meun, had bequeathed to it a perfected instru-
ment. Pictorial art, on the contrary, having neither models
nor tradition, was primitive in the strict sense of the word,
in respect of erotic expression. Not till the eighteenth century-
was painting to overtake literature in point of delicate ex-
pression of love. The artist of the fifteenth century had not
yet learned to be frivolous or sentimental. In the miniatures
of that time the posture of lovers embracing remains hieratic
and solemn. A portrait of a Dutch gentlewoman, Lysbet of
Duvenvoorde, by an unknown master before 1430, shows a
figure of such severe dignity that a modern scholar has taken
Of which they often turned the leaves As a sign of devotion ; But their
sorrow and tears dearly showed their emotion.
1 Sweet eyes that always come and go ; Sweet eyes heating the for ooat
Of those who fall in love. . . .
Sweet eyes of pearly clearness, That say : I am ready when you please,
To those whom they feel to be powerful.
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 289
the picture for a donor's portrait, omitting to read the words
on the scroll she bears in her hand : " Mi verdriet lange te
hopen, Wie is hi die syn hert hout open?" i.e.: "I am
weary of hoping so long. Who is he who holds his heart
open ? " Pictorial expression knew no middle term be-
tween the chaste and the obscene. The rendering of erotic
subjects was rare, and what there is of it, is naive and inno-
cent. Once more, however, we must bear in mind that the
greater number of profane works have disappeared. It
would be most interesting to be able to compare the nude
of VanEyck in his " Batt of Women," which Fazio saw, with
that of his " Adam and Eve." As to the latter picture, it must
not be imagined that the erotic element is lacking. Follow-
ing the rules of the code of feminine beauty of his time, the
artist made the breasts small and placed them too high;
the arms are long and thin, the belly prominent. But he did
so quite ingenuously and with no intention of giving sensual
pleasure. A small picture in the Leipsic Gallery, occasionally
designated as belonging to the " school of Jan van Eyek,"
represents a girl in a room ; she is nude, as magical practices
require, and is employing witchcraft to force her lover to
show himself. Here the intention is present, and the artist
has succeeded in expressing the erotic sentiment : the nude
figure has the demure lasciviousness which reappears in
those of Cranach.
It is most improbable that the restraint thus displayed in
fifteenth-century art, in respect of erotic expression, was due
to a sense of modesty, for in general an extreme licence was
tolerated. Though pictorial art cultivated it very little as
yet, the nude occupied a large place in the tableau vivant.
The " personnages " of nude goddesses or nymphs played
by real women were rarely wanting at the entries of princes.
These exhibitions took place on platforms and occasionally
even in the water, like that of the sirens who swam in the
Lys "quite naked and dishevelled as they paint them,"
near the bridge over which Duke Philip had to pass, on his
entry into Ghent in 1457. The Judgment of Paris was the
favourite subject. These representations should' be taken
-neither as proofs of high aesthetic taste nor gross licentious-
ness, but rather as naive and popular sensuousness. Jean
290 The Waning of the Middle Ages
de Roye, speaking of sirens that were seen, not very far from
a calvary, on the occasion of Louis XTs entry into Paris in
1461, says : " And there were also three very handsome girls,
representing quite naked sirens, and one saw their beautiful
turgid, separate, round and hard breasts, which was a very
pleasant sight, and they recited little motets and bergerettes ;
and near them several deep-toned instruments were playing
fine melodies." Molinet tells us of the pleasure which the
people of Antwerp felt at the entry of Philip le Beau in 1494,
when they saw the Judgment of Paris : " But the stand at which
the people looked with the greatest pleasure was the history
of the three goddesses represented nude by living women."
How far removed from the Greek sense of beauty was the
parody of this theme got up for the entry of Charles the Bold
at Lille in 1468, where were seen a corpulent Venus, a thin Juno
and a hunchbacked Minerva, each wearing a gold crown.
These nude spectacles remained customary during the six-
teenth century. Diirer, in the diary of his journey in the
Netherlands, described the one he saw at Ajatwerp at the
entry of Charles V in 1521, and as late as 1578 William of
Orange, at his entry in Brussels, saw among other items a
chained and nude Andromeda, " which one would have taken
for a marble statue."
The inferiority of pictorial as compared with literary ex-
pression is not confined to the domain of the comic, the
sentimental and the erotic. The expressive faculty of the
art of "tEiis period fails as soon as it is no longer supported
by that extraordinary turn for visualizing, which explains
the marvels of its pictures. When more is required than the
direct and accurate vision of reality, the superiority of pic-
torial expression at once vanishes, and then is felt the justice
of Michelangelo's criticism : that this art aims at achieving
several things at the same time, of which a single one would
be important enough to demand the devotion of all its powers.
Let us once more consider a picture by Jan van Eyck.
In so far as accurate observation suffices, his art is perfect,
especially in facial expression, the material of the dresses,
and the jewellery. As soon as it becomes necessary to reduce
reality in some sort to a scheme, as is the case when buildings
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 291
and landscapes have to be painted, certain weaknesses appear.
In spite of the charming intimacy of his perspectives, there
is a certain incoherence, a defective grouping. The more
the subject demands free composition and the creation of a
new form, the more his powers fall short.
It cannot be denied that in the illuminated breviaries the
calendar pages surpass in beauty those representing sacred
subjects. To picture a month, it suffices to observe and
reproduce accurately. On the other hand, to compose an
important scene, full of movement, with many personages,
needed the sense of rhythm and of unity which Giotto pos-
sessed and which Michelangelo recaptured. Now, multi-
plicity was a characteristic of fifteenth-century art. It rarely
succeeds in finding harmony and unity. The central part of
the altar-piece of the Lamb does indeed show this harmony,
in the severe rhythm in which the different processions of
adorers are advancing towards the Lamb ; but this effect has
been obtained, so to say, by a purely arithmetical co-ordina-
tion. Van Eyck evaded the difficulties of the composition
by grouping his personages in a very simple figure; the
harmony is static, not dynamic.
The great distance separating Van Eyck from Eogier van
der Weyden lies in the fact that the latter is aware of a prob-
lem of rhythmical composition. He limits himself in the use
of detail, in order to find unity ; it is true, without always
succeeding.
There was a venerable and severe tradition regulating the
representation of the most important sacred subjects. The
artist had not to invent the composition of his picture ; for
some of these subjects rhythmical composition came, so to
speak, of itself. It was impossible to paint a Descent from the
Cross, a pietd,, an Adoration of the Shepherds, without the
composition assuming a certain rhythmical structure. It
suffices to remember the Descent from the Cross by Rogier
van der Weyden in the Escurial, his piet& at Madrid, or those
of the Avignon school at the Louvre and at Brussels, those
by Petrus Cristus, by Qeertgen of Sint Jan, the "Belles
heures d'Ailly." The very nature of the subject implied a
simple and severe composition.
As soon as the scene to be represented required more move-
292 The Waning of the Middle Ages
ment, as in the case of Christ being mocked or bearing the
cross, or in the Adoration of the Magi, the difficulties of the
composition increase and a certain unrest and lack of har-
mony is the result. Here, however, inconographic tradition
still supplies a model of a kind, but where it fails him altogether
the artist of the fifteenth century is almost helpless. We
need but notice the feebleness of composition in the scenes
in courts of justice by Dirk Bouts and by Gerard David,
though the solemnity of the subject itself called for an element
of severity. The composition reaches an irritating pitch of
clumsiness in scenes like the Martyrdom of Saint Erasmus at
Louvain, and that of Saint Hippolytus, torn to pieces by horses,
at Bruges.
And yet here we are still dealing with the representation
of scenes borrowed from reality. When the whole has to
be created by the unaided imagination, the art of the period
cannot avoid the ridiculous. Pictures on the grand scale
were saved by the solemnity of their subjects, but the illu-
minators could not evade the task of giving a shape to all
the mythological and allegorical fancies of which literature
was foil. The illustrations by Jean Mielot for the Epitre
d'Othea & Hector, a mythological fancy of Christine de Pisan's,
may serve as a sample. It is impossible to imagine anything
more awkward. The Greek gods have large wings outside
their ermine mantles and " houppelandes " of brocade. Saturn
devouring his children, Midas awarding the prize, are simply
ridiculous and devoid of all charm. Yet, whenever the
illuminator sees a chance of enlivening the prospect by a
little scene, such as a shepherd with his sheep, he shows the
ability common to the period : within his province his hand
is sure. The reason is that here we have come to the limit
of the creative faculties of these artists. Easily masters of
their craft, so long as observation of reality is their guide,
their mastery fails at once when imaginative creation of new
motifs is called for.
Imagination, both literary and artistic, had been led into
a blind alley by allegory. The mind had grown accustomed
simply to turn into pictorial presentments the allegorical ideas
presenting themselves to the mind. Allegory linked the
presentment to the thought and the thought to the present-
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 293
ment. The desire to describe accurately the allegorical
vision caused all demands of artistic style to be lost sight
of. The cardinal virtue of Temperance has to carry a clock
to. represent rule and measure. We see her with this attribute
on a tomb, the work of Michel Colombe, in Nantes Cathedral,
and on that of the cardinals of Amboise at Rouen. The
illuminator of the Epitre d'Oihea, to conform to this rule,
simply puts on her head a timepiece resembling the one
with which he ornaments the room of Philip the Good.
The allegorical figure can only be justified by a tradition
which has become venerable. Invented all of a piece, it is
rarely satisfactory. The more realistic the mind which creates
it, the more bizarre and factitious its form will be. Chastel-
lain, in his Exposition sur Viriti mal prise, sees four ladies
coining to accuse him. They call themselves " Indignation,
Reprobation, Accusation, Vindication." This is how he des-
cribes the second. " This dame here appeared to have acrid
conditions and very tart and biting reasons ; she ground her
teeth and bit her lips ; often nodded her head ; and showing
signs of being argumentative, jumped on her feet and turned
to this side and to that ; she proved to be impatient and
inclined to contradict ; the right eye was closed and the other
open ; she had a bag full of books before her, of which she
put some into her girdle, as if they were dear to her, the
others she threw away spitef ully ; she tore up papers and
leaves ; she threw writing-books into the fire furiously ; she
smiled on some and kissed them ; she spat on others out of
meanness and trod them underfoot ; she had a pen in her
hand, full of ink, with which she crossed out many important
writings . . . ; also with a sponge she blackened some pic-
tures, she scratched out others with her nails, and others
again she erased wholly and smoothed them as if to have
them forgotten ; and showed herself a hard and fell enemy
to many respectable people, more arbitrarily than reasonably.^
Elsewhere he sees Dame Peace spread out her mantle ajid
breakup into four new ladies : Peace of Heart, Peace of Mouth,
Seeming Peace, Peace of True Effect. Or he invents female
figures which he calls "Importance of your lands, Various
conditions and qualities of your several peoples, The envy
and hatred of Frenchmen and of neighbouring nations, as
294 The Waning of the Middle Ages
if politics lent themselves to allegory. It is no living fancy,
of course, which prompts him to imagine these quaint figures,
but only reflection. All wear their names written on scrolls :
he evidently imagines them as figures on tapestry, or in a
picture or a show.
There is not a trace of true inspiration here. It is the
pastime of an exhausted mind. Though the authors always
place their action in the setting of a dream, their phantas-
magorias never resemble real dreams, such as we find in Dante
and Shakespeare. They do not even keep up the illusion of
real vision : Chastellain naively calls himself in one of his
poems " the inventor or the imaginer of this vision."
Only the note of raillery can still make the arid field of
allegory flower again, as in these lines of Deschamps :
" Phisicien, comment fait Droit ?
Sur m'ame, il est en petit point. . . .
Que fait Raison ? . . .
Perdu a son entendement,
Elle parle mais faiblement,
Et Justice est toute ydiote. . . ." *
The different spheres of literary fancy are mixed up regard-
less of all homogeneity of style. The author of the Pastoralet
dresses his political shepherds in a tabard ornamented with
fleurs-de-lis and lions rampant ; " shepherds in long cassocks "
represent the clergy. Molinet muddles up religious, military,
heraldic and amorous terms in a proclamation of the Lord
to all true lovers :
"Nous Dieu d'amoiars, crSateur, roy de gloire
Salut & tons vrays amans d'humble affaire !
Comme il soit vrays que depuis la victoire
De nostre filz sur le mont de Calvaire
Plusieurs souldars par peu de cognoissance
De noz armes, font au dyable aUyauoe. . . ." 2
Therefore the true blazon is described to them : escutcheon
argent, chief or with five wounds and the Church militant
1 Physician, what about Law t -By my soul, he is poorly. . . . How does
Reason ? . . . She is out of her mind, She speaks but feebly, And Justice
is quite crazy.
* We God of love, creator, king of glory All hail to all true lovers of humble
mind f As it is true that since the victory Of our son on Mount Calvary
Several soldiers through lack of knowledge Of our arms, make an alliance
with the devil. . . .
Verbal and Plastic Expression Compared 295
is given full liberty to take all into her service who want to
return to that blazon.
The feats which procured Molinet the reputation of an
excellent " rhetoriqueur " and poet appear to us rather as
the extreme degeneration of a literary form nearing its end.
He takes pleasure in the most insipid puns : " Et ainsi de-
moura PEscluse en paix qui lui fut incluse, car la guerre fut
d'elle excluse plus solitaire que rencluse." * In the introduc-
tion to his prose version of the Roman de la Rose he plays
upon his name, Molinet. " Et affin que je ne perde le froment
de ma labeur, et que la farine que en sera molue puisse avoir
fleur salutaire, j'ay intencion, se Dieu m'en donne la grace,
de tourner et conyertir soubz mes rudes meulles le vicieux
au vertueux, le corporel en respirituel, la mondanit6 en
divinit6, et souverainement de la moraliser. Et par ainsi
nous tirerons le miel hors de la dure pierre, et la rose vermeille
hors de poignans espines, ou nous trouverons grain et graine,
fruict, fleur et feuille, tres souefve odeur, odorant verdure,
verdoyant floriture, florissant nourriture, nourrissant fruict
et fructifiant pasture." 2
When they do not play upon words, they play upon ideas.
Meschinot makes Prudence and Justice the glasses of his
Lunettes des Princes, Force the frame and Temperance the
nail which keeps the whole together. The poet receives the
aforesaid spectacles from Reason with directions how to use
them. Sent by Heaven, Reason enters his mind and wants
to feast there ; but finds nothing " off which to dine well,"
for Despair has spoilt all.
Products like these would seem to betray mere decadence
and senile decay. Thinking of Italian literature of the same
period, the fresh and lovely poetry of the quattrocento, we
may perhaps wonder how the form and spirit of the Renais-
1 And so Stays remained in peace that was included with her, for war was
excluded from her, lonelier than a recluse.
2 And lest I lose the wheat of my labour, and that the meal into whichj it
will be ground may have wholesome flour, I intend, if God gives me grace for
it, to turn and convert under my rough mill-stones the vicious into the
virtuous, the corporal into the spiritual, the worldly into the divine,
and, above all, to moralize it. And in this way we shall gather honey from
the hard stone and the vermeil rose from sharp thorns, where we shall find
grains and seed, fruit, flower and leaf, very sweet odour, odoriferous verdure,
verdant florescence, flourishing nurture, nourishing fruit and fruitful pasture.
296 The Waning of the Middle Ages
sance can still seem so remote from the regions on this side
of the Alps.
It requires some effort and some reflection to realize that
exactly in these artifices of style and wit, we witness the
coming of the Renaissance, in the shape it took outside Italy.
To contemporaries this far-fetched form meant the renewal
of art.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE ADVENT OF THE NEW FORM
The transition from the spirit of the declining Middle Ages
to humanism was far less simple than we are inclined to
imagine it. Accustomed to oppose humanism to the Middle
Ages, we would gladly believe that it was necessary to give
up the one in order to embrace the other. We find it difficult
to fancy the mind cultivating the ancient forms of medieval
thought and expression while aspiring at the same time to
antique wisdom and beauty. Yet this is just what we have
to picture to ourselves. Classicism did not come as a sudden
revelation, it grew up among the luxuriant vegetation of
medieval thought. Humanism was a form before it was an
inspiration. On the other hand, the characteristic modes of
thought of the Middle Ages did not die out till long after the
Renaissance.
In Italy the problem of humanism presents itself in a most
simple form, because there men's minds had ever been predis-
posed to the reception of antique culture. The Italian spirit
had never lost touch with classic harmony and simplicity.
It could expand freely and naturally in the restored forms of
classic expression. The quattrocento with its serenity makes
the impression of a renewed culture, which has shaken off
the fetters of medieval thought, until Savonarola reminds us
that below the surface the Middle Ages still subsist.
The history of French civilization of the fifteenth century,
on the contrary, does not permit us to forget the Middle Ages.
France had been the mother-land of all that was strongest
and most beautiful in the products of the medieval spirit.
All medieval forms feudalism, the ideas of chivalry and
courtesy, scholasticism, Gothic architecture were rooted here
much more firmly than ever they had been in Italy. In the
fifteenth century they were dominating still. Instead of the
full rich style, the blitheness and the harmony characteristic
297
298 The Waning of the Middle Ages
of Italy and the Renaissance, here it is bizarre pomp, cumbrous
forms of expression, a worn-out fancy and an atmosphere of
melancholy gravity which prevail. It is not the Middle Ages,
it is the new coming culture, which might easily be forgotten.
In literature classical forms could appear without the
spirit having changed. An interest in the refinement of Latin
style was enough, it seems, to give birth to humanism. The
proof of this is furnished by a group of French scholars about
the year 1400. It was composed of ecclesiastics and magis-
trates, Jean de Monstreuil, canon of Lille and secretary to
the ting, Nicolas de Clemanges, the famous denouncer of
abuses in the Church, Pierre et Gontier Col, the Milanese
Ambrose de Miliis, also royal secretaries. The elegant and
grave epistles they exchange are inferior in no respect neither
in the vagueness of thought, nor in the consequential air,
nor in the tortured sentences, nor even in learned trifling
to the epistolary genre of later humanists. Jean de Monstreuil
spins long dissertations on the subject of Latin spelling. He
defends Cicero and Virgil against the criticism of his friend
Ambrose de Miliis, who had accused the former of con-
tradictions and preferred Ovid to the latter. On another
occasion he writes to Clemanges : " If you do not come to
my aid, dear master and brother, I shall have lost my reputa-
tion and be as one sentenced to death. I have just noticed
that in my last letter to my lord and father, the bishop of
Cambray, I wrote proodmior instead of the comparative
propior; so rash and careless is the pen. Kindly correct
this, otherwise our detractors will write libels about it."
There are more charming passages in his correspondence
than this : for example, his description of the monastery of
Charlieu, near Senlis, where he speaks of the sparrows coming
to share the monks' repast, the wren which behaves as if it
were the abbot, and lastly, the gardener's donkey, which begs
the author not to forget it in his letter. We may hesitate
whether to call this medieval naivety or humanistic elegance.
It suffices to recall that we met Jean de Monstreuil and the
brothers Col among the zealots of the Roman de fa. Rose and
among the members of the Court of Love of 1401, to be con-
vinced that this primitive French humanism was but a
secondary element of their culture, the fruit of scholarly
The Advent of the New Form 299
erudition, analogous to the so-called renaissances of classic
latinity of earlier ages, notably the ninth and the twelfth
century. The circle of Jean de Monstreuil had no immediate
successors, and this early French humanism seems to disappear
with the men who cultivated it. Still, in its origins it was
to some extent connected with the great international move-
ment of literary renovation. Petrarch was, in the eyes of
Jean de Monstreuil and his friends, the illustrious initiator,
and Coluccio Salutati, the Florentine chancellor who intro-
duced classicism into official style, was not unknown to them
either. Their zeal for classic refinement had evidently been
roused not a little by Petrarch's taunt that there were no
orators nor poets outside Italy. In France Petrarch's work
had, so to say, been accepted in a medieval spirit and incor-
porated into medieval thought. He himself had personally
known the leading spirits of the second half of the fourteenth
century ; the poet Philippe de Vitri, Nicolas Oresme, philoso-
pher and politician^ who had been a preceptor to the dauphin,
probably also Philippe de Mezieres. These men, in spite of
the ideas which make Oresme one of the forerunners of modern
science, were not humanists. As to Petrarch himself, we are
always inclined to exaggerate the modern element in his mind
and work, because we are accustomed to see him exclusively
as the first of renovators. It is easy to imagine him emanci-
pated from the ideas of his century. Nothing is further from
the truth. He is most emphatically a man of his time. The
themes of which he treated were those of the Middle Ages :
De cmtemptu mundi, De otio religiosorum, De vita solitaria.
It is only the form and the tone of his work which differ and
are more highly finished. His glorification of antique virtue
in his De viris illustribus and his Eerum memorandarum Ifbri
corresponds more or less with the chivalrous cult of the Nine
Worthies. There is nothing surprising in his being found in
touch with the founder of the Brethren of the Common Life,
or cited as an authority on a dogmatic point by the fanatic
Jean de Varennes. Denis the Carthusian borrowed laments
from him about the loss of the Holy Sepulchre, a typically
medieval subject. What contemporaries outside Italy saw
in Petrarch was not at all the poet of the Sonnets or the
Trionfi, but a moral philosopher, a Christian Cicero.
300 The, Waning of the Middle Ages
In a more limited field Boccaccio exercised an influence
resembling that of Petrarch. His fame too was that of a
moral philosopher, and by no means rested on the Decamerone.
He was honoured as the " doctor of patience in adversity,"
as the author of De casibus virorum illustrium and of De cla/ris
mulieribus. Because of these queer writings treating of the
inconstancy of human fate " messire Jehan Bocace " had
made himself a sort of impresario of Fortune. As such he
appears to Chastellain, who gave the name of Le Temple de
Bocace to the bizarre treatise in which he endeavoured to
console Queen Margaret, after her flight from England, by
relating to her a series of the tragic destinies of his time. In
recognizing in Boccaccio the strongly medieval spirit which
was their own, these Burgundian spirits of a century later
were not at all off the mark.
What distinguishes nascent Humanism in France from that
of Italy, is a difference of erudition, skill and taste, rather
than of tone or aspiration. To transplant antique form and
sentiment into national literature the French had to overcome
far more obstacles than the people born under the Tuscan sky
or in the shadow of the Coliseum. France too, had her learned
clerks, writing in Latin, who were capable at an early date of
rising to the height of the epistolary style. But a blending of
classicism and medievalism in the vernacular, such as was
achieved by Boccaccio, was for a long time impossible in
France. The old forms were too strong, and the general culture
still lacked the proficiency in mythology and ancient history
which was current in Italy. Machaut, although a clerk,
pitifully disfigures the names of the seven sages. Chastellain
confounds Peleus with Pelias, La Marche Proteus with Piri-
thous. The author of the Pastoralet speaks of the " good king
Scipio of Africa." But at the same time his subject inspires
him with a description of the god Silvanus and a prayer to
Pan, in which the poetical imagination of the Benaissance
seems on the point of breaking forth. The chroniclers were
already trying their hand at military speeches in Livy's manner,
and adorning their narrative of important events by mention-
ing portents, in close imitation of Livy. Their attempts at
classicism did not always succeed. Jean Germain's descrip-
tion of the Arras congress of 1435 is a veritable caricature of
The Advent of the New Form 301
antique prose. The vision of Antiquity was still very bizarre.
At the funeral service of Charles the Bold at Nancy, his con-
queror, the young duke of Lorraine, came to honour the
corpse of his enemy, dressed " in antique style," that is to
say, wearing a long golden beard which reached to his girdle.
Thus got up to represent one of the Nine Worthies, he prayed
for a quarter of an hour.
The word " antique " as conceived in Prance about 1400
belonged to the same group of ideas as " rh&fcorique, orateur,
poesie." No one would have thought of applying the word
" po6sie " to a ballad or a song in the old French form. This
classical word, which evoked the idea of the admired per-
fection of the Ancients, meant above all an artificial form.
The poets of this time are perfectly capable of expressing
heartfelt emotions in a simple form, but when they wish to
attain superior beauty, they hunt up mythology, employ
pedantic latinized terms and then consider themselves " rhe-
toricians." Christine de Pisan expressly singles out a mytho-
logic piece, which she calls "balade pou6tique," from her
ordinary work. Eustache Deschamps, wishing to air his
talent, in sending his works to Chaucer, his fellow-poet and
admirer, adds the following lines :
" O Socrates plains de philosophic,
Seneque en mews et Anglux en pratique,
Ovides grans en ta poeterie,
Bries en parler, saiges en rethorique
Aigles tres haulz, qui par ta theorique
Eahimines le regne d'Eneas,
L'Isle aux Geans, ceuls de Brath, et qtd as
Sem6 les fleurs et plante le rosier,
Aux ignorans de la langue paadras,
Grant translates, noble GeofEroy Chaucier !
A toy pour ce de la fontaine Helye
Requier avoir un buvraige autentique,
Dont la doys est du tout en ta baillie,
Pour rafrener d'elle ma soif ethique,
Qui en Gaul seray paraJitique
Jiasques a ce que tu m'abuveras." - 1
1 Socrates full of philosophy, Seneca in morals and Englishman in practice,
Great Ovid in your poetry, Brief of speech, well-versed in rhetoric, Exalted
eagle, who by your erudition Have illumined the reign of Eneas, The Island
302 The Waning of the Middle Ages
This is the beginning, modest as yet, of the ridiculous latin-
ism which Villon and Rabelais satirized. This insufferable
manner reappears whenever authors exert themselves to be
exceptionally brilliant, in dedications, discourses, or literary
correspondence. In this vein Chastellain will write "vostre
tres humble et ob6issante serve et ancelle, la ville de Gand,"
" la visc6rale intime douleur et tribulation," l La Marche
" nostre francigene locution et langue vernacule," 2 Molinet
" abreuv6 de la doulce et melliflue liqueur procedant de la
fontaine caballine," "ce vertueux due scipionique," "gens
de muli&bre courage." 3
This far-fetched rhetoric testifies both to an ideal of literary
conversation and to an ideal of style. Like the troubadours
of yore, the rhetoricians and the humanists cultivated litera-
ture in the form of an all-round game. Literary correspond-
ence of a rather strange kind springs up. A fervent admirer
of Georges Chastellain, Jean Robertet, secretary to three
dukes of Bourbon and to three kings of France, tried to enter
into correspondence with the poet-historiographer of the Bur-
gundian court, by the good offices of a certain Montf errant who
lived at Bruges. The latter, to soften the old author, who was
at first rather reserved, had recourse to the time-honoured
device of allegory. He evoked the "twelve dames of rhe-
toric," Science, Eloquence, Gravity of Meaning, Profundity,
etc., who appeared to him in a vision and told him to exert
himself in behalf of the correspondence desired by Robertet.
In the exchange of poetical and rhetorical compliments which
followed, Chastellain's verses are sober, when compared with
the hyperbolic effusions of Robertet.
of the Giants, and that of Brut, and who have Sown flowers and planted
the eglantine, For the ignorant of thejlanguage, you will pour yourself forth,
Great translator, noble Geoffrey Qhaucer 1
From you therefore out of the fountain of Helye I ask to have an
authentic draught, Of which the conduit is wholly in your power To slake
my ethic thirst, I who in Gaul shall be paralysed Till you shall give me to
flrmlr.
1 Your very humble and obedient slave and servant, the city of Ghent ;
The intestinal inward sorrow and tribulation.
2 Our French-born locution and vernacular tongue.
Having drunk from the sweet and mellifluous liquor proceeding from
the equine fountain. This virtuous scipionic duke. People of muliebral
courage.
The Advent of the New Form 303
* 4 Frapp6 en Toeil d'une clart6 terrible
Attaint au coeur d'eloquence incredible,
A humain sens difficile a produire,
Tout ofhisqiaie" de Inmiere incendible
Outre per$ant de ray presqu'impossible
Sur obscur corps qui jamais ne peut luire,
Ravi, abstrait me trouve en mon d6duire,
En extase corps gisant a la terra,
Foible esperit perplex a voye enquerre
Pour trouver lieu et oportune yssue
Du pas estroit ou je suis mis en serre,
Pris a la rets qu'amour vraye a tissue." *
In these terms he describes the sensations which the arrival
of a letter by Chastellain caused in him. And, continuing
in prose, he asks his friend Montferrant (whom he calls " friend
of the immortal gods, beloved of men, high Ulyssean breast, full
of mellifluent eloquence "), " N'est-ce resplendeur 6quale au
curre Phoebus ? " * Does he not surpass Orpheus' lyre ? and
" la tube d'Amphion, la Mercuriale flute quiendormit Argus ? "
" Oft est 1'ceil capable de tel objet visible, Toreille pour ouyr
le haut son argentin et tmtinabule d'or ? " 3
Chastellain showed some scepticism as to this raving en-
thusiasm. Soon he had enough of it and wanted to bar the
gate which had so long and widely been open to "Dame
Vanity." " Robertet has quite soaked me by his cloud, of
which the drops, congealing like hail, make my garments
brilliant as with pearls ; but what good is it to the dark body
underneath, when my robe deceives the onlookers ? " There-
fore let him cease writing in this way, otherwise Chastellain
will throw his letters into the fire without reading them. If
he is willing to speak as beseems among friends, he may rest
assured of George's affection.
1 Struck in the eye by a terrible brightness, Touched in the heart by incredible
eloquence. Difficult for the human mind to produce, Quite obscured by incen-
diary light Penetrating with almost unbearable rays, To a dark body that can
never shine, Ravished, distraught, I find myself, in my deKght, My body in
ecstasy lying on the ground, My feeble spirit is at a loss to go in quest of a
path In order to find a place and opportune exit From the narrow pass where
I am hemmed in Caught in the toils which true love has netted.
* Is this not splendour equal to the car of Phoebus ?
* The reed of Amphion, the Mercurial flute, which causedl Argos to sleep ?
Where is the eye capable of seeing such a visible object, the ear to hear the
high silver sound and golden tintinnabulation ?
304 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Lucubrations of this sort by no means give us the feeling
of the measure and harmony of the Renaissance. It all seems
to us antiquated in sentiment and style. There is no doubt,
however, that these wits considered themselves supremely
modern. This Eobertet had been in Italy, " a country greedy
for renovation ... on which the meteoric conditions operate
to facilitate ornate speech, and towards which all elemental
sweetness is drawn, there to resolve into harmony." He
evidently believed that the secret of this harmony was in the
" ornate speech " and that to rival the Italians it sufficed to
bedeck the French style with the ornaments of classicism.
Now, in Italy, where language and thought had never been
entirely estranged from the pure Latin style, the social en-
vironment and the turn of mind were far more congenial to
the humanistic tendencies than in France. Italian civiliza-
tion had naturally developed the type of the humanist. The
Italian language was not, like the French, corrupted by an
influx of latinism; it absorbed it without difficulty. In
France, on the contrary, the medieval foundations of social
life were still solid ; the language, much farther removed from
Latin than Italian was, refused to be latinized. If, in English,
erudite latinisms were to find an easy access, it was because of
the very fact that here the language was not of Latin stock
at all, so that no incongruity of expression made itself felt.
In so far as the French humanists of the fifteenth century
wrote in Latin, the medieval subsoil of their culture is little
in evidence. The more completely the classical style is
imitated, the more the true spirit is concealed. The letters
and the discourses of Robert Gaguin are not distinguishable
from the works of other humanists. But Gaguin is, at the
same time, a French poet of altogether medieval inspiration
and of altogether national style. Whereas those who did
not, and perhaps could not, write in Latin, spoiled their French
by latinized forms, he, the accomplished latinist, when writing
in French, disdained rhetorical effects. His Debat du Ldboureur,
du PfesWe et du Gendarme, medieval in its subject, is also
medieval in style. It is simple and vigorous, like Villon's
poetry and Deschamps* best work.
Who are the true moderns in the French literature of the
fifteenth century ? Those, no doubt, whose works approach
The Advent of the New Form 305
nearest to what the following century produced of beauty.
Assuredly it is not, whatever their merits may have been,
the grave and pompous representatives of the Burgundian
style : not Chastellain, La Marche, Molinet. The novelties
of form which they affected were too superficial, the foundation
of their thought too essentially medieval, their classical whim-
sies to naive. Should one look for the modern element in the
refinement of form ? Sometimes this form, though most
artificial, has so much grace that the sweet melody makes
us forget the emptiness of meaning.
"Plusiers bergiers sont en lacz mortelz telz
Heurtez, boutez, que pou leur d&luit duyt.
Et leurs moutons en maus fortunez nez,
Venez, vanez, de fers mal parez rez,
Leurs bledz emblez, ayans sauf conduit vuyd,
La nuit leur nuit, la mort qui destniit ruit,
Leur fruit s'en fuit venant aperte perte :
Mais Pan nous tient en asseurance experte." - 1
This was written by Jean Lemaire de Beiges. Much more
might be said on this elaboration of a purely formal beauty in
poetry. But, taking all in all, it is not here that the future of
literature lies. If by moderns we understand those who have
most affinity with the later development of French literature,
the moderns are Villon, Charles of Orleans and the poet of
ISAmant rendu Cordelier, just those who kept most aloof from
classicism and who did not strain after over-nice forms. The
medieval character of their motifs robs them not in the least
of their aspect of youth and of promise. It is the spontaneity
of their expression which makes them moderns.
Classicism then was not the controlling factor in the advent
of the new spirit in literature. Neither was paganism. The
frequent use of pagan expressions or tropes has often been
considered the chief characteristic of the Eenaissance. This
practice, however, is far older. As early as the twelfth century
mythological terms were employed to express concepts of the
QOvOrHJ. SJULOUilOX UB cuAO '.t 1 - ouxau. JLUVTJ. * ~-- - *.
that it little tends to their delight. And their sheep, born in an evil hour,
Are hunted, exhausted, shorn by ill-sharpened shears, Their corn is stolen,
having a fruitless safe-conduct, The night is noxious to them; destructive
death rushes in, Their fruit flies, as open ruin comes, But Pan holds us in bis
expert protection.
306 The Waning of the Middle Ages
Christian faith, and this was not considered at all irreverent
or impious. Deschamps speaking of "Jupiter come from
paradise," Villon calling the Holy Virgin " high goddess/ 3 the
humanists referring to God in terms like " princeps superum "
and to Mary as " genetrix tonantis," are by no means pagans.
Pastorals required some admixture of innocent paganism, by
which no reader was duped. The author of the Pastoralet
who calls the Celestine church at Paris " the temple in the
high woods, where people pray to the gods/' declares, to dispel
all ambiguity, " If, to lend my Muse some strangeness, I
speak of the pagan gods, the shepherds and myself are Christ-
ians all the same/' In the same way Molinet excuses himself
for having introduced Mars and Minerva, by quoting " Reason
and Understanding," who said to him : " You should do it,
not to instil faith in gods and goddesses, but because Our Lord
alone inspires people as it pleases Trim and frequently by
various inspirations."
The purity of Faith was more seriously threatened when, as
in the following lines, a certain respect for pagan cults, and
notably of sacrifices, is manifested.
"Des dieux jadis les nations gentiles
Quirent 1'amour par humbles sacrifices,
Lesquels, pose* que ne fussent utiles,
Furent nientmoins rendables et fertiles,
De maint grant fruit et de haulx b6n6fices,
Monstrans par fait que d'amour les offices
Et d'honneur humble, impartis oft qu'ils soient
Pour pereer ciel et enfer suffisoient." 1
This is a stanza of the Dit de Verite, the best poem of Chastel-
lain, which was inspired by his fidelity to the duke of Burgundy,
and in which,, forgetting his ordinary grandiloquence a little,
he gives free rein to his political indignation.
To find paganism, there was no need for the spirit of the
waning Middle Ages to revert to classic literature. The pagan
spirit displayed itself, as amply as possible, in the Roman de la
1 Formerly the gentile nations of the gods Craved love by humble sacrifices,
Which, taken for granted that they were useless, Were nevertheless profitable
and prolific Of much important fruit and of high benefits, Which shows by
facts that offices of love And of humble homage, rendered wherever they
were, Were sufficient to pierce heaven and hell.
The Advent of the New Form 307
Eose. Not in the guise of some mythological phrases ; it was
not there that the danger lay, but in the whole erotic con-
ception and inspiration of this most popular work of all. From
the early Middle Ages onward Venus and Cupid had found a
refuge in this domain. But the great pagan who called them
to vigorous life and enthroned them was Jean de Meun. By
blending with Christian conceptions of eternal bliss the boldest
praise of voluptuousness, he had taught numerous generations
a very ambiguous attitude towards Faith. He had dared to
distort Genesis for his impious purposes by making Nature
complain of men because they neglect her commandment of
procreation, in the words :
" Si m'a'ist Diex li crucefis,
Moult me repens dont homme fis." x
It is astonishing that the Church, which so rigorously re-
pressed the slightest deviations from dogma of a speculative
character, suffered the teaching of this breviary of the aristo-
cracy (for the Boman de la Rose was nothing less) to be dis-
seminated with impunity.
But the essence of the great renewal lies even less in pagan-
ism than in pure Latinity. Classic expression and imagery,
and even sentiments borrowed from heathen Antiquity, might
be a potent stimulus or an indispensable support in the process
of cultural renovation, they never were its moving power.
The soul of Western Christendom itself was outgrowing medi-
eval forms and modes of thought that had become shackles.
The Middle Ages had always lived in the shadow of Antiquity,
always handled its treasures, or what they had of them, in-
terpreting it according to truly medieval principles : scholastic
theology and chivalry, asceticism and courtesy. Now, by
an inward ripening, the mind, after having been so long
conversant with the forms of Antiquity, began to grasp^its
spirit. The incomparable simpleness and purity of the ancient
culture, its exactitude of conception and of expression, its
easy and natural thought and strong interest in men and in
life, all this began to dawn upon men's minds. Europe,
help me God who was crucified, I much repent that I made man.
308 The Waning of the Middle Ages
after having lived in the shadow of Antiquity, lived in its sun-
shine once more.
This process of assimilation of the classic spirit, however,
was intricate and full of incongruities. The new form and the
new spirit do not yet coincide. The classical form may serve
to express the old conceptions : more than one humanist
chooses the sapphic strophe for a pious poem of purely medieval
inspiration. Traditional forms, on the other hand, may con-
tain the spirit of the coming age. Nothing is more erroneous
than to identify classicism and modern culture.
The fifteenth century in France and the Netherlands is
still medieval at heart. The diapason of life had not yet
changed. Scholastic thought, with symbolism and strong
formalism, the thoroughly dualistic conception of life and the
world still dominated. The two poles of the mind continued
to be chivalry and hierarchy. Profound pessimism spread a
general gloom over life. The gothic principle prevailed in
art. But all these forms and modes were on the wane. A
high and strong culture is declining, but at the same time and
in the same sphere new things are being born. The tide is
turnine, the tone of life is about to change.
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INDEX
Abbeville, 13
Abuze en Court, ' , by Charles
Rochefort, 120, 192
Achfry, Luc d' , 86
"Adam and Eve,*' by Van Eyck,
258, 289
Adoration of the M#gi, by the
Brothers of Limburg, 269, 273
Adornment of the Spiritual Marriage,
The, by Ruysbroeck, 179, 180
Adrianople, 83
JEneas Sylvius Kccolomini, Pope
Pius II, 12
Agincourt, Battle of, 62, 85, 86,
89, 122, 129
Agricola, Rodolph , 143
Ailly, Pierre d' , 119, 137, 138, 146,
162, 195, 247, 298
Alain, see La Roche
Alexander the Great, 59, 60, 61
Alost, 262
Altar of Merode, by Robert Campin,
279
Amadis of Gaul, 68
Amant rendu cordeUer de ^observance
d? Amour, ' , 99, 286 ss., 305
Amboise, Cardinals of, 293
Angers, 166, 169
Anjou, Louis of, 39, 85, 166
" Annunciation," by Jan van Eyck,
257
Antwerp, 80, 142, 232, 290
Arbre des Batatites, V, by Honore
Bonet, 87, 92 ss., 212
Arc, Joan of , 63, 151, 216, 222
Ardres, Meeting of, 6 t
Areopagite, Pseudo-Dionysras the,
201 ss., 245
Ariosto, Ludovico , 69, 122
Armagnacs, Party of the , 3, 14, 17
Armenia, Le*on de Lusignan, King
of, 10, 41
Armentidres, Peronelle , 109 ss.
Arnolfini, Giovanni, 237, 254, 279
Arras, 175, 232
Arras, Peace Congress of, 6, 300
Arras, Treaty of, 1436, 12
Arras, Vauderie d'-, 18, 218
Arrestz d'Amxwr, by Martial dAu-
vergne, 109
Ars monendi, 132
Artevelde, Philip of, 25, 90, 115
Arthur, King, 9, 59, 61, 72
Artois, Robert of, 78
Aubriot, Hugues , 148
Aurai, Battle of, 166
Autun, Altar of, 232, 240
Auxerre, 137
Auxiliary Saints, see Holy Martyrs
Avignon, 14, 79, 126, 168, 177, 208, 291
Avis, Order of, 75
Baerze, Jacques de , 228
Baker, John ,207
Ball, John , 53
Ballade de Fougeres, La, by Alain
Chartier, 76, 210
BaUade des Dames du Temps jadte,
by Villon, 125
des Seigneurs, 125, 126
Balue, Jean, bishop of Evreux, 34
Bamborough, Robert, 59, 87
Barante, Prosper de , 222
Basele, Monne de , 34
Basin, Thomas , bishop of lasieux,
66,214,216
Bataille de Karesme et de Charnage
La, 193
"Bath of Women," by Jan van
Eyck, 243
Baudricourt, Robert de , 216
Bavaria, John of, elect of LiSge, 38
Bavaria, Isabella of , See Isabella
Bavaria, Margaret of, Duchess of
Burgundy, 170
Bayard, Pierre de Terrail, Seigneur
Ji- 72 88
Beaugrant, Madame de , 17
Beaumanoir, Robert de , 59, 87, 166
Beaumont, Jean de , 70, 81
Beaune,^ Altar of, 232, 240
Beauneveu, Andre 1 , 238
Beaut<, Castle of, 270
Beauvais, Vincent of, 100
Bedford, John of Lancaster, duke of
, 75, 162
Begards, 179
BelonlafoUe, 17
Benedict Xin, pope at Avignon,
10, 14, 79, 208
319
320
Index
Berlin, 142, 237, 239, 254
Bernardino of Siena, 161, 165, 182
Berry, John, Duke of, 85, 87, 130,
134, 150, 168, 225, 226, 238
Berthelemy, Jean, 180
Bethlehem, 215
Btisac, Jean , 148
" Bien public," War of the, 63
Bi&vre, Castle of, 270
Binchois, Gilles , 247
Bladelin, Pierre , 239
Bfason des Coulewrs, Le , 107
Blois, Charles of, 166, 167
Blois, Jehans de , 167
Boccaccio, Giovanni , 300
Boiardo, M. M. , 69
Bois, Mansart du , 3
Bois-le-Duc, 246
Bonaventura, John, see Saint B.
Bonet, HonorS, 87, 92, 93, 212
Boniface VIII, Pope , 129
Boniface, Jean de , 80
Borgia, Cesare , 85
Borromeo, Saint Charles, 165
Boucicaut, Jean le Meingre, Mare 1 -
chal , 62, 63, 69, 102, 103, 133
Boucicaut, Le Lime des faicts du
Mareschal, 55, 63
Bouillon, Godfrey of, 61
Boulogne, 72
Bourbon, House of , 76, 302
Bourbon, Jacques de , 164
Bourbon, John of, 80
Bourbon, Louis of , 103, 168
Bourg en Bresse, 86
Bourses, 269
Bouts, Dirk, 224, 229, 239, 292
Bouvier, Gilles le dit le hraut
Berry, 58
Brethren of the Common Life, 157,
174 ss., 181,299
Brethren of the Free Spirit, 179,
205
Breughel, Peter, 193, 279, 281, 282
Broederlam, Melchior , 152,
Brotherhood of the Rosary, 180, 181,
189
Bruges, 14, 15, 123, 130, 224, 226,
229, 231, 232, 239, 273, 292, 302
Brugman, Jan , 179
Brussels, 3, 6, 35, 142, 224, 232, 239,
265, 290, 291
Bueil, Jean de, 62 ss., 162
Bunyan, John , 147
Burckhardt, Jacob , 58, 59
Burgher of Paris, Diary of a , 3, 20,
34, 134, 192
Burgundians, Party of the , 3, 12,
14, 122, 192, 214
Burgundy, Ann of , duchess of
Bedford, 162
Burgundy, Anthony of , 97
Burgundy, Court of , 6, 11, 31,
38, 42, 89, 167, 168, 191, 226, 302
Burgundy, Dukes of , 25, 30, 31,
34, 48, 61, 76, 82, 83, 140, 215 ;
See Philip the Bold, Jean sans
Peur, Philip the Good, Charles
the Bold
Burgundy, House of , 9, 12, 18,
48, 170
Burgundy, Mary of, 17, 43, 142
Burne-Jones, Edward , 67
Busnois, Antoine , 238
Bussy, Oudart de , 4
Byron, 125
Caesar, Julius, 59, 60, 61
Calabria, 169
Cambray, 232. See Ailly
Campin. See Fl&nalle
Capistrano, John , 165
Carmelites, Monastery of the , at
Paris, 140
Carthusians, 179
Casibus virorum illustrium, De ,
by Boccaccio, 300
Cassinelle, La, 107
Caxton, William , 236
Celestines, Monastery of the , at
Avignon, 126, 168 ; at Paris, 163,
164, 165, 168, 209, 306
Cent Ballades, Livre des , 69, 102
Cent Nouvelks Nouvelles, Les, 98,
99, 113, 161, 286
Cephalus and Procris, 95
Chaise-Dieu, la , 131
Champion, Pierre , 20
Champion des Dames, Le , by
Martin Lefranc, 219
Champmol, Carthusianmonastery,234
Chansons de Geste, 272
Chansons de Namur, Le& , by Jean
le Maire, 55
Chapel des Fleurs-de-lis, Le , by
Philippe de Vitri, 65
Charlemagne, 61
Charles V, Emperor, 44, 85, 290
Charles V, King of France, 15, 162
Charles VI, King of France, 8, 38, 39,
40, 63, 85, 90, 91, 97, 145, 160, 208,
209, 225
Charles VII, King of France, 6, 23, 39
Charles VIII, King of France, 236
Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy,
earlier count of Charolais, 7, 13, 17,
18, 31, 32, 35, 41, 60, 75, 97, 123,
207, 216, 229, 232, 247, 248, 263 ss,;
290, 301
Index
321
Oharlieu, Monastery of , 298
Charny, Geofficoi de , 92
Charolais, 77
Charolais, Count of. See Charles
the Bold
Chartier, Alain, poet, 52, 76, 120,
197, 210, 259 BS., 269, 283, 284
Chastellain, Georges, 2, 7, 8, 11,
25, 31, 32, 35, 38, 41, 48 ss., 55,
66, 68, 60, 89, 90, 97, 121, 125,
132, 144, 190, 215, 240, 262 ss.,
272, 273, 282, 293, 294, 300, 302,
305, 306
Ch&telier, Jacques du , bishop of
Paris, 19
Chatti, 80
Chaucer, Geoffrey , 301
Chevalier, Etienne , 142
Chevrot, Jean. See Touinay, bishop
Chopinel, Jean , 96, 100 ss., 109,
288, 307
Cicero, 53, 71, 298, 299
Gloria mulieribus, De , by Boccaccio,
300
Clemanges, Nicolas de , 51, 104,
120, 137, 143, 144, 145, 149, 298
Clement VI, Pope, 199
Clercq, Jacques du , 20, 50, 148,
218, 240
Cleves, Adolphus of , 42
Clopinel. See Chopinel
CQBUT, Jacques , 115
CoZmbra, John of , prince of Portu-
gal, 6
Coitier, Jacques , 170
Col, Gontier, 104, 105, 120, 298
Col, Pierre, 104, 298
Colchis, 76
Cologne, Herman of , 235
Colombo, Michel, 293
Combat of the Eleven, 88
Combat of the Thirty, 59, 87
Commines, Philippe de , 56, 60, 91,
116, 169 ss., 216
Complaincte de Eco, by Coquillart,
210
Complaints du povre cotnmun . . .de
France, 52
Constance, Council of . 175
Constantinople, 10, 169
Contemptu Mundi, De , by Pe-
trarch, 299
Contra Peregrinantes, by Frederick
ofHeilo, 145
Contra vanam curiostiatem, by Jean
Gerson, 139
Contra vitia superstitionum, by Denis
the Carthusian, 220
Convivio, by Dante, 26
CoquiUart, Guillaume , 156, 210
Coucy, Castle of, 61 ; Enguerrand
de , 168; House of, 76
Couderc, C. , 249
Courtenay, Peter, 87
Courtray, 232
Cranach, Lucas , 289
Craon, Pierre de , 16
Cricy, Battle of, 33, 61
Oroy, Antoine de , 231
Croy, Family of, 239, 263
Croy, Philippe de , 248
Cu&r 6? Amours espris, by Kinff
Bene, 267, 284 *
Currial, Le , by Alain Chartier, 120
Qyprus, Peter of Lusignan, King of
Danse awe Aveugles., by Pierre
Michault, 277
Dante, 18, 26, 95, 194, 288, 294
David, Gerard, 224, 226, 251, 292
David, King, 61, 179, 257
Debat des Hfrauts d'Armes de France
et d'Angleterre, 91
Debat dou Cheval et dou Levrier, by
Froissart, 277
Debat du Laboureur, du Prestre et du
Gendarme, by Bobert Gaguin, 62,
304
Decamerone, by Boccaccio, 300
Denis. See Areopagite
Denis the Carthusian, 124, 125, 144,
170 ss., 174, 182, 190, 194, 196 ss.,
201 ss., 220, 242, 245 ss., 299
Denys le Chartreirs. See Denis the
Carthusian
" Descent from the Cross," by Rogier
van der Weyden, 291
Deschamps, Eustache , 23 ss., 38,
54, 61, 91, 93, 97, 118, 119, 125,
143, 146, 152, 155, 156, 157, 217,
248, 250, 270, 271, 274, 280, 281,
282, 294, SOI,' 304, 306
Des trois Chevaliers et del Chainse, 71
Devanter, 34
"Devotio Moderna," 145, 160, 174
ss., 178 ss., 205, 238
Dijon, 233; Tabernacle at, 228, 281
Dijon, Ducal palace at , 32
Directory of the Life of Nobles, by
Denis the Carthusian, 124
Discours de ^excellence de virginite^
by Gerson, 27
Dte de Vfrtie, Le, by Chastellain,
306
Diversis didboli tentationibus, De ,
by Gerson, 178
" Dolce stilnuovo," 95
DominicaBfl, 180, 181, 220
Index
Domremy, 216
Donatus morahsatus,
Douai, 232
Ftemalle, Robert Oampin, called the
Master of, 279
"Flight into Egypt," by Breeder-
lam, 281
-,,
Duraad, Gufflaume , 194
Durand Grille, E. , 256
r, Albreeht-, 244, 290
Eck, Johannes, 163
Eckhart, Master, 203, 204
Edward III, King of England, 9, 78,
ftfi
Edward IV, King of England, 11,
MA 1 t\t\
Foulques'de Toulouse, 197
Fradin, Antoine , 4
Franc Gontier, Le ZW* <&-, 117 ss.,
123 ; Le$ contrediz , 123
France, Court of-, 31, 38, 42, 167
France, House of, 170
France, Kings and Queens of, 39,
41, 42, 302
> of Wales, the Black
Prince, 9
Emerson, R. W. , 36, 94
Emprise du Dragon, 72, 73
Ep&tre au Dieu d 1 Amours, L-, by
Christine de Pisan, 102
Entire d'Othta d Hector, by Christine
"de Pisan, 292, 293
Erasmus, Desiderius, 23, 157, 256
Escouchy, Mathieu d'-, 20, 21, jtf
Escu vert a la dame blanche,
"Ordre del' ,63,70
Escurial, 291 .
Espinette amoureuse, L , by .broia-
sart,280
Estavayer, Gerard d,8b
Este, Ippolito d' , Cardinal, 122
Estienne, Henry, 157 ,- 7 , fl
Etat de la Maison du due Charles
de Bourgogne, L'-, by La Marche,
OO Qfl
Exclwnaciw des Os Sainct Innocent,
277
Exposition sur Vfrite mal pnse, by
Chastellain, 293
Eyck, Brothers van, 222, 244, 2 /a
Eyck, Hubert van ,281
Evck, Jan van, 225 ss., 233, 237,
240 ss., 243 ss., 252 ss., 262 ss.,
266, 279, 289, 290, 291
Farinata degli TJberti, 198
Fastolfe, Sir John > 129
Fazio, Bartolomeo , 243, 245, 255,
OQQ
F^nelon, Francois de la Mothe ,
52
Fenin, Pierre de , 17
Ferrer, Vincent-, 4, 5, 165, 174
Fillastre, GuiUaume , Cardinal, 211
Ffflastre, Guillaume , bishop of
Tournay, 76, 77
Fismes, Castle of, 280
Flanders, Louis of Male, Count of,
poetry, 125
Frankenthal, 151
Fraterhouses. See Brethren of the
Common Life
Frederick III, Emperor, 142
Fresne de Beaucourt, G. au , ^u
216, 219, 227,' 238, 248, 267 ss.,
272, 277, 280
Froment, Jean, 20
Fusil, 77
Gaguin, Robert-, 52, 120, 156, 210,
304
Galois, 78
Garin le Loherain, 61
Garter, Order of the, 75
Gaston Ptobus, Count of Foix, 163
Gaston Ptebus, son of the Count of
Foix, 267, 268
Gauvain, 60
Gavre, Battle of, 215
Geertgen of Sint Jan, 267
Genas, Francois de ,170
Geneva, 182
Genoa, 63, 243
George I, King of England, 74
Germain Jean-, bishop of Chalons,
6,76,142,191,300
Gerson, Jean-, 16, 51, 104 ss., 114,
125, 137, 139-169, 173 ss,, 178 ss.,
189 190 194, 211, 219, 242
Ghent, 41, 90, 144, 151, 215, 226,
232, 266, 289
Gideon, 76, 77
Ctiostre, 30
Giotto, 291
Glasdale, William , 129
Gloucester, Humphrey, Duke ot ,
Gloucester, Thomas of Woodstock,
Duke of ,85
Godefroy, Denis, 142, 143
Index
323
Goes, Hugo van der , 226
Goethe, 36, 131
Golden Fleece, Order of the, 58,
75 as., 218, 231, 236, 239
Gonzaga, Francesco, 85
Gorcum, 7, 232
Granada, 81
Grand Turk, 81, 85, 169
Granson, Battle of-, 60, 123
Granson, Othe de , 75, 86, 102, 283,
284
Gregory the Great, Pope , 53
Groningen, 175
Guelders, Dukes of-, 171
Guernier, Laurent , 214
Guesclin, Bertrand du , 61, 80, 88,
166, 225
Guinevere, 121
Guyenne, Oharles of , 213, 214
Haarlem, 239, 267
Hacht, Hannequin de , 235
Hagenbach, Pierre de , 8
Hague, the , 8, 266
Hainault, House of , 76
Hainault, William, Count of, 88
Hales, Alexander of, 199, 245
Hannibal, 60
Hans, acrobat, 17
Hauteville, Philippe d' , 103
Hector, 61
Heilo, Frederick of , 145
E&neries, Seigneur de , 263
Henouars, 39
Henry III, King of France, 44
Henry IV, King of England, 74, 85
Henry V, King of England, 40, 59,
84, 85, 86, 89, 129
Henry VI, King of England, 10, 39,
61
Hercules, 59, 232
Herodotus, 216
Hesdin, 4, 85, 191, 226, 236
" Heures d'Affly," Les belles, 267,
291
Histovre des Dues de Bourgogne, by
De Barante, 222
Holanda, Francesco de , 244
Holbein, Hans , 130, 131
Holy Martyrs, Fourteen, 151, 154,
155 ^
Hdtel Dieu, at Paris, 163
Hours of Turin, 239
Houthem, 144, 266
Huet, G4d<Son , 131
Hugh of Saint Victor, 204, 245
Hugo, Victor, 222
Huguenin, Squire, 63
Huguenots, 68
Hundred Years* War, 51, 129
Hungary, Crown of-, 10
Hutten, Ulrioh von , 22, 23
Imitation of Jesus Christ, The,
205, 238
Innocent VHI, Pope , 220
Innocents, Church and Churchyard
of the, in Paris, 4, 19, 130 ss.
Innocents Day, 138, 139
Isabella of Bavaria, Queen of France,
51, 97, 145, 214, 225, 236
Isabella of Bourbon, Countess of
Oharolais, , Consort of Charles the
Bold, 41, 43
Isabella of Castile, queen of Spain, 35
Isabella of France, queen of England,
225
Isabella of Portugal, Duchess of
Burgundy, 264
James, William , 66, 167, 176
James I, King of England, 44
Jannequin, 247
Jason, 76, 236
Jean sans Peur, duke of Burgundy,
4, 9, 12, 18, 34, 40, 41, 76, 83, 103.
104, 122, 142, 208, 209, 211, 214,
233
Jerusalem, 83, 84 ; Kingdom of , 10
Joab, 208
John the Good, King of France, 75,
83
Joseph of Arimathea, 241
Josquin de Prs, 247
Josuah, 61
Jouvenoel, Le, 63, 87, 93, 212
Jouvenel, Jean, 52
Judas Maccabaeus, 61
"Judgment of Cambyses," by Ger-
ard David, 224, 292
"Judgment of the Emperor Otto,"
by Dirk Bouts, 224, 292
Kempis, Thomas & , 145, 160, 205,
238
Kerelslied, 51
Knights of the Bath, 74
La Borde, L. de , 85
La Bruyere, Jean de , 52
La dime de Sainte Palaye, 80
La Hire, Etienne de Vignolles dit ,
248
Lalaing, Jacques de , 62, 64, 116
Lcdamg, Le Livre des Faits du bon
Chevalier Messire Jacques de , 64
La Marche, Olivier de , 7, 12, 25,
32, 33, 56, 90, 125, 127, 14, 190,
206 ss., 215, 216, 231, 238, 248,
249, 262, 300, 302, 305
324
Index
Lamb," '* Adoration of tho- , by
the Brothers Van Eyck, 224, 238,
244, 257, 258, 259, 262, 273, 291
Lancaster, House of, 11
Lancaster, John of Gaunt, Duke of
, 85, 225
Lancelot, 9, 59, 60, 69, 73, 121
Lannoy, Baudouin de , 254
Lannoy, Family of, 239
Lannoy, Ghillebert de , 162
Lannoy, Jean de , 231
La Noue, Francois de , 68
Lapsu et reparatione justitice, Liber
de , by Nicolas de Clemanges, 51
La Roche, Alain de la, 180 ss., 189
La Salle, Antoine de , 135
La Tour Landry, Chevalier de ,
78, 112 ss., 146, 163
La Tr&noffle, Guy de , 87, 227
Lausanne, 219
Laval, Jeanne de , 269
Lazarus, 132
"Leal Souvenir," by Jan van Eyck,
254
Le Fdvre, Jean, 129, 130
Lefdvre de Saint Bemy, Jean , 58,
236
Lefranc, Martin , 219
Legris, Estienne , 106
Leipsic, 289
Lelinghem, 224
Le Maire de Beiges, Jean, 55, 305
Leo X, Pope, 62
Liber de Virtutibus Philippi duels
Burgundies, by Jean Germain, 142
Liege, bishopric of , 14
Lille, 8, 60, 80, 104, 141, 229, 231,
232, 290, 298
Linxburg, Brothers of , 238 ss., 270,
273, 280 ; Paul of, 270, 281
Lisieux, 106
Lithuania, 84
Livre de Orainte Amoureuse, Le , by
Jean Berthelemy, 180
Livre du chevalier de la Tour Landry
pour Venseignement de ses fittes,
112
&wre du vow Dit, Le , by Guillaume
de Machaut, 109 ss.
Livy, Titus, 62, 300
Loches, Forest of, 42
London, 166
Longuyon, Jacques de , poet, 61
Lorraine, Ben, Duke of-, 139, 301
Lorris, Guillaume de , 96, 100 ss.
Louis IX, King of France, 62, 160,
166
Louis XI, King of France, 4, 11, 34 ss.,
40, 42, 75, 116, 133, 139, 168 ss.,
172, 213, 248, 268, 290
Louis XIV, King of France, 31, 39
Louvain, 232, 292 ; University of ,
218 239
Louvre, 134, 240, 256, 291
Loyola, Saint Ignatius de , 165
Lucca, 237
Luna, Peter of . See Benedict
XIII
Lunettes des Princes, Les , by Jean
Meschinot, 295
Lusignan, Castle of , 231; Pierre
de , 76
Luther, Martin-, 153, 194
Luxembourg, Andr6 de , 168 ; Pierre
de , 128, 165, 167 ss., 177
Luxemburg, 85, 163 ; House of, 168
Lyon, Espaing du , 269
Lys, river, 289
Macabre, Dance of, 129, 130
Machaut, Guillaume de , 61, 107 ss.,
273, 274, 300
Madrid, 291
Mahabharata, 66, 77
41 Madonna of the Chancellor Bolin,"
by Jan van Eyck, 240, 256, 257
Mahuot, 89, 90
Maillard, Olivier, 5, 140, 211
Male, Emile , 130
Malleus MaUficarum, by Henry
Institoris and Jacob Sprenger,
181, 220
Malouel, Jean , 235
Man with the Glass of Wine,"
"The ,253
Marchant, Guyot , 130 ss.
Margaret of Anjou, Queen of Eng-
land, 11, 73, 300
Margaret of Austria, 237
of York, Duchess of Burgundy, see
York
Margaret of Scotland, Queen of
France, 197
Marignano, Battle of , 247
Marmion, Colard, 232 ; Simon , 232
Marot, Clement , 106, 259
Martial d'Auvergne, 109, 131, 135,
286
Martianus Capella, 186
Martin V, Pope , 182
"Martyrdom of Saint Erasmus,"
"of Saint Hippolytus," by Dirk
Bouts, 292
Maximilian, King of the Bomans,
15, 142, 226
Mechlin, 60
Medici, House of, 30
Medici, Lorenzo de* , 169
Meditationee vitce Christi, 241
Index
325
Mehun sur Yevre, 238
M iUador, by Froissart, 56, 68
Melun, Madonna of, 142
M&usine, 231
Memling, Hans, 222
Menot, Michel , 145
Merovingians, 169
MerveiUes du Monde, Les, by Chas-
teUain, 121
Meschinot, Jean, 24, 52, 120, 122,
268, 274, 295
Metsys, Quentin , 244
Metz, 20, 167
Meun, Jean de . See Chopinel
M&zieres, Philippe de , 15, 16, 75,
79, 91, 164, 209, 218, 299
Michault, Pierre, 75, 277
Michelangelo, 235, 244, 257, 290, 291
Michelle de France, Duchess of Bur-
gundy, 34, 41
Middelburg, in Flanders, 239 ; Altar
of, 239
Middelburg, in Zeeland, 239
Mi&ot, Jean, 292
Miliis, Ambrose de , 120, 298
Minims, Order of the, 169, 170
Mirabeau, Marquis de , 52
Mwovrde M ariage, Le , by Eustache
Deschamps, 217
Mirror of Eternal Salvation, The,
by Ruysbroeck, 180
Molinet, Jean, 52, 56, 57, 142, 161,
190, 210, 216, 247, 290, 294, 295,
302, 306, 306
Mons, 15, 232; en Vuneu, 89
Monstrelet, Enguerrand de , 56, 89,
216
Montaigu, Jean de , 4
Montereau, Murder of, 9, 83, 142
Montferrant, 302, 303
Montfort, Jean de , 166
Montlhery, Battle of, 21, 116
Montreuil, Jean de, 104, 119, 298 ss.
Moors, 81
Morgante, by Pulci, 69
Moses, 257 ; WeUof ,,at Dijon, 234ss.
Moulins, Denys de , bishop of
Paris, 19, 20
Najera, Battle of, 88
Nancy, 301 ; Battle of, 216
Nantes, 293
Naples, Ferdinand, King of, 169
National Gallery, 237, 254
" Nativity," by Geertgen of Sint Jan,
267
Navarrete. See Najera
Neo-Platonism, 186
Nietzsche, Friedrich , 215
Notre Dame de Paris, by Victor
Hugo, 222
Notre Dame of Paris, 134, 168, 236
Novis Jestivtiatibus non instifaendis,
by Nic. de Clemanges, 137
Occamites, 186
Okeghem, John of, 238, 247
Or, Madame d' , 17
Orange, William of, 44, 290
Oresme, Nicholas, 299
Orgemont, Pierre d' , 15
Orlando Innamorato, by Boiardo, 69
Orleans, 5, 129
Orleans, Charles of, 98, 163, 239,
253, 283, 285 ss., 305
Orleans, House of, 9, 12, 76, 122
Orleans, Louis, duke of , 9, 61, 76,
85, 108, 120, 122, 141, 163, 167,
168, 208, 209, 211, 214
Orloge Amwreus, Z* , by Froissart,
190
Otio religiosorum, De , by Petrarch,
299
Oudenarde, 232
Ovid, 288, 298
Paele, George van de , 239, 273
Palaeologus, John, Emperor of
Constantinople, 10
Palamedes, 73
Parement et Triumphe des Dames,
j,e , by Olivier de La Maxche,
1 9f\ 197 1 QO
Paris,' 3, 4! 10, 14, 16, 17 ,19, 21 34,
38, 39, 41, 51, 61, 93, 130 ss., 140,
162, 163, 164, 170, 179, 192, 214,
215, 220, 236, 247, 256, 289, 306
Paris, Geffroi de^-, 210
Paris, University of, 39, 168, 195,
Parlement of Paris, 4, 20, 39, 50
Pas d'Armes del'Arbre Charlemagne,
72, 73 ; de la Bergere, 121 ; dela
Fontaine des Pleurs, 72, 73 ; de la
r Chastellain,
Passe 9 Temps tfOysivete, by Bobert
r of the , ?5, 79, 91, 164
, 122, 294, 300, 306
, by Christine
de Pisan, 121
Paule. See Saint Francois
Pays de Vaud, 86
Pelias, 300
Penthesilea, 61
Penthfevre, Jeanne de , loo
326
Index
Perceforest, 68, 71
P6ronne, 20 ; Treaty of , 75
Petit, Jean, 208 ss., 211
Petit Jefaan de Saintre, Le , by
Antoine de la Salle, 80
Petrarch, 71, 95, 111, 117, 119, 259, 299
Petrograd, 257
Petnis Christus, 291
Philip the Bold, duke of Burgundy,
18, 38, 39, 83, 85, 87, 103, 151, 168,
226, 227, 233, 234, 272
Philip the Good, duke of Burgundy, 6,
8, 9, 12, 13, 17, 18, 23, 34= ss., 40,
41, 75, 80, 83, 84, 85, 89, 97, 103,
130, 163, 167, 170, 191, 211, 216,
218, 219, 225, 226, 231, 236, 249,
251, 263 ss., 282, 289, 293, 306
Philip Le Beau, Archduke of Aus-
tria, 35, 142, 290
Piers Plowman, The Vision of Wil-
liam concerning , 162
41 Pieta," Avignon School, 291
by Rogier van der Weyden, 291
by Petrus Christus, 291
by Geertgen of S. Jan, 291
Pisa, Campo Santo at , 130
Pisan, Christine de , 38, 63, 102 ss.,
114, 121, 145, 250, 274 ss., 292, 301
Plato, 288
Platonism, 95, 185
Ptessis les Tours, 169
Ploermel, 87
" Plourants," 235
Plouvier, Jacotin , 89, 90
Poitiers, Ali&aor de , 36, 43, 206
Poitiers, Battle of, 61, 83, 92
Polignac, House of, 226
Ponchier, Etienne , bishop of Paris,
16
Porcupine, Order of the , 76
Porete, Marguerite , 179
Pot, Philippe , 9, 81
Praguerie, 63
Pres, Josquin de , 247
Preux, Les Neuf . See Worthies
Processiones, De modo agendi , by
Denis the Carthusian, 144
Proverbes del Vilain, 51
Provins, 214
Prudentius, 186
Prussia, 84
Pulci, Luigi , 69
" Purification of the Virgin," by the
Brothers of Lixnburg, 281
Pyramus and Thisbe, 95
Quadriloge invectif, by Alain Char-
tier, 52
Quatre Dames, Le Lwre des , by
Alain Charter, 259
Quatuor hominum novissimis, De
125, 132, 198
Quentin, Jean , 170
Quesnoy, 232
Quinze Joyes de Mariage, Les ,
114, 142, 145, 288
Babelais, Francois, 107, 157, 279,
302
Rallart, Gaultier , 34
Ravestein, Philippe de , 123
Raynaud, Gaston , 119
Rebreviettes, Jennet de , 81
Reconfort de Madame du Fresne, Le ,
by Antoine de la Salle, 135
Reformatione, De , by Pierre d'Ailly,
138
RegnauU et Jehanneton, by King
Rene, 269
Reims, 40, 111, 169 ; Notre Dame
of, 177
Reims, Guy de Roye, Archbishop of
, 177
Rembrandt, 237
Rene* of Anjou, titular King of Sicily,
10, 59, 73, 120, 121, 127, 163, 249,
267, 269, 284
Rerum memorandarum libri, by Pe-
trarch, 299
Resource du petit peuple, by Jean
Molinet, 52
Rhetoricians, 230, 262, 273
Ribemont, 21
Richard II, King of England, 9, 44,
85, 91, 225
Richard, Friar , 4, 220
Richard of Saint Victor, 204, 245
Rickel, 171
Robertet, Jean, 283, 302 ss.
Roche-Derrien, La , 166
Rochefort, Charles , 120, 192
Rolin, Nicolas, 42, 231, 232, 240,
256
Roman de la Rose, 77, 96, 100 ss.,
113, 114, 123, 142, 191, 192, 242,
274, 285, 295, 298, 306 ss. ; Riper-
toire du , 106 ; moralise, 106
Rome, 59, 60, 62, 171
Romulus, 60
Ronsard, Pierre, 106
Rosebeke, Battle of, 90
Rotterdam, 9, 162
Rouen, 213, 293
Round Table, 30, 59, 92
Roye, Jean de , 34, 214, 289
Rozmital, Leon of, 38
Ruremonde, 171
Ruysbroeck, Jan , 179 ss., 203 ss.,
Index
327
Saint Achatius, 155
Saint Adolphus, 144
Saint Adrian, 156
Saint Aloysius Gonzaga, 165
Saint Andrew, 231 ; brotherhood of
,17; cross of , 14,85
Saint Anthony, 156, 157
Saint Augustine, 220, 245
Saint Barbara, 155, 193
Saint Bernard, 173, 174, 180, 200,
204, 241
Saint Bernardin. See Bernardino
Saint Bertulph, 151
Saint Blaise, 155
Saint Bonaventura, 188, 194
Saint Bridget of Sweden, 175
Saint Catherine of Siena, 175, 179, 180
Saint Christopher, 155, 156, 193
Saint Colette, 164, 170, 173, 176, 238
Saint Corneille, 157
Saint Cosme, near Tours, 169
Saint Cyriac, 155
Saint Damian, 157
Saint Denis, 155; town of, 4, 39,
110, 225
" Sainte Ampoule," 169
Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, 150
Saint Erasmus, 155, 292
SaintEustace, 155; Churchin Paris, 17
Saint Eutropius, 157
Saint Fiacrius, 157
Saint Francis of Assisi, 162, 164, 252
Saint Francis de Paula, 37, 165, 168 ss.
Saint Francis Xavier, 165
Saint George, 155, 273 ; Swordof , 61
Saint Giles, 155, 156, 198
Saint Hippolytus, 292
Saint Ignatius. See Loyola
Saint James, 150
Saint Jerome, 243
Saint Joan of Arc. See Arc
Saint John the Baptist, 140, 157,
243, 258
Saint John, Order of, 66, 74
Saint Joseph, 139, 140, 152 ss., 279, 281
Saint Katherine, 151, 155
Saint Laud, Cross of, 169
Saint Lie, 177
Saint Ltevin, 144, 266
Saint Louis. See Louis IX
Saint Margaret, 151, 155
Saint Maur, 156
Saint Michael, 151, 273
Saint Nicholas, 198
Saint Nil, 170
Saint Omer, 71
Saint Pantaleon, 155
Saint Paul, 183
Saint Peter, 194, 199; corporal of ,
169
Saint Peter's Abbey at Ghent, 151
Saint Pius, 157
Saint Pol, Hdtel de , 208
Saint Pol, Jean de , lord of Haut-
bourdin, 71
Saint Pol, Louis de Luxembourg,
count of , 34, 248
Saint Quentin, 21
Saint Quiricus, 198
Saint Koch, 150, 154, 156
Saint Romuald, 150, 170
Saint Rosa of Viterbo, 128
Saint Sebastian, 156, 157
Saint Stephen, 142
Saint Thomas Aquinas, 150, 200, 220,
245
Saint Valentine, 156
Saint Vitus, 155
Saint Yves, 166
Saint Zanobi, 169
Salazar, Jean de , 248
Salisbury, William Montague, Earl
of, 78
Salmon, Pierre , 14
Salutati, Coluccio , 299
Samson, 257
Sancerre, Louis de , 39, 102
Saracens, 92
Saturn, 292
Saumur, Castle of, 270
Savonarola, Girolamo , 5, 297
Savoy, Ame" VII of, 86
Savoy, House of, 76, 170
Saxony, Duke of , 85
Scipio, 71, 300
Scorel, Jan van , 244
Selonnet, 92, 93
Semiramis, 61
Sempy. See Croy, Philippe de-
Seneca, 53
Senlis, 298
Serbia, 83
Seven Sacraments," "The, by
Bogier van der Weyden, 232, 239
Shakespeare, 294
Sicily, Crown of , 10
Sicily, Herald, 107
Siena. See Bernardino
Sluter, Glaus, 222, 233 ss., 252
Sluys, 7, 9, 226, 281, 295
Songe du Vi&il Pelerin, e by
Philippe de Mezierea, 218
Sorel, Agnes, 142
Sotomayor, 88
Sprenger, Jacob , 181
Standonck, Jan, 170
Star, Order of the, 75, 77, 86, 92
States of Blois, 1433; Orleans,
1439 ; Tours, 1484, 52
Stavelot, Jean de , 38
328
Index
Strassburg, 144
Sufiolk, Michael de la Pole, earl of
,129
Sutnmia Desiderantes, Papal bull, 220
Suso, Henry, 136, 137, 180, 182,
204
Sword, Order of the , 76
Tacitus, 80
Taine, Hippolyte , 93
Tartars, 92
Templars, 66, 74
Temple de Bocace, Le, treatise by
Chastellain, 11, 300
Testament, Le 9 by Villon, 20
Teutonic Knights, 66, 74
Tewkesbury, Battle of, 11
Theocritus, 29
Thomas, Pierre , 164
"Three Marys at the Sepulchre,"
281
Thucydides, 216
Tirlemont, 232
Tomyris, 61
Totenfanz, by Goetfce, 131
Touraine, Jean de , dauphin of
France, 85
Tournay, 50; Jean Ghevrot, bishop
of, 42, 232, 239 ; Jean de Thoisy,
bishop of , 41
Tours, 169
Trastamara, Don Henri de , 88
Trazegnies, Gillon de , 62
Tr6guier, 166
Trent, Council of, 111, 155
Tres riches heures de Chantilly,"
Les , by the Brothers of Lim-
burg, 269
Tnonj?, by Petrarch, 299
Tristram, 62, 69 ; and Yseult, 274, 275
Troilus, 59
Troyes, 40
Tuetey, A., 20
Turks, 9, 81, 83, 92, 171, 231, 239
Turlupins, 128, 179
Twelfth Night or What you Will, 44
TJgolino della Gherardesca, 198
Umbria, 150
Unigemtots, Papal bull, 199
Upton, Nicolas , 77
Urbauists, 14
Utrecht, 14 ; Tower of, 238 ; bishop-
ric of, 8, 14
Valenciennes, 2, 89, 97, 123, 232, 266,
281
VaWorum per Frcmciam mendi-
cantwm varia astucia, De , by
Robert Gaguin, 157
Valois, House of, 166, 234, 272
Varennes, Jean de , 177, 211, 299
Vaucouleurs, 216
Velazquez, Diego, 17
Venetians, 62
Venus, 100 ss., 193, 290, 307
Vere, Robert de , 44
Victorious, 204. See Hugh, Richard
Vienne, Council of , 15
Vigneulles, Philippe de , 20
Villiers, George , Duke of Bucking-
ham, 44
Villon, Francois, 20, 123, 125, 128,
132, 133, 149, 210, 222, 253,
261, 283, 302, 304, 305, 306
Vincennes, Castle of , 270
Virgil, 298
Viris illustribus, De , by Petrarch,
299
"Visitation," by the Brothers of
Limburg, 281
Vita et regimine episcoporum, etc.,
De , by Denis the Carthusian, 196
Vita nuova, 96
Vita solitaria, De , by Petrarch, 299
Vitri, Philippe de , bishop of
Meaux, 55, 117, 118, 299
Vivat rex 9 Sermon by Gerson, 51
Vwu du Heron, 70, 78 ss., 81
VCBUX du Paon, Les , by Jacques de
Longuyon, 61
" Vceux du Faisan," 78, 80, 81
Voir Dit. See Livre
Vydt, Judocus , 239
Watteau, Antoine , 286
Wenzel, King of the Romans, 9
Werve, Claus de , 233
Westminster Abbey, 226
Weyden, Rogier van der , 222, 224,
227 ss., 240, 243, 255, 291
Windesheim, Canons of , 157, 174
BS., 181, 198, 205, 238
Worthies, The Nine , 61, 299, 301
Wurtemberg, Henry of , 251
Xavier. See Saint Francis
York, Edmund, Duke of, 85; Ed-
ward of , 129; House of , 11;
et of , Duchess of Bur-
, 123, 216, 229
Ypres, f
Zeelaad, 77
ZwoUe, 181
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AUTUMN
ANNOUNCEMENTS, 1924
THE YEARS OF MY PILGRIMAGE.
By the RIGHT HON. Sm JOHN EOSS, Bart., last Lord Chan-
cellor of Ireland.
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2 Edward Arnold & Go's Autumn Announcements.
draws interesting pictures of Court ceremonial and social functions
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LIFE OF JOHN WILLIAM STRUTT,
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MEMORIES OF A MILITANT.
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HUIA ONSLOW.
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Victor Alexander Herbert Huia Onslow, younger son of the 4th
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4 Edwwd Arnold & Co.'s Autumn Announcements.
accident, -while bathing, which left him paralysed below the waist,
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FROM CHINA TO HKAMTI LONG.
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Edward Arnold & Co.'s Autumn Announcements. 5
ADVENTURES OF CARL RYDELL.
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6 Edward Arnold & Go's Autumn Announcements.
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Edward Arnold <fe Co.'s Autumn Announcements. 7
UNSCIENTIFIC ESSAYS.
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ELDER PBOPESSOE OP ANATOMY nr THE UNIVERSITY or ADELAIDE. AOTEOB
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ANTIQUES :
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8 Edward Arnold <Ss Co.'s Autumn Announcements.
arranged in alphabetical order. Finally, descriptions are given of
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ENGLISH LITERATURE BEFORE
CHAUCER.
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preparatory to a more detailed study of individual texts, but the
reader whose literary interests are more general, and to whom this
period has been perhaps a terra incognita, will find much to attract him
in the early examples of English epic poetry, romance, lyric, satire,
and the short story, with whose later manifestations he is familiar.
TRAGEDY.
By W. MACNEILE DIXON, LL.B., LITT.D.
PaorEssoE OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY
or GLASGOW.
Crown Bvo. Probable price, 6s. net.
Though the author of this Essay points out some features of the
Athenian theatre which fatefully combined to favour the birth
of Tragedy, he is not greatly concerned with any ordinary question
Edward Arnold & Go's Autumn Announcements. 9
of " origins," and holds simply that Tragedy burst from the brain
of JSschylus like Athena from the head of Zeus, attaining at once
its fullest imaginable stature. The justification of "the ways
of God to Man," " the Problem of Evil," " the Riddle of the
Universe" in such phrases as these Professor Dixon's concep-
tion of the scope of the Tragic theme are faintly adumbrated,
and one is left wondering whether, without JEschylus' lead, even
Sophocles would have compassed it fully ; of Euripides there is
no question. Only once with Shake3peare was Tragedy reborn.
The history of Tragedy is thus not a literary one ; it is to be
sought rather in a way in which the world-philosophers, from Aris-
totle to Hegel and Nietsche, have reacted to it. In the tracing of these
reactions lies perhaps the principal interest of a stimulating book.
NEW FICTION.
MUCH DELUSION.
By GERTRUDE SPINNT,
AXJTHOB OP "THE PAINTED CASTLE."
Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
Miss Spinny's first novel, " The Painted Castle," won golden
opinions from discerning critics who were quick to recognize qualities
revealing unusual promise. In her new novel, the author has
chosen a less difficult subject and one that will appeal more directly
to the experience of the reader. The story is lightly and amusingly
told while developing a situation that becomes increasingly excit-
ing. It begins quietly with the appearance of a stranger, Andrew
Redman, who takes a furnished cottage in Sussex to recover from
a nervous breakdown. He becomes acquainted with his neighbours,
in particular with the Vicar, who is morbidly interested in Spiritual-
ism, and with Miss Charlotte Masters, who lives there with her grand-
parents Charlotte is regarded by the Vicar as a promising medium,
and by Redman with eyes of love. Gradually the reader P^ceives
that Redman is living under an assumed name, and lean* that his
breakdown was caused by circumstances not unconnected with the
Vicar's mental disturbance. Redman's identity, when revealed,
adds to the difficulty of his winning Charlotte. But a more ternble
obstacle arises through the menacing attitude of the Vicar, whose
delusions rapidly develop into mania aoid Wng /fcrat a ta *P*
in which Charlotte barely escapes a horrible death. The story is
carefully constructed and interesting from start to finish.
10 Edward Arnold & Co.'s Autumn Announcements.
THE PAPER MOON.
By L. C. EOBART,
AUEHOB OP "THE SILKEN SCARF."
Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
Miss Hobart's second novel is in every way stronger and more in-
teresting than her first. The plot is well constructed and developed
with much emotional power. She has the gift of bringing her charac-
ters and their setting vividly before the reader, and communicates
the strong sympathy and antipathy she herself feels for them.
The book opens amid idyllic surroundings on Dartmoor, but the
scene soon shifts to a certain house in Chelsea, in outward appear-
ance not different from its neighbours, but pregnant with some
strange uncanny influence, some dimly apprehended evil lurking
in the background, waiting for the moment of consummation.
This malign atmosphere, the tense expectancy, the breathless
suspense, Miss Hobart renders most vividly.
The inhabitants of the house are Jonathan Fane and his son
Greville ; from them also there seems to emanate a mysterious sug-
gestion of hidden evil, of menace that may become reality. Greville
is the villain of the story : he is a man who exercises irresistible
fascination over the opposite sex, and first April Arless, then Rachel
Strangways fall victims to his Mephistophelean attractions. In strong
contrast with Greville is his cousiir, Jake Fane, who is also in love
with Rachel, and the characters of these two men typify the forces
of good and evil which contend for mastery throughout the book.
THE BIRTHMARK.
By ALAN SULLIVAN.
Crown Svo. 7s., 6d. net.
Mr. Sullivan's book is a sheer delight. Conceived in a spirit of
satiric comedy, it is packed with witticisms that keep the reader
chuckling happily to himself from the first page to the last.
To Molding-on-the-Ooze, in " the lowest, flattest and dampest
section of the Midlands," the seat of Henry Hardinger, Esq., come
Colonel and Mrs. Bostwick, desiring its owner as a husband for
their daughter Grace. Henry (who looks on life " as something
between a polo match and a satiric comedy ") has no money : the
Colonel has no money : each is ignorant of the other's want : each
sees in Grace a solution of his difficulty. Every one takes a hand
in the game of deceits, and as all concerned are both deceivers and
deceived, the complications and the fun can be imagined.
Edward Arnold & Go's Autumn Annwncements. 11
Mr, Sullivan is never at a loss : he " keeps the ball rolling "
merrily. Unhesitatingly he puts his finger on the laughter-feeding
qualities in every one and every thing. He mocks, but it is with a
kindly mockery that adds zest to life.
As for the Birthmark the part it plays in the game it would be
unfair to reveal, but the comedy both above and below stairs makes
joyous reading. To all who enjoy laughter we recommend this
whimsical and witty book.
SMITE THE ROCK.
By OSWALD H. DAVIS,
ATJTHOR OF "Son GOODS."
Crown Svo. 7s. 6d. net.
All readers of Mr. Davis's brilliant first novel must have looked
forward with eager interest to a second book from his pen. They
will not be disappointed.
" Smite the Rock " is, like " Soft Goods," a chronicle of the
great Midland city of Ardencester, and is marked by the same
sincerity and fineness of detail that distinguished the earlier book.
Life in a provincial city : the niceties of its class distinctions : its
" high teas " : its chapel " socials " : the ugliness of its industrial-
ism, are described with a vividness that is almost uncanny.
Against these pettinesses of existence : these social differentia-
tions : the drabness of the workers' lives : the things that " always
have been and always will be," Frank Calder rebelled. The son
of an employer and a capitalist, he ranges himself on the side of
Labour, only to find his idealism' shaken by contact with the indi-
vidual representatives of the class he champions, and by the brute
force of the mass. But the ideal of service, the purity of his con-
ception, the instinct to fight for an idea, survive, and the book
ends on a note of high hopefulness.
Mr. Davis's subject is a fascinating one the gradual development
of a young man's character, his aspirations, his temptations and
he has handled it with masterly ^"'"
A QUEST FOR A FORTUNE.
By PHUIPPA TYLER.
Crown 800. 7s. 6d. net.
The scene of this interesting story is laid in Italy, land of romance
and intrigue, which has so often attracted English novelists and pro-
vided them with exciting and entertaining plots. It was tne nappy
huntingground of Marion Crawford and of Richard Bagot,to mention
12 Edward Arnold & Go's Autumn Announcements.
only two favourite authors, and after reading Miss Tyler's work
one wonders whether there is not some special deity who smiles
upon the choice of that wonderful land as a field for fiction. Miss
Tyler's novel has the atmosphere of Italy breathing through every
page. We have the old aristocracy typified in the Prince di Consa
and his beautiful daughters : like their magnificent palaces, glorious
without, but faded and decaying within, the family presents to the
world an appearance of stateliness and pride of race which hide
ruined fortunes and an abandoned morale. The Prince himself
carries off the situation boldly to the end, but the inevitable crash
develops and wellnigh overwhelms his son Sigismondo, round whose
efforts to restore the family fortunes the plot thickens. A good
marriage is evidently the obvious solution, but what shall a young
man do when love pulls one way and purse-strings another, not to
speak of a very able and intriguing Marchesa di Pina who knows
exactly what she wants and holds strong cards played with entire
unscrupulousness. The Marchesa is a most original and effectively
drawn character, and both Anita and Raffaella are such charming
girls that it is hard to say which is the real heroine. We have pur-
posely avoided unravelling the plot, which is extremely ingenious and
well constructed and holds the reader's attention to the end.
THE MIND OF MARK.
By H. HERMAN CHILTON.
Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net.
This is Mr. Chilton's first novel, and it is made noteworthy by
his clever study of the character of his hero, Mark Rawson. The
author knows intimately the manners and conversation of the self-
made Midland manufacturer and his associates, and his picture of
Mark Rawson, so utterly absorbed in " getting on " in " besting
the other chaps " that his home is, as it were, but a bye-product,
has a photographic exactitude.
As Mark's wealth had increased, so had his self-confidence and
dominance. Once resolved on a course of action, he bends his
Board of Directors to his will. When a strike occurs, he thinks
to dominate his workpeople in like manner. But they are of less
pliant material, and in the uproar Mark receives an injury to his
head which brings on a long illness.
For the first time in his fife, he becomes an onlooker : he has
leisure to think, and begins to readjust his values, to see that
there is such a thing as compromise.
But this new Mark Rawson is incomprehensible to his colleagues
and with the exception of his daughter Amy to his family :
Edward Arnold & Co.'s Autumn Announcements. 13
he loses the support of the one and the sympathy of the other.
The sincerity and power of the book are unmistakable, and the
tragedy of the end is marked by a fine simplicity.
YOUNG MRS. CRUSE.
By VIOLA MEYNELL,
AUTHOB OF "COLUMBINE," "SECOND MABBIAGE," ETC.
Crown Svo> 7s, 6d. net.
The seven stories which go to make up this volume will serve
to increase the author's already well-established reputation. " The
Letter," " We were saying . . . ," and the story which gives its
title to the book are perhaps especially noteworthy, but each in
its own way is a model of what such stories should be* All is here ;
the imaginative outlook ; the portrayal of situation, atmosphere,
character with a few well-placed touches ; the swiftly moving
development of the theme ; and, not least, the sting in the tail.
A PASSAGE TO INDIA.
By K M. FORSTER,
AUTHOB OF " HOWARDS END," ETC.
7s. 6d. net*
*** Also a Collector's Large Paper Edition, limited to 200 copies,
each copy signed by the Author, printed on Hand-made paper.
Demy 8vo, price 2 2. net.
Reviewed by BOSB MAOATOAY in The DoAly News: "Mr. E, M. Forster
is to many people the most attractive and the most exquisite of contemporary
novelists. . . . Never was a more convincing, a more pathetic, or a more
amusing picture drawn of the Ruling Kace in India. . . .
" It is an ironic tragedy, but also a brilliant comedy of manners, and a
delightful entertainment. Its passages of humour or beauty might, quoted,
fill several columns.'*
Reviewed by SYLVIA LYND in " Time and Tide " : " Beader, lo here, at
last, a great book. There have been brilliant books in recent years, witty
books, original books, books written in limpid and exquisite English ; but
not until now has there been a book that was all these things. . . .
" ' A Passage to India ' is a delicious and terrible book. . . ."
From The Spectator t " Of all the novels that have appeared in England
this year, Mr. Forster's is probably the most considerable. . . .
** * A Passage to India ' is a disturbing, uncomfortable book. Its surface
is so delicately and finely wrought that it pricks us at a thousand points.
. . . The humour, irony, and satire that awake the attention and delight
the mind on every page all leave their sting."
14 Edward Arnold & Co.'s Autumn Announcements.
Uniform Edition of
Mr. E. M. Forster's Earlier Works.
A new uniform edition can now be obtained of the following books.
Bound in cloth, 5s. net per volume.
A ROOM WITH A VIEW.
" Mr. Forster's new novel clearly admits him to the limited class of writers
who stand above and apart from the manufacturers of contemporary fiction."
Spectator.
" It is packed with wonderful impressions and radiant sayings." Evening
Standard.
" We have originality and observation, and a book as clever as the other
books that Mr. Forster has written already." Times.
THE LONGEST JOURNEY.
"This novel is a very remarkable and distinguished piece of work. Its
abundant cleverness fills even the more strenuous passages with vivacity.
The strength of the book consists in its implicit indictment of the mean,
conventional, self -deceitful insincerity of so much of modern English edu-
cated middle-class life. This is certainly one of the cleverest and most
original books that have appeared from a new writer since George Meredith
first took the literary critics into his confidence." Daily Telegraph.
WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD.
"A remarkable book. Not often has the reviewer to welcome a new
writer and a nej^ novel so directly conveying the impression of power and
an easy mastery of material. Here there are qualities of style and thought
which awaken a sense of satisfaction and delight ; a taste in the selection
of words ; a keen insight into the humour (and not merely the humours)
of life ; and a challenge to its accepted courses. It is told with a deftness,
a lightness, a grace of touch, and a radiant atmosphere of humour which
mark a strength and capacity giving large promise for the future." Daily
News.
HOWARDS END.
Crown 8vo. 6s. net. A few copies still obtainable.
" There is no doubt about it whatever. Mr. E. M. Forstet is one of the
great novelists. All will agree as to the value of the book, as to its absorb-
ing interest, the art and power with which it is put together, and they will
feel with us that it is a book quite out of the common by a writer who is
one of our assets, and is likely to be one of our glories." Daily Telegraph.
Edward Arnold & Go's Autumn Announcements. 15
RECENTLY PUBLISHED.
MAN AND MYSTERY IN ASIA.
By FERDINAND OSSENDOWSKI,
OFFICIEB D'ACAD^SMIE FRAJ*AISB ; AUTHOR or " BEASTS, MEN AND GODS."
With Map. Demy 8vo. Third Impression. 14s. net.
Morning Post. " Every whit as enthralling as ' Beasts, Men and Gods.' "
Spectator." The most salient feature of Dr. Ossendowski's book is its
revelation of the author's complex character. We are deeply impressed by
his power of telling a story, for every chapter is not only interesting, it is
exciting. One of the most exciting and vivid narratives we have ever read."
THE ROMANCE OF PLANT HUNTING.
By CAPTAIN P. KINGDON WARD,
AUTHOB or "THE LAND OP THE BLTTB POPPY," ETC.
With Illustrations and Map. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. net.
Mr. EOBACE HUTOHINSON in The Queen." It is a book to be much com*
mended to the expert and to the general reader alike."
THE LAND OF THE SUN (QUEENSLAND).
By B. J. BRADY,
AOTHOB OF "ATTSTBAJJA UrararcBD," "Tms KOTO'S CABATAN," ETC.
With Illustrations and Map. Crown too. 7s. 6d. net.
Liverpool Courier. " Beads like a novel and sounds like a poem."
LIFE AND ADVENTURE IN PEACE AND
WAR.
By MAJOB-GBOTRAL SIR ELLIOTT WOOD, K.O.B.
One Volume. With Portrait. Demy 8vo. 16s. net.
THE ASSAULT ON MOUNT EVEREST.
By BBIQ.-GBNBRAL THE HON. 0. G. BRUCE,
AND OTHEB MEMBERS OF THE MOTOT EVEREST EXPEDITION.
With 33 Full-page Illustrations and 2 Maps. Med. 8vo.
25s. net.
16 Edward Arnold <fe Co.'s Autumn Announcements.
BECENTLT PUBLISHED.
THE WANING OF THE MIDDLE AGES:
A STUDY OF THE FORMS OF LIFE, THOUGHT AND ART
IN FRANCE AND THE NETHERLANDS IN THE 14TH
AND 15TH CENTURIES.
By J. EUIZINGA,
PROCESSOR IN THE UNIVERSITY OP LEIDEN.
With Illustrations. Demy Bvo. 16s. net.
" This thoughtful and well-ordered book, full of strange facts and shrewd
comment, deserves careful study. The illustrations are delightful, and have
evidently been selected with great care and judgment.'' Times Literary
Supplement.
THE DISINHERITED FAMILY :
A PLEA FOR FAMILY ENDOWMENT.
By ELEANOR P. RATHBONE, M.A., J.P., C.C.,
AUTHOR OF " How THE CASUAL LABOURER LIVES," ETC.
Crown Svo. 7s. 6d. net.
Sir WM. BEVEEIDGE in the Weekly Westminster. "A remarkable book
compact of vigorous argument and marshalled facts and wide personal ex-
perience. It can be read by anybody and ought to be read by everybody."
SUNSHINE AND OPEN AIR :
THEIR INFLUENCE ON HEALTH, WITH SPECIAL
REFERENCE TO THE ALPINE CLIMATE.
By LEONARD HILL, M.B., F.R.S.,
DDRECTOB DEPARTMENT OF APPLIED PHYSIOLOGY, NATIONAL INSTITUTE OE
MEDIOAL RESEARCH.
Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.
"This book is well worth reading, and although of particular interest to
the medical profession, should be much more widely appreciated. Both medi-
cal and lay readers will find it full of interesting facts and permeated through-
out with shrewd common sense.'* The Lancet.
CRIME AND INSANITY.
By W. C. SULLIVAN, M.D.,
MEDIOAL SUPERINTENDENT STATE CBBONAL LUNATIC ASYLUM, BROADMOOB.
One Volume. Demy Svo, 12s. 6d. net.
" We can thoroughly recommend this book to both jurists and medical
men." British Medical Journal.
LONDON : EDWARD ARNOLD & Co., 41 & 43 MADDOZ STREET, W.I
