Volume 3 — CHAPTER XXVII GENERAL CONDITION OF EUROPE FROM THE VIII. TO THE XVI. CENTURY 700–1500

Effects of Barbarian Supremacy on the Nations of Europe—Rise of the Papal Power—Character of the Popes—Their Vices and Crimes—The Interdict—Corrupt Practices of Prelates and Degradation of the Papacy—Institution of the Monastic Orders—Their Great Influence—Their Final Degeneracy—Wealth of the Religious Houses—The Byzantine System—Its Characteristics—Power of the Eunuchs—Splendor of Constantinople—Destruction of Learning—Debased Condition of the Greeks—The People of Western Europe—Tyranny of Caste and its Effects—Feudal Oppression—Life of the Noble—His Amusements—The Serf and his Degradation—His Hopeless Existence—Treatment of the Jews—Prevalence of Epidemics—Religious Festivals—General Ignorance—Scarcity and Value of Books—Persecution of Learning—The Empire of the Church—Its Extraordinary Vitality.

In order that the reader may thoroughly understand and properly appreciate the moral and intellectual supremacy of the Spanish Arabs and their prodigious advance in the domain of science and the arts, I have thought it advisable, by way of contrast, to present to him a short and superficial sketch of the religious, political, and domestic conditions which prevailed in the society of contemporaneous Europe. The extent of this vast and comprehensive subject—one which has exhausted the erudition of many great historians, whose works of themselves would constitute a considerable library—must, therefore, excuse the incomplete and cursory character of this chapter; while its importance as a standard of comparison will account for an apparent deviation from the general plan embraced by these volumes.

The elegant luxury and refined civilization of the Romans had disappeared amidst the universal anarchy which followed the dissolution of their empire. The boundaries of great states and kingdoms had been obliterated. Provinces once famed for their fertility were now the haunts of prowling beasts and truculent barbarians. The despotic but generally salutary government of the Cæsars had everywhere, save in the immediate vicinity of Byzantium, been replaced by the capricious and irregular jurisdiction of petty chieftains, whose violent passions were restrained only by their weakness, and of marauding princes, ambitious to destroy every vestige of that architectural magnificence and mental culture whose monuments they despised, and whose example they had neither the desire nor the capacity to emulate. Instead of a smiling landscape, everywhere exhibiting the traces of agricultural skill and laborious and patient industry, a prospect of universal desolation met the eye of the anxious and hurrying wayfarer. Moss-grown heaps of rubbish alone marked the site of many a once flourishing and opulent city. The towering aqueducts,—those engineering marvels of the ancient world,—whose majestic ruins still excite the admiration of all mankind, were broken and fallen into decay. The peerless temples and altars of the gods had been desecrated by the hands of sacrilegious Goth, Hun, and Lombard. Bands of brigands, insensible to pity, swarmed upon the highways. In the cities the equitable decisions of the prætor had been supplanted by the extortions of ecclesiastical fraud and barbarian insolence. The vices prevalent during the most abandoned period of Roman licentiousness had survived, and had been aggravated by the unfeeling cruelty of the conquerors. No scruples of humanity or delicacy suggested the concealment of the most revolting orgies. The streets of the Eternal City exhibited enormities whose very mention the rules of modern propriety do not tolerate. Banquets where the brutal propensities of the turbulent and uncouth guests were indulged to the utmost constantly afforded provocation for bloodshed and murder. Knowledge of letters, understanding and appreciation of the arts, had already wholly vanished. The literary masterpieces of classic genius remained unknown or forgotten in the insignificant collections of scattered libraries, or had been buried under the smoking ruins of those institutions of learning which once adorned the capitals and the provincial cities of Greece and Italy.

By the accident of geographical position, by the adoption of familiar political maxims, and by the incorporation into its ritual of many ceremonies long endeared to the votaries of Paganism, the Church of Rome had secured an influence over the minds of men which under any other circumstances it could scarcely have acquired. The revered name and dignity of Supreme Pontiff imparted authority to its decrees and gave prestige to its decisions on questions of doctrine. The five Christian emperors, from Constantine to Gratian, adopted without alteration the attributes and wore the insignia of the sacred office established by Numa and usurped by Augustus. The assumption of imperial power is shown by the extent of Papal jurisdiction long sharply defined by the ancient limits of the empire. The adoption of the Latin idiom enabled the Church to communicate secretly with its servants in the most distant countries; while at the same time it invested the proceedings of its worship with a mystery which awed the ignorant and fanatic believer. The splendid ceremonial, the imposing temples, the elaborate vestments, the costly furniture of the altar enriched with gold and jewels, the incense, the solemn chants, the consecration of the Host,—all powerfully impressed the superstitious children of the slaves of ancient mythology, in whose minds still lingered traces of those traditions which had been received by their fathers with the implicit faith due to the oracles of the gods.

In the course of centuries, the primitive simplicity of the Gospel and the purity of life which distinguished the first Christians had been lost in the complex theology, in the unseemly contests for precedence, in the crimes and the licentiousness which distracted the society of the Eternal City. From a simple priest, whose tenure of office was dependent on the pleasure of his associates, the Bishop of Rome had been exalted into a mighty sovereign, responsible only to the powers of Heaven. The palace of the Vatican exhibited all the vices of the most corrupt of courts. The assumption of infallibility,—an inevitable result of the preposterous claims of the Papacy,—through the contradictory interpretations of different individuals whose interests were conflicting led to the most opposite conclusions, often to results fatal to the peace and honor of the Church. The faith of the populace was weakened. Infidelity in the priesthood became too common to excite remark. The universal depravity was incredible and appalling. The general demoralization resulting from the example of the clergy, whose atheism and debauchery were proverbial, threatened the existence of society, a catastrophe which the thorough organization of the hierarchy alone prevented. Even in the fifteenth century Machiavelli wrote, “The nearer a nation is to Rome the more impious are the people.” When the German Schopp called the famous scholar, Casaubon, an atheist, the latter retorted: “If I were an atheist I should now be at Rome, where I have often been invited.” The effects of this superb ecclesiastical organization were not long in manifesting themselves. The legitimate resources of power were aided by every device of fraud, of oppression, of imposture, of forgery. A succession of able and unprincipled pontiffs fastened on Christendom a yoke which the intelligence and the science of subsequent generations have not even yet been able to entirely remove. The temporal supremacy of the Cæsars was re-established over Europe; the dogmas of Catholicism were preached in distant continents unknown to the ancient world; and a tyranny far more terrible in its consequences than that experienced under the cruel rule of Nero and Domitian was imposed upon the intellectual aspirations of mankind.

No branch of history affords such a significant illustration of human craft and human weakness as the story of the ambition, the intrigues, and the vices of the Popes. In its consideration, the fact must never be lost sight of that the Holy Father was, as a necessary consequence of his creed, the earthly embodiment of spiritual perfection,—the vicegerent of Almighty God. Either the admission of a single error of judgment, or a controversy involving the most insignificant tenet sustained by one pope and disputed by his successor, was fatal to the claim of infallibility, which was the foundation of the entire ecclesiastical system. The omniscience conferred by the apostolic succession, which traced its origin to the Saviour Himself, could never be mistaken. The example of the Supreme Pontiff, the relations he sustained to the great officials of his court, his occupations, his diversions, his tastes, his habits, his conversation, were of far greater importance in the eyes of the meanest peasant of some remote kingdom who acknowledged his mission than were the most glorious achievements of any temporal sovereign. The possibilities for the attainment to positions of such authority and influence as were offered by the Roman Catholic hierarchy had been unknown to Paganism. These opportunities enabled men of base origin, but of extraordinary talents, to reach the chair of St. Peter, men whose faults were overlooked or palliated by the indulgent spirit of the age on account of the successful prosecution of their schemes and the veneration which attached to their calling.

Thus, among the powers of the earth, highest in rank, greatest in renown, supreme in influence, pre-eminent in infamy, was the Papacy of Rome. The maintenance of an uniform standard of orthodoxy was little considered by the spiritual potentate whose will was the law of Christendom. It is well known to every student of Church history that Jewish doctrines predominated in the early days of Christianity and controlled the policy of its priesthood. The Pagan ideas and ceremonies inherited from the Roman pontiffs it never laid aside. Every form of heterodox belief was entertained at different periods by the incumbents of the Holy See. St. Clement was an Arian; Anastasius a Nestorian; Honorius a Monothelite; John XXII. an unconcealed atheist. The contradictory dogmas, the acrimonious disputes, the frightful anathemas, that resulted from the adoption of these heretical principles of doctrine were the public reproach of the Christian world. As the power of the Papacy increased, its possession became more and more an object to ambitious and unscrupulous adventurers. It was sought and obtained by arts countenanced only by the vilest of demagogues. It was sold by one Pope to another; and, like the imperial laurel appropriated by the Pretorian Guards, it was put up at auction by cardinals and became the property of the most wealthy purchaser. Some of the Holy Fathers had not taken orders; others had not even received the sacraments of baptism and communion before being invested with the pontifical dignity. In some instances the tiara and the mitre were placed upon the brows of children. Neither John XII. nor Benedict IX. had attained the age of thirteen years when intrusted with the direction of the spiritual affairs of Christendom. An infant of five years was consecrated Archbishop of Rheims. Another who was only ten was placed upon the episcopal throne of Narbonne. Alonso of Aragon, the natural son of Ferdinand the Catholic, was made Archbishop of Saragossa at the age of six. The origin of the vicars of Christ was sometimes of the most obscure and often of the most disgraceful character. Stephen VII., John X., John XI., John XII., Boniface VII., Gregory VII., were the sons of courtesans. In some instances the infamy was further increased by the additional stigma attaching to the crime of incest. The famous courtesan Marozia, who for the greater part of her life disposed of the Papacy at her will, is credited with the installation of eight Popes, all her lovers or her children, one of whom was at once her son and grandson. The empire she acquired by her talents and her beauty lasted almost a quarter of a century. To that epoch is ascribed an occurrence that many writers have designated as fabulous, but which is established by evidence far more convincing than many events that have successfully withstood the most formidable assaults of hostile criticism. It was long asserted by chroniclers of the orthodox faith, and universally credited, that in the capital of Christianity, hallowed by the glorious deaths of countless martyrs, linked with the proud associations of the rise and progress of the spiritual power of the Papacy, and ennobled by the most signal victories of the Church, a monstrous prodigy had occurred. It was said that Pope John VIII., whose sex had hitherto been unsuspected save by those favored with her intimacy, while returning from the celebration of a solemn festival, at the head of a procession of cardinals and bishops and surrounded with the glittering emblems of pontifical power and majesty, had been seized with the throes of parturition in one of the most public thoroughfares of Rome.

The original acceptance of and belief in this portentous catastrophe, and its subsequent denial, form one of the most curious episodes in the annals of the Church. For five centuries it was implicitly received as historic truth. The life of Pope Joan long occupied a prominent place in the biographies of the successors of St. Peter, dedicated to eminent prelates, often to the Pontiffs themselves. The occurrence—whose locality was marked by the statue of a woman wearing the Papal insignia and holding a child in her arms—was minutely described in the works of learned and respectable historians. This memorial was thrown into the Tiber by the order of Sixtus V. Her bust, destroyed by Charles VIII. during the French invasion of Italy, was long an ornament of one of the churches of Sienna. Until the time of Leo X. certain ceremonies, which cannot be described, were publicly instituted at the election of every Pope to determine his sex. To these even the licentious Borgia was forced to conform. John Huss, when arraigned before the Council of Constance, amidst an unbroken silence, reproached the ecclesiastical dignitaries assembled to condemn him, and whom the slightest heretical assertion roused to tumultuous fury, with the imposture which had so signally demonstrated the weakness of the vaunted inspiration of the Papacy. More than five hundred writers, whose interests were identical with those of the Vatican—among them chroniclers, polemic divines, authorities on the history of the Church and its discipline, all enthusiastic members of the Roman Catholic communion—have confirmed the existence of a female Pope.

But, whether true or false, the disgrace consequent upon this gigantic scandal was insignificant when compared with the moral effect of the long series of crimes which disfigure the annals of Papal Rome. The shameless venality of the Princes of the Church had from the most remote times disgraced the proceedings by which was elevated to the throne of the apostles the immaculate Vicar of God. So corrupt was the ecclesiastical society of the capital that no Pontiff who endeavored to live a moral life was secure for a single hour. Celestine was poisoned at the instance of the cardinals eighteen days after receiving the tiara. Adrian V. was poisoned in the conclave itself before his election. The partisans of antagonistic claimants of the Papacy pursued each other with a vindictiveness scarcely equalled by the most intense bitterness of political faction. Each aspirant to the pontifical dignity denounced his opponent as an anti-pope, and exhausted the rich vocabulary of clerical invective in consigning him to the vengeance of Heaven. The defeated candidate was subjected to every variety of torture; to the deprivation of his nose, his eyes, his tongue; to the suffering of confinement in noisome dungeons; to the pangs of prolonged starvation. The temporal enemies of the Holy Father fared even worse than his rivals for spiritual supremacy. No deed was considered too flagitious for the removal of a dangerous and obstinate adversary. Innocent IV. employed the trusted physician and friend of the Emperor Frederick II. to compass his destruction. The Emperor Henry VII. was poisoned by order of Clement V. The assassination of the Medici under Sixtus IV. was planned by that Pope, and carried out before the altar, the signal for attack being the elevation of the Host by the celebrant, an archbishop. Half of the population of Rome was sacrificed to gratify the malignity of Formosus, whose quarrels long survived him and desolated the fairest provinces of Italy. Three years after the establishment of the Inquisition in Spain by Gregory IX. its victims already numbered tens of thousands.

In the variety and shrewdness of schemes for procuring money the statesmen of no government have ever equalled the astute financiers of the Apostolic See. In addition to the infinite number of vexatious and cruel expedients suggested by the possession and exercise of irresponsible power, the Popes employed means which violated every precept of morality, but whose successful issue demonstrated the practical wisdom which had inspired them. Simony was invariably practised, and not infrequently defended, even by those whose manifest duty it was to suppress it. The wealthiest candidate for the Papacy, whose physical infirmities indicated a speedy demise, had the best prospect for the realization of his ambition. The price of a cardinal’s hat varied from one thousand to ten thousand florins; the pallium of an archbishop was rated still higher in the ecclesiastical market, for the dignity of which it was the symbol usually brought thirty thousand ducats in gold. To meet this tax demanded at the death of every metropolitan, the new incumbent was sometimes reduced to pledge the furniture of the altar as security to Jewish usurers, who alone were able to raise such exorbitant amounts; and it was a source of complaint among the devout that Hebrew children had been seen to amuse themselves with the utensils consecrated to pious uses, and that in the unhallowed orgies of their fathers sacred vessels were habitually profaned which had originally been destined to receive the body and blood of Christ. When the exigencies of the Pontiff required it, the sacrifice of a few cardinals afforded a safe and easy means of replenishing the Papal treasury by the sale of the vacant dignities and by the reversion of the estates of the victims to the domain of the Holy See. It is a well-known fact that Alexander VI. died from drinking poisoned wine intended for certain princes of the Church whom he had invited to share his treacherous hospitality. Great wealth was obtained by the sale of absolutions granted by one Pope from the anathemas of his predecessor. This device suggested the traffic in indulgences, promising immunity from all punishment for crime. The avarice of John XXII. prompted him to draw up and promulgate a schedule of fines, so that by the payment of trifling sums the culprit was completely absolved from the moral and secular consequences of the most atrocious offences in the criminal calendar.

In their relations with foreign courts the Popes brought to bear every source of corruption and violence for the accomplishment of their ends. They availed themselves of the prestige attaching to their sacred office for the encouragement of insurrection and parricide. They openly sold the investitures of distant kingdoms. They armed the servant against his master, the vassal against his lord, the subject against his king. They prohibited the education of children as inimical to the interests of the clergy, who alone were declared worthy to enjoy the benefits of learning. When an obnoxious enemy was to be removed, they did not shrink from selecting instruments at whose employment honor and piety alike revolt,—the envenomed poniard, the sacramental elements mingled with deadly poisons and yet blessed by the ceremonies of the officiating prelate, whose instructions impressed the unsuspicious victim with the belief that he knelt in the very presence of God. According to Montaigne, the Holy Father was accustomed to use during the pontifical mass a contrivance which counteracted the effects of a consecrated draught which might otherwise be a messenger of death. From having been the vassals of the Emperor, the tributaries of the Saracen Emirs, and the tools of the Kings of France, the Popes in time arrogated to themselves imperial prerogatives; and his title to the crown was not considered as vested in a sovereign until it had been placed upon his brow by an ecclesiastic duly commissioned by the Successor of St. Peter. Through the insidious influence of a superstition, fostered by the ignorance of the time, the authority of powerful monarchs was disputed in their capitals. Degrading penances were imposed upon and performed by them without remonstrance. The humiliation of the prince in the eyes of his people increased, in a corresponding degree, the importance of the spiritual ruler who could inflict such punishments.

By excommunication and interdict—the one cutting off an individual from the fellowship of believers, the other aimed at an entire community or kingdom and involving the innocent with the guilty—the vengeance of the Church was visited upon all, of whatever rank, who had violated her canons or interfered with her projects of ambition. It is difficult in our age to appreciate the grave effects of ecclesiastical fulminations which the progress of intelligence and the development of civilization have long since deprived of their terrors. Of excommunication, anything besides a human being might be the subject, from a comet to rats, worms, and every kind of vermin. The interdict was equivalent to a dreadful curse inflicted by the vicegerent of God. With awe-inspiring ceremonies, usually performed at midnight to increase their impressive effect, the decree of the Holy See was solemnly proclaimed. In gloomy silence, occasionally broken by sobs and half-stifled lamentations, the terror-stricken multitude listened to a sentence which, in their eyes, exceeded, through the direful consequences it entailed, the severest penalty that any earthly tribunal could inflict. The churches were closed. The bells were silent. The tapers burning on the altars were extinguished. The relics were concealed. Before every house of worship where the Host was enshrined the consecrated wafer was publicly committed to the flames. The crucifixes of chapel and cathedral alike, enveloped in folds of black cloth, were hidden from the reverential gaze of those on whose heads had fallen the censure of the Almighty. All religious ceremonies were suspended save the aspersion, which secured for the Church the hope of another devotee, the solemnization of marriage, and the final rites which dismissed the passing soul on the threshold of eternity. The endearments of conjugal affection, the last blessing of the parent, the diversions of youth, the familiar greetings of friendship and esteem, were all prohibited. Surrounded by black-garbed priests bearing torches, an officiating cardinal, robed in violet,—the mourning of his order,—read the fatal edict which cut off absolutely the only medium of communication between the sinner and his God. From that moment the people were deprived of those welcome ministrations which had been their pleasure and consolation from infancy; which had directed their footsteps; which had confirmed their wavering resolution in many an emergency; which had relieved their sufferings; which had enhanced their happiness and furnished almost their sole amusements. No opportunity was neglected to impress the offending children of Rome with the awful consequences of the malediction which the perversity of their rulers had inflicted upon them. Subjects were absolved from their allegiance. The channels of commerce were closed. Trade of every kind was suspended. Worshippers, whose piety urged them, in spite of ecclesiastical menace, to frequent the portals of the church, were rudely driven back. The use of meat was forbidden, as in Lent; the familiar objects connected with the service of religion disappeared; the bells, deprived of their clappers, were taken down from the steeples; the sacred effigies of the saints were laid upon the ground and sedulously concealed from the profane gaze of an accursed people; the rich trappings of the shrines, the utensils of the mass, the vestments of the priests, were collected and carried away. The festivals which stimulated the devotion and amused the leisure of the gay and careless multitude were discontinued; the procession, which impressed all classes with its solemnity and magnificence, no longer moved with barbaric pomp through the crowded streets lined with long rows of kneeling worshippers; the voice of prayer was unheard; marriages were celebrated in church-yards; the bodies of the dead, denied a resting-place in consecrated ground and deprived even of the ordinary rites of sepulture, were cast unceremoniously beyond the walls of cities, to be devoured by unclean beasts and to poison the air with noxious odors.

When the ban was removed, the purification of every edifice, altar, and vessel, the reconsecration of every relic and image,—rites which demanded heavy contributions,—evinced the foresight and thrift of the priesthood.

Such were the frightful methods by which the Papacy, in an age of ignorance, punished a nation for the offences of a sovereign who had thwarted its schemes, defied its power, or incurred its enmity. In the estimation of the credulous—and in those days all were credulous—the interdict was not only a general curse enforced by every circumstance which could appeal to the prejudices of the devout; it was the sudden intercepting of the means of salvation, only attainable through the agency of the servants of the Church. Mediæval writers have left us affecting accounts of the universal wretchedness which the use of this instrument of ecclesiastical tyranny produced. It rarely failed of success, for no monarch, however bold or arbitrary, could long withstand its power; and the mere threat of its exercise was often sufficient to strike terror into a whole people and to peremptorily check the well-conceived designs of ambitious royalty. The interdict only fell into disuse after the foundation of the Inquisition, the most effective and formidable weapon ever devised by the merciless spirit of Papal despotism.

With the financial exhaustion induced by profuse expenditure in every species of luxury and vice, new and ingenious expedients were invented for the relief of the pressing necessities of the Vatican. The institution and frequent recurrence of the Jubilee, with its concourse of millions of fanatics, each bearing his offering to the insatiable genius of Rome; the Crusades, which acquired for the Papacy incalculable wealth by the conveyance of lands for a nominal consideration and the generous contributions of pilgrims; the Constitutions of Leo, which declared the real property of ecclesiastical foundations to be inalienable; the Inquisition, whose origin was more political than moral, and by whose rules one-half of the property of the condemned was forfeited to the sovereign and one-half to the Church, are prominent examples of the financial ability of the Popes.

The personal characters of the infallible and inspired guides of the Christian world cannot be delineated in the fulness of their impious depravity. The moral supremacy assumed by them as the representatives of celestial power was presumed to excuse the open indulgence of vices which even the most licentious temporal potentates sedulously veiled from the eyes of mankind. For more than two centuries the Papal court presented an almost uninterrupted exhibition of profligacy, which scandalized devout believers, whose imagination had invested the Holy Father with the attributes of divinity, and excited the horror of the few eminent and consistent Christian prelates who remained pure amidst the general contamination. Some priests celebrated mass in a state of intoxication. Others paraded the streets with a train of bacchantes singing profane and licentious songs. They presented their boon companions with the sacred vessels of the altar. Archbishops appointed women of infamous antecedents to the superintendence of convents. The Vatican swarmed with catamites and courtesans. Colonies of nuns, members of the seraglios of the cardinals and the Pope, occupied houses adjoining the sanctuary of St. Peter’s. The satellites of the Papacy obtained the most lucrative employments by means of unnatural blandishments and ministrations of unspeakable vileness. The most debased ideas were entertained of the ecclesiastical functions devolving upon the head of the Christian communion. Ministers of religion were consecrated in stables. Cathedrals were made the theatre of mummeries and obscene dances. Virgins were torn from the precincts of the sanctuary and dragged to the Papal harem. In the time of John XII. no woman was safe from indignity and outrage in the very temple of God. Boniface IX. sold a cardinal’s hat to a profligate adventurer named Bathalzar Cossa, who afterwards seized the tiara by force and passed from the deck of a pirate galley to the Apostolic Throne. The latter, under the name of John XXIII., in a few years attained a reputation remarkable even in the annals of Papal degradation. He was deposed by the Council of Constance after conviction of every offence of which a depraved imagination could conceive. The infallibility of his mission was thus impugned both by his irregular appointment and by the intervention of his spiritual subordinates who effected his deposition. It was an axiom of the canon law, inevitably resulting from the original spurious grant of pontifical authority, that no guilt or heresy of the Pope could divest him of his spiritual powers or of the sanctity which enveloped his person as the Vicar of God. A dire necessity alone could impel a council to violate this fundamental principle upon which depended the prestige of the Papacy. The impiety of the Holy Fathers was not less prominent than their defiance of the rules of morality. Boniface VIII. openly blasphemed the name of Christ. John XXII. ridiculed the sacraments. At the banquets of John XII., Venus and Bacchus were in turn toasted by noisy revellers of both sexes, the favorite associates of that Pontiff.

The admissions of Pius II., in his correspondence preserved in the Vatican, indicate without concealment the practice of the grossest libertinage. From the orgies of Benedict XII. dates the famous proverb, “Bibere papaliter,” “To drink like a Pope.” Sixtus IV., who inaugurated the custom of licensing the brothels of Rome, derived annually from this horrible traffic the enormous sum of thirty thousand ducats. Innocent X. sold to the starving peasantry, at an advance of a hundred per cent., the grain he had purchased at the price he himself had fixed. Sixtus IV. gravely decreed that the illegitimate children of the Popes should, by reason of their birth alone, be placed on an equality with the descendants of the princely houses of Italy. The scandals of the court of Avignon under Clement VI. and his successors surpassed even those which had for ages made the Eternal City a reproach to civilization and Christianity. Of the latter, Benedict XII. has been conspicuously held up to the execration of posterity as the violator of the sister of Petrarch, whose connivance he attempted to purchase with a cardinal’s hat and a purse of a thousand florins of gold. The bull of Alexander VI., which countenanced the slaughter of fifteen million inoffensive natives of the New World, is a fitting climax to this revolting chronicle of crime and infamy. Well might the indignant Cardinal Baronius exclaim, that “the Popes were monsters who installed themselves on the throne of Christendom by simony and murder.” Few indeed there were of the Holy Fathers who tolerated even the suspicion of profane learning in their jurisdiction. Most of them were the implacable enemies of every kind of knowledge. Gregory I. burned all the copies of Livy that the most rigorous search could disclose. Gregory VIII., scandalized by the “superstitious tales” contained in the work of the great Roman historian, completed, as far as human energy and malignity could effect, the destructive task of his predecessor. In consequence, out of a hundred and forty-two books known to have existed during the reign of these two Pontiffs, but thirty-five have survived. Sylvester II. is said by Petrarch to have been “Negromante, e di dottrina eccellente,” qualifications which seem rather incongruous with the duties and the traditions of the Papacy. Nor was the famous Gerbert the only Pope devoted to uncanonical and prohibited investigations of the false science of the age. John XIX. was skilled in hydromancy; John XX. was an expert in the casting of horoscopes and in divination; Benedict IX. consulted the familiar geniuses of the forests and the mountains; Gregory VII. possessed a manual of enchantment, and shook clouds of sparks from his sleeves when he pronounced the Pontifical blessing; Alexander VI. had the reputation throughout Italy of “an abominable sorcerer.”

The spirit of infidelity and blasphemy which prevailed in the highest ranks of the priesthood also infected the occupants of the throne. The lives of some of the most devout sovereigns presented incredible examples of cruelty, hypocrisy, and deceit. Ecclesiastical example and the facility of absolution had apparently destroyed all reverence for the precepts of the Gospel, all apprehension of Divine wrath. The contempt often entertained by royalty for the decrees of the Almighty is disclosed by the impious speech of Alfonso X., the Most Catholic King, “If God had consulted me when He created the world, I would have given Him some good advice.”

The spurious donation of Constantine, by which the first Christian sovereign was alleged to have conveyed to Pope Sylvester I. the title to the Western Empire, and with it the inherited authority of the Cæsars, was supplemented in the eighth century by the Forged Decretals, a series of epistles declared to have been promulgated by the first Bishops of Rome, whose names and order of apostolic succession are themselves either apocryphal or based entirely on uncertain tradition. The inconsistencies, contradictions, and absurdities of the Decretals, which afford abundant internal evidence of the ignorance of those who composed them, and their entire want of concord on important points of doctrine, have demonstrated beyond question their fraudulent origin. But in an age of superstition their authority was amply sufficient to accomplish the object for which they were invented,—the autocracy of the Popes. The general deficiency of critical knowledge, assisted by the reverence entertained by the masses for the decisions of the Successor of St. Peter, caused these glaring forgeries to be accepted with the same faith which was accorded to the precepts of the Gospel. They conferred the most extensive and dangerous prerogatives on the Papacy. They subjected the claims of every temporal sovereign to the extravagant pretensions of the Roman Catholic hierarchy. The right of regal investiture was by their maxims declared to be inherent in members of the sacerdotal order, and the title of a monarch alleged to be imperfect until he had been crowned by a servant of the Church. By their incorporation into the civil procedure of Europe,—for centuries dominated by the canon law,—they established on a permanent basis the ideas and the principles of Papal supremacy. No measure of statecraft has ever advanced the interests of the Holy See to such an extent as the publication of the Decretals, nor has any genuine series of laws exercised over society a more potent influence than that imposed by these fraudulent epistles upon subsequent legislation.

The vast ecclesiastical system, whose ramifications extended to the most insignificant hamlets of every country in Europe and whose jurisdiction was paramount in the domains of the most powerful monarchs, carried with it the abuses and vices of the central and irresponsible authority. The spiritual courts of provincial metropolitans and bishops presented on a diminished scale the greed and sensuality of the Vatican. The same organized simony regulated the presentation and promotion of clerk and prelate. The same iniquitous expedients were adopted for the augmentation of ecclesiastical revenues. Priests and bishops lived in avowed and unblushing concubinage. The seraglio of the Abbot of San Pelayo de Antealtaria contained seventy concubines. Henry III., Bishop of Liege, acknowledged the paternity of sixty-five illegitimate children. In Spain, the metropolitans, as well as their subordinates, maintained harems guarded by eunuchs. In Germany, sacerdotal dignitaries of the highest rank endeavored to overturn the empire by the aid of idolaters, and enlisted bands of robbers who plundered cities and extorted enormous ransoms from wealthy merchants and defenceless travellers. In France, the clergy of Verdun regularly furnished Jewish traders with Christian children who had been emasculated for the slave-markets of Cordova and Seville. In Italy, the sale of young and beautiful maidens to the Moors of Sicily and Mauritania, which had invoked the indignant protest of Charlemagne, was for many years one of the most lucrative perquisites of the priesthood.

The laxity of morals prevalent in the hierarchy was fatal to the preservation of ecclesiastical discipline. Priests and nuns, divesting themselves of their sacred character, which was supposed to present an edifying example to the laity, contended with each other for the infamous superiority of promiscuous lewdness. The contributions of charity, the oblations of the devout, were squandered in drunken orgies and midnight banquets. In certain Swiss cantons a new priest was compelled, on his arrival, to choose a concubine as a theoretical safeguard of the honor of his female parishioners. These connections were authorized by the laws of some countries, among them the fueros of Castile, which permitted the sons of a celibate to inherit half his property. The sale of licenses to entertain what were known as “sub-introduced women” was for centuries a profitable source of revenue to the bishops of England, and no priest was exempt from this tax whether he wished to avail himself of its privileges or not. The dignity of the sacred profession in France had been degraded by the sacrilege of the Carlovingians, who appointed their favorite officers to the richest benefices; and the antecedents and manners of these rude veterans were, as may be supposed, but ill-adapted to the solemn ceremonies of the altar and the confessional. Following this worthy example, churchmen of the highest rank conferred the best livings at their disposal on panders, lackeys, and barbers. The coarse and unfeeling nature of the German ecclesiastics did not hesitate to prompt the violation of every sentiment of honor in the gratification of its brutal instincts. The holding of pluralities in England had become an evil of national importance. Many foreign prelates had never even visited the sees whose revenues they enjoyed. The possession of from twenty to thirty benefices was not uncommon, and some fortunate individuals are mentioned who held from three to four hundred. The deplorable condition of the priesthood was largely due to the enforcement of celibacy on the one hand, and the sale of dispensations to violate it on the other.

The poems, the satires, and the tales which have come down to us from the Middle Ages reveal the profligate manners of the clergy, as well as the general contempt in which they were held by those whose consciences were nominally in their keeping. In these amusing literary productions the priest, the monk, and the cardinal are almost invariably objects of ridicule. Their peculiar garb, their uncouth manners, their lubricity, their gluttony, their avarice, are made the butt of profane and vulgar witticisms. They are entrapped in ludicrous and compromising situations. They are made the victims of severe practical jokes. The language put into their mouths is a compound of obscenity and blasphemy. A society which could countenance such scandalous revelations must have had scanty respect for the clerical profession and its ministers. Assemblages of eminent episcopal dignitaries fare little better than individuals at the hands of the irreverent narrator. Nor can we wonder that such is the case when we recall the conditions and the accessories associated in the public mind with the Councils of the Church. At the departure of the Papal court from Lyons, in the thirteenth century, Cardinal Hugo, a distinguished prelate, in the presence of an immense concourse, made the increased depravity of that city, for which its reverend visitors were confessedly responsible, the subject of a pleasing jest. The Holy Fathers of the famous Council of Constance convoked to reform the priesthood, punish heresy, and establish a more exalted standard of moral discipline for the edification of the ungodly, beguiled the moments snatched from the labors of pious deliberations and religious controversy in the society of crowds of buffoons and dancers and of seven hundred courtesans. The institution of the monastic orders not only contributed greatly to the power of the Papacy but exercised, as well, a direct and generally a most pernicious influence on society. An immense body of fanatics, blindly devoted to the See of Rome, was placed at the absolute disposal of the Pope,—invaluable allies in the bitter contests between the Altar and the Throne. The mutual jealousies and enmities of the secular and the regular clergy made both the more dependent on the favor of the Supreme Pontiff. Every individual in a religious house was sworn to inviolable secrecy concerning all that took place within its walls, a regulation which became in subsequent times a convenient precaution for the concealment of orgies that shunned the light of day. The assumption of the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience imparted to the monk and the begging friar a peculiar sanctity in the eyes of the credulous multitude. They mortified the flesh and suppressed carnal provocations by frequent bleeding and long abstinence from food. They disclaimed the aristocratic tastes which were a reproach to the luxurious members of the secular priesthood. They renounced all the allurements, even all the comforts, of life. Their physical necessities were supplied by alms. Their fervid oratory, not confined by the pillared vaults of churches, but which, in the open air, appealed to the imagination and the prejudices of the ignorant, their voluntary renunciation of the pleasures of the world, the ostentatious self-sacrifice of their lives, made them universal favorites with the people. Men of all classes showered gifts upon them. Women eagerly sought their services as confessors. Their visits to the isolated villages of the simple peasantry were hailed as harbingers of good fortune. Their abodes offered gratuitous rest and refreshment to the belated traveller. Their benediction attended the birth and the christening of the infants of the poorest cottage. Their prayers brought consolation and relief to the bedside of the earnest Christian and the repentant sinner alike. At every fireside their temporary and accidental presence was regarded as a blessing.

But a change soon came over the monastic orders. The temptations of wealth, luxury, and personal enjoyment proved too strong to be resisted. The robe of coarse cloth was metamorphosed into a mantle of the finest fabric, trimmed with costly furs. The prior no longer travelled alone and on foot, but rode an ambling palfrey, followed by a train of obsequious attendants. The hermitage developed into a stately palace, whose appointments and surroundings equalled and not infrequently eclipsed in splendor the seats of princes. The monk became a great landed proprietor. By purchase, by gift, by inheritance, by forfeiture, he acquired in every country large and profitable estates. Half of the lands of France were at one time in his possession. The German nobility complained that monasteries had absorbed the bulk of the real property of the empire. The visitation of Henry VIII., which led to the suppression of the religious houses of England, revealed the fact that the regular clergy had for centuries enjoyed the fruits of the most productive and valuable portion of the public domain. The peculiar character of its tenure made ecclesiastical proprietorship the more oppressive. Its title was in mortmain, and its estates inalienable. It could always acquire, but never relinquish, territorial rights. The transfers of land, which constitute so important an incentive to commercial activity in every community, were not merely discountenanced, but were absolutely prohibited, by its selfish and unjust regulations.

Monastic life, while nominally ascetic, presented in the more opulent communities a picture of sybaritic indulgence. In the cloister the refining influence of literature had, even with the gratification of sensual appetites, modified in the monk the degrading propensities and ferocious temper which actuated his associate, the feudal baron. The dishes were more varied and delicate; the choicest wines took the place of the coarse product of the brewery; and the conversation, while fully as irreverent and licentious as that which entertained the guests of the noble, was deprived of much of its repulsiveness by an outward observance of decency. When overcome with too much hospitality, the genial votary of Bacchus, instead of being left under the table, exposed to the ridicule of his companions or the swords of brawlers, was quietly conveyed to his cell by his more sober brethren. The customs of the age imperatively demanded that the head of a religious house should possess all the attributes of aristocratic birth and gentle breeding. In the eyes of the Celt especially, symmetry of form and dignity of carriage were indispensable characteristics of the ruler of a monastic community. Both abbot and abbess were selected for corporeal rather than for moral or intellectual qualifications,—for handsome features, commanding presence, and elegant manners. Popular opinion insensibly associated mental superiority and pious inclinations with physical perfection; and personal deformity was supposed, especially by the ignorant multitude, to indicate a disposition to crime. This belief, no doubt unconsciously derived from the impressions left by the Pagan deities of antiquity, in whose statues, models of beauty, were embodied the unrivalled conceptions of the ancient sculptor, demonstrates the persistent survival of time-honored tradition and religious prejudice in the human mind.

With the unlimited opportunities for their gratification, uncanonical practices were at first secretly indulged in and afterwards openly tolerated. The refectory, once noted for frugality and pious exhortation, was now the scene of gluttonous feasts and licentious jesting. Foreign delicacies and wines of exquisite flavor appeared daily on the table. Monks and nuns maintained unholy relations under the same roof. Many priors had acknowledged concubines, and he who restricted himself to a single mistress was regarded as a paragon of ecclesiastical virtue. In contravention of every rule of their order, monks assumed disguises and wandered over the country in search of amorous adventures. Through their agency obnoxious relatives were kidnapped and forced into perpetual confinement, or, if sufficient pecuniary inducements were offered, made to disappear forever from the knowledge of man. In England they frequently figured in disgraceful brawls with other dissipated patrons of lupanars and taverns. The monasteries of Spain, France, and Italy presented an even more disgraceful picture of drunkenness, licentiousness, and disorder.

The reputation for dissolute practices sustained by the convent was in no respect inferior to that of the monastery. The nuns notoriously affected all the airs and graces of the most accomplished coquetry. They arrayed themselves in rich garments covered with beautiful embroidery, the work of their own skilful hands. Their chemises of violet silk, their scarlet shoes, their veils of silver tissue, were the delight of their admirers and the abomination of the pious. They wore chains and bracelets of gold and rings set with precious gems. They painted their faces. King Edgar publicly reproved the nuns of his kingdom for their attire of purple and their jewels. The inmates of Fontevrault wore the horned head-dress affected by the fashionable ladies of the time. The spouses of Christ adopted every art to attract the attention of the sinful passer-by. In the orgies which defiled even the houses dedicated to divine worship their shamelessness was proverbial. They bathed in perfect nudity with monks and deacons. They sang bacchanalian songs. Their conversation was spiced with blasphemous ribaldry. The universal prevalence of the evil is proved by the frequency with which it is denounced by the Councils of the Church. The Council of Cologne, held in 1307, was especially severe in its reprobation of the custom by which nuns abandoned for a time the conventual life for a career of debauchery and then resumed their former relations with the Church, without repentance, and, what was even worse, without remonstrance from their superiors.

For indulgence in these pleasures prohibited by the laws of God and man, the revenues of the religious houses, although in many instances enormous, were entirely inadequate. The extravagant demands of the Holy See, which collected its tribute at frequent and irregular intervals, further reduced the financial resources of the monastic treasury. The ingenuity of the abbots was not at a loss, however, to devise means to replenish their exhausted coffers. Noble forests, many of them contemporaneous with the reign of the Druidical priesthood, were cut down and sold. Chalices, patens, ciboria, and crucifixes were placed in pawn with Jewish goldsmiths and merchants. Jewels were extracted from votive offerings and altar ornaments and disposed of at a fraction of their real value. These thefts of sacred articles were so serious that inventories of the furniture and utensils of cathedrals were often taken by the orders of primates and sovereigns, rather with a view to discover the losses than to put a stop to a practice which under the existing system was incurable. Absolutions, some forged, but many genuine, bearing the Papal seal and ready to be filled up with the name of the purchaser and the description of the offence of which he was guilty or which he was about to commit, were at the disposal of every criminal. The official visitors of the English abbeys discovered in the cells of recluses who were popularly supposed to be laying up treasures in heaven implements of the counterfeiter and quantities of spurious coin. With the ministrations to the dying the duty of the sufferer to the Church was unceasingly inculcated by the shrewd confessor, until it came to be considered an act of impiety, ranked with sacrilege and suicide, to refuse to bequeath a large share of one’s wealth to the servants of God.

The number, riches, and influence of these ecclesiastical establishments were enormous. At the end of the thirteenth century, there were six hundred monasteries and convents in England, two thousand three hundred and thirty-seven in France, and fifteen hundred in the remaining countries of Europe. Many of these supported communities of more than a thousand monks; that of the great Abbey of Bangor—the largest in Great Britain—numbered three thousand. Towns, villages, and immense tracts of arable soil, pasture, and forest were included in their possessions. Multitudes of tenants and vassals tilled these lands, the lion’s share of whose produce found its way into the storehouses and granaries of the prosperous Fathers. The religious duties of the latter did not hinder them from profiting by the advantages of domestic and foreign trade. They bought and sold almost every description of merchandise. The usurious rates of interest which they obtained from necessitous borrowers extorted the admiration of the shrewd and experienced Hebrew broker. They managed tanneries, dealt extensively in cloth and leather, and imported many luxuries from the Orient. The wool market of England was absolutely controlled by them. The popular clamor aroused by this monopoly, which dispossessed and ruined tenants by turning tillable land into pasture and depriving large numbers of industrious people of the means of livelihood, contributed, in no small degree, to the suppression of the English monasteries. An inexhaustible mine of wealth was made available by traffic in relics and the entertainment and fleecing of pilgrims. The methods of the Holy See in the sale of sacred objects of more than doubtful authenticity were improved upon by the cunning and audacity of monkish charlatans. Immense quantities of bones were imported from Italy and disposed of to the devout at fabulous prices. Most of these sacred treasures were taken from the catacombs, where was deposited a practically unlimited supply of Pagan and barbarian skeletons, whose original owners never dreamed of the adoration they were destined one day to receive on the banks of the Thames, the Seine, the Rhine, and the Danube. When a church was to be constructed, no difficulty was ever experienced in procuring the relics of the saint to which it was dedicated, and the mouldering remains of some priest of Jupiter or Venus were probably not infrequently laid, with every token of reverence, under the altar of a magnificent cathedral, whose idolatrous ceremonies would have presented many striking points of resemblance with heathen rites to the frequenters of the ancient temples. Other sacred mementos of equal virtue often presented a singular mixture of absurdity and blasphemy. The reproductions of the crown of thorns and the nails of the Crucifixion were infinite in number. The list included the coals that roasted St. Lawrence, the cloth used at the Lord’s Supper, a finger of the Holy Ghost, and some of the milk of the Mother of God. The tail of Balaam’s ass was for a century one of the most precious treasures of St. John Lateran at Rome. When the zeal of the pious flagged, the genius of the monks resorted to extraordinary means to stimulate this unprofitable apathy. The sympathies and fanaticism of the superstitious were appealed to by processional images which could weep and bleed. Letters were exhibited purporting to have been penned by the divine hands of the Almighty and the Saviour. The composition and style of these productions, it may be remarked, indicate an extraordinary degree of illiteracy in the exalted personages to whom their execution was profanely attributed. Many relics were supposed to possess marvellous healing virtues, an opinion diligently propagated by those whose interest it was to have it generally entertained. Pilgrims crowded in enormous numbers to these shrines, whose reputation promised speedy and certain relief from every physical infirmity. As few came empty handed, the contents of a single reliquary were often a more important source of revenue than all the royal demesnes of a kingdom. In the Middle Ages the Church of St. Thomas of Canterbury was by far the richest in Christendom. It had for three hundred years received the tribute of pilgrims from every land. Kings had placed crowns and priceless jewels upon its altar. The great tomb of the saint was entirely covered with plates of gold, but the precious metal was hardly visible on account of the profusion of gems with which it was incrusted. The value of the gold and silver obtained by its confiscation under Henry VIII. was nearly one million pounds sterling, and this estimate did not include the precious stones, of which no appraisement was made. Much of this wealth had been accumulated by the thrifty monks through the sale of water alleged to contain a portion of the blood of St. Thomas shed at the time of his martyrdom, whose supply, by the miraculous power of multiplication enjoyed by certain relics, was never exhausted, and which, aided by implicit faith and religious enthusiasm, may really have been instrumental in temporarily relieving diseases induced by disordered functions of the nervous system.

The power of the rulers of these populous communities was very extensive. In most instances the abbot enjoyed not a few of the highest privileges of the nobility. In addition to his spiritual functions, he exercised the duties of a civil and criminal magistrate, and in extreme cases could inflict the penalty of death. He was expected to act as sponsor to children of royal lineage. While bound to observe the rules of his order, his interpretation of those rules was final and his decision absolute. In England, if entitled to wear the mitre, he sat in the Upper House of Parliament by the side of the bishops. Usually he was a veritable epicurean, more fond of field sports than of his breviary, a jovial companion, a connoisseur of wines, an adorer of women. His table, his attire, and his habits exhibited all the fastidiousness of a sybarite. Numerous dishes, prepared by skilful cooks, tempted his pampered tastes. The wines of his cellar were the choicest and most expensive in the market. His garments were sometimes of party-colored and embroidered silk, sometimes of scarlet cloth lined with white satin. His boots, of the softest leather, fitted his burly limbs without a wrinkle. Jewels sparkled upon his snowy fingers. The retainers of his household were clad in gaudy liveries. He maintained jesters and buffoons. To the noble amusement of hawking he was so devoted, and his falcons were so excellent, that for these reasons he often incurred the envy of his aristocratic companions and the severe censure of his more rigid ecclesiastical superiors. Troops of strolling players always found a welcome and munificent largess for their exhibitions in the great hall of the abbey. In addition to the nuns, of whom he was the especial patron, high-born ladies were delighted to receive his amorous compliments and to partake of his dangerous but splendid hospitality.

The inmates of the religious houses entertained far closer relations with the great body of the population than did the secular clergy. The original simplicity of their lives, the apparent fervor of their devotion, acquired for them a peculiar sanctity which their subsequent irregularities could never entirely abrogate. Unlike the secular priesthood, whose traditions were of an aristocratic tendency, their necessities and their ministrations brought them in intimate contact with the lower orders of the people, who repaid their services with fulsome idolatry. Of the two divisions of the regular clergy, the friars, who only differed from the monks in that they subsisted on alms, enjoyed the greater consideration. Their blessing was earnestly solicited by the traveller on the highway. Ladies wore their rope girdles in Lent, partly by way of penance, partly as amulets of sovereign virtue against the machinations of evil spirits. The spurious relics which they hawked about were supposed to be endowed with more miraculous qualities than those retailed by the bishop in the cathedral. Their eloquence carried with its pathetic appeals and homely illustrations a conviction denied to the labored efforts of the most accomplished and popular preacher.

It was not within the power of human nature to long withstand the allurements which such opportunities for luxurious indulgence afforded. Within less than half a century from their foundation, the mendicant friars of St. Francis could boast of wealth equal to that of any of the monastic orders. Their common appellation Cordelier, derived from their hempen girdle, became a synonym of lubricity and drunkenness. Both monks and friars enticed wives from their husbands, and not infrequently reduced the latter to beggary. They administered narcotics and aphrodisiacs to nuns, and pointed to their contortions and incoherent ravings as the effects of divine inspiration. It was an ordinary occurrence for young girls to don male attire and take up their abode in a monastery; and a memorial of the time of Henry VII. of England is extant in which the royal protection is solicited by the farmers and gentry of Carnarvonshire against the dissolute practices of the regular clergy. The profanity of the monks during the celebration of the mass, and their offensive language in the confessional, sometimes resulted in temporary suspension from those sacerdotal functions. Gaming was a common amusement in which even abbesses had been known to indulge. Whenever an abbot died the treasury was plundered, and its contents distributed among the brethren fortunate enough to be present.

These excesses were encouraged by the insignificant penances imposed for their commission. Some escaped with a reprimand, especially when the prior was known to be equally guilty. Among the English clergy, mortal sin could be condoned for the trifling sum of six shillings and eight pence. Bearing a crucifix through the aisles of the church and a fine of three shillings and four pence entitled a delinquent to absolution for incest. Fornication was expiated by an offering of candles and the repetition of a few Paters and Aves. As in the case of the laity, a regular schedule existed, accurately defining the punishments to be inflicted for every degree of ecclesiastical misconduct.

The ordinary criminal courts of judicature, through the operation of privileges extorted from stupid and fanatical sovereigns by the astuteness of designing churchmen and the prejudices of a superstitious age, had no authority over a clerk until he had been condemned by a religious tribunal. The course of prosecution, in which the sympathies of the judges were enlisted on the side of the culprit, through the bond of a common profession, and often by reason of participation in similar offences, was always slow and sometimes interminable. By these delays, and the purposely complicated process of the spiritual courts, the civil statutes were practically nullified. The mutual antagonism of the lay and clerical professions indirectly encouraged the most revolting crimes. As the learning of Europe was monopolized by the clergy, every one who was able to read was deemed a “clerk,” and could demand the interference and protection of the ecclesiastical authorities in case of arrest. The tonsure was also regarded as prima-facie evidence of being in orders, and of equal efficacy in obtaining immunity, as many of the priesthood were ignorant of letters. By taking advantage of these privileges, so dangerous to the welfare of society, desperate malefactors continually escaped the consequences of their deeds; and the criminal, whose scanty learning or shaven crown suggested a connection with the all-powerful hierarchy, was demanded in vain by the official avengers of the outraged laws. The benefit of clergy was carried to such extremes in England that Parliament found it necessary on one occasion to proceed by bill of attainder against the Bishop of Rochester’s cook, who, wearing the tonsure and assisted by the influence of his master, had defied the criminal magistracy and tribunals of the realm. The rendition of a trifling service, the payment of a sum of money proportioned to the means of the applicant, and which was often the proceeds of the crime for which absolution was requested, relieved the highwayman and the murderer from all apprehension of the penalties of secular justice.

Thus had the monastic orders fatally degenerated from the simplicity and purity of their original institution. In common with the other branches of the ecclesiastical profession, they had become infected with every vice and steeped in every sin. They were especially noted for their propensity to the most disgraceful offences in the calendar of human infirmities,—to drunkenness, fornication, rape, and incest. Men who habitually defied the canons of morality by indulgence in such practices must necessarily have entertained but little respect for a system which, so far from restraining, was known to secretly encourage them. As a consequence, hypocrisy prevailed everywhere among the ministers of the Church, from the Holy Father, surrounded by the beauties of his seraglio, to the mendicant friar, who repaid the services of the obsequious peasant by the plunder of his goods and the corruption of his family. The morals of the ecclesiastic were, as a rule, far worse than those of the layman. In Southern France it was a custom, which precedent had almost invested with the force of law, for a priest, after the celebration of his first mass, to invite his clerical friends to a carousal at the nearest tavern. Bishops read the service in bed. The lower clergy divided the solemn office of the Eucharist into several parts, and, demanding a fee for each, quadrupled their emoluments. A French Council, in 1317, menaced with excommunication any magistrate who should, at sound of trumpet, expose priests in public, with their weapons about their necks,—an ordinary penalty for fighting and riotous conduct. The policy of the Church considered the most flagrant injustice, the most atrocious crime, as venial in comparison with neglect of the outward obedience of her rules and the observance of the formalities of her ritual, such as rare attendance at mass, blaspheming of relics, withholding of tithes, eating meat in Lent, labor on holidays. In the prosecution of the Templars, the articles of accusation did not regard the charge of incontinence as important in comparison with those of atheism and idolatry, although it was notorious that more than thirteen thousand concubines were maintained at the expense of the priories of that Order in Europe.

The violation of the vow of chastity was so common that only the most outrageous indecency could excite comment, and the spiritual authorities, whom the Church had appointed to exercise a censorship over public morals, hesitated to perform their duties lest their own delinquencies might thereby be exposed. It was considered not only meritorious, but convenient, to have a clergyman for a lover, on account of the facility of concealment and the certainty of immediate absolution. The presence of the mistresses of bishops, priests, and canons insulted the wives of honest nobles and burghers at coronations and tournaments. The vicinity of abbeys and convents swarmed with the natural children of ecclesiastics. These members of priestly households were liberally provided for from revenues ostensibly collected for pious uses and the propagation of religious truth. So degraded had some of the monks become that they utilized even the House of God for the basest purposes. Guyot de Provins, a writer of the thirteenth century and himself the member of a monastic fraternity, relates that he had seen Cistercians turn church-yards into pigsties and tether asses in chapels. In addition to immoderate indulgence in the strongest of wines, the successors of Pachomius and Antony held eating contests, in which the palm was awarded to the brother possessing the greatest abdominal capacity. Among these were the Glutton Masses of England, celebrated five times a year in honor of the Virgin, when the parish church was made the scene of the voracious exploits of the priest and the clerks, who contended for this enviable distinction with an ardor that often terminated in riot. Every effort to reform these depraved communities proved futile. The abbot who attempted to correct the vices of his flock was harassed until he was glad to relinquish his unpromising task or abandon his charge. If he boldly attempted to enforce his authority, he stood an excellent chance of being poisoned. The famous Abelard narrowly escaped this fate, and the pronounced and vindictive hostility manifested by the inmates of his abbey finally compelled him to insure his safety by flight. Even the determined character of Cardinal Ximenes was forced to succumb to the obstinacy of his Franciscan brethren, whose extortions and irregular lives had excited his horror and disgust. For seven years, William, Bishop of Paderborn, employed in vain the authority vested in his high office to free the monasteries of his diocese from the scandal produced by the vices of their occupants.

Much of the corruption of the regular clergy was to be attributed to the impostors and malefactors who found shelter and safety in their ranks. The assumption of the tonsure alone was sufficient to insure immunity to the most notorious outlaw. The slave, impatient under the lash of a cruel master or apprehensive of the consequences of inexcusable faults, acquired security and freedom in the shadow of the towers of the abbey. The identity of the criminal and the fugitive, the schemes of the hypocrite and the knave, were effectually disguised by the cowl of the friar. The humane and beneficent privilege of sanctuary was abused by the reception and shelter of every class of dangerous and disreputable offenders against the public peace. Association with persons of this abandoned character could not fail to be demoralizing, even to those of the fraternity who observed their vows, and must have still further corrupted the idle and the dissolute who had already embraced the alluring and luxurious routine of conventual life.

The incapacity, arrogance, and debauchery of the clergy at length grew intolerable, even to a bigoted and priest-ridden people. The translation of the Bible by Wyclif, the teachings of John Huss and Jerome of Prague, paved the way for the exercise of private judgment and the privilege of independent thought. All over Europe a reaction took place. It was least felt in Italy, where the masses had for ages been familiar with the impostures and crimes of the Papacy. It was most marked in England, where the grievances imposed on the laity by their religious instructors had become insufferable, and the wealth of the kingdom had been absorbed by the creatures of Rome. The heresies of France for a time threatened the existence of the hierarchy, and were only suppressed by a crusade and the diabolical energy of the Inquisition. Reverence for every form of belief had been shaken by the universal prevalence of sacerdotal iniquity. In Provence and Languedoc priests were insulted by the mob and lampooned by minstrels. Their services were rejected with contempt, their gestures were mocked, their vices satirized with pitiless severity. The English populace, exasperated beyond measure by their wrongs, occasionally proceeded to acts of violence. In some towns an ecclesiastic was hardly safe on the streets. No clerk dared to commit himself or his cause to the verdict of a jury. A handful of worshippers was lost in the nave of the cathedral, where thousands once had congregated. Women went unshriven rather than trust themselves in the confessional, whose precincts, from being the abode of religious advice and consolation, had grown dangerous to the preservation of feminine honor. In 1746 a remonstrance was made to the Primate of England against the participation of women in pilgrimages, as the cities of France, Lombardy, and the Rhine were filled with courtesans, who had abused these opportunities for the exhibition of religious zeal. The authority of the ecclesiastical tribunals was openly defied, their proceedings derided, their judges insulted, their subordinate officers maltreated. In London, towards the close of the fifteenth century, it was a serious matter to attempt to serve a process of the Consistorial Court. The power for evil of this once formidable engine of persecution, which had exercised an offensive censorship over every community, had become hopelessly impaired.

Of such a character were the religious instructors of the people of Western Christendom for five hundred years. The original austerity of the monastic orders had disappeared. In no instance had it actually survived the first century dating from the institution of any ecclesiastical fraternity. With it had departed by far the greater portion of its capacity for usefulness. The daily lives of the secular priesthood presented disgusting examples of human depravity. Among the laity, the rich, at least, were secure from damnation; for by a judicious and liberal offering and the deposit of a schedule of their sins under the altar-cloth of a compassionate saint, in a few hours the sheet was found to be blank and the generous penitent, by the immediate intercession of his patron, was absolved from the consequences of his transgressions without the delay or the exposure of confession. The foundation of a religious house was often derived from the fears or the repentance of a wealthy and superstitious sinner. An immense tract of unimproved land was conveyed to a colony of monks. In the most sequestered spot, far removed from the turmoil, the vanities, and the temptations of the world, an unpretending structure, composed of wattled boughs and thatched with straw or rushes, was constructed. The surrounding forest was stocked with game. A neighboring lake or streamlet furnished a supply of fish. In many fraternities, however, such food was forbidden, for the austerity of discipline sometimes permitted nothing but a meagre diet of herbs and pulse washed down with water. The obligations of their profession as well as the necessity of sustenance required that a portion of their time should be spent in the cultivation of the soil. A number of the brethren labored in the fields while the others attended to the domestic and sacred duties enjoined by their monastic vows. In some monkish abodes the voice of praise was never silent. Relays of choristers occupied the chapel without intermission day or night. The summons to devotion were frequent. To preserve decorum, spies were appointed to report irregularities of conduct within the monastery. No monk was permitted to leave its precincts without a companion, that each might restrain the other from the indulgence in sinful thoughts and carnal recreations. In the cloister the recluse was constantly reminded of the requirements and obligations of his profession by the fervent exhortations of his superior and the enforced observance of silence, meditation, and prayer. By self-infliction of grievous penances,—scourging, fasting, wearing of shirts of haircloth or mail, immersion in water of icy coldness,—worldly temptations and sensual desires were effectually suppressed, and mind and body were devoted to the ostensible and original objects of monachal life,—the service and the glorification of God.

In time their modest and contracted habitations became too small to accommodate the increasing numbers or to satisfy the ambitious zeal of the pious brethren. The wealth derived from the assiduous cultivation of their lands, the profits of their trade, the contributions of royal visitors, and the generosity of their founders enabled them to erect buildings whose imposing proportions and exquisite ornamentation are the delight and the despair of modern architects. The church dedicated to a certain saint was founded on the day preserved by tradition as the date of his birth. A vigil was maintained, and when the first rays of the sun reddened the horizon the work was commenced. As the point where that luminary appeared was taken for the east, on account of the constantly varying position of the sun in the heavens there are but few ecclesiastical edifices constructed during the Middle Ages whose walls correspond with the four cardinal points of the compass. In the ranks of the religious brotherhoods were to be found artisans of every description, whose professional efforts were prompted and encouraged by the inspiring spirit of religious devotion. Such were the dimensions of these magnificent structures that the chapels of many abbeys—such as St. Albans, Southwell, St. Ouen, Durham, Canterbury—are now cathedral churches of some of the richest dioceses of France and England. The architectural splendor of Westminster is familiar to every traveller. The buildings included in the great Cistercian Abbey of Tinterne, which were enclosed by a wall, were distributed over thirty-four acres. The symmetry and beauty of the Gothic temples of Normandy are unimpaired and unrivalled after the revolutions of more than seven centuries. The ecclesiastical jurisdiction of some sees extended over as many as seven thousand mansi, or cottages of serfs; those who only received the tribute of two thousand were so numerous as to be comparatively insignificant.

All the possessions of the clergy were exempt from taxation. Tithes, at first limited to a tenth of the products of the soil, were, by ecclesiastical artifice and Papal rapacity, extended and made to include the entire yield of every crop, the increase of every herb, the labor of every artisan. Without taking into account the territorial area in the hands of the See of Rome at the period of the Reformation, the monastic guilds and corporations had absorbed half of the livings of Great Britain. The revenues of some religious foundations in that country were not less than fifty thousand pounds sterling, reckoning voluntary donations alone. In the thirteenth century the English clergy bore to the laity the ratio of one to four hundred in number, while their lands amounted to thirty-three per cent. of the entire real property of the kingdom. In Spain during the same period the proportion of ecclesiastics was one to seven, and fifty per cent. of the landed possessions under Christian control belonged to them. The pressing necessities of grasping and irreverent princes, who did not scruple to appropriate under various pretexts the riches of the ecclesiastical order, alone prevented the eventual exclusion of the laity of Europe from all ownership of or jurisdiction over the soil.

No religious service could be more solemn, no spectacle more awe-inspiring, than the celebration of a Church festival in one of the grand old abbey chapels in mediæval times. The edifice itself was the ideal of architectural beauty. Through the elegant designs of painted windows, the light, in iridescent hues, shone in tempered radiance over the richly sculptured tombs of prelate and crusader and the checkered pavement brilliant with its graceful patterns of tile and marble mosaic. The walls of nave and transept were hung with tapestry, embroidered sometimes with representations of scriptural events, sometimes with the figures of departed abbots or the portraits of a line of famous kings. The altar, before whose holy presence constantly burned rows of waxen tapers, glittered with ornaments bestowed by the hand of opulent piety and massive reliquaries set with priceless gems. The resounding notes of the Gregorian chant filled the air; the officiating monks in splendid vestments, the pomp of crucifix and incense, added to the impressiveness of the ceremonial and imparted to the scene a striking representation of divine worship which could hardly be paralleled in Rome itself. Truly, in its palmy days the monastery was an important adjunct to Papal power and grandeur!

From the consideration of the manifold vices and flagrant corruption with which the life of monastic institutions was tainted, it becomes a pleasure to enumerate the benefits that these establishments conferred upon humanity. First in importance is the fact that they were the depositories of learning during the Dark Ages. The requirements of the sacred profession, whose dogmas they were designed to uphold and propagate, demanded the possession of some degree of knowledge. The standard of intelligence was far higher in the monastery than in the chapter house of the cathedral or in the episcopal palace. Many of the secular clergy could neither read nor write; their exposition of the sacraments was pronounced in an incoherent jargon, and a canon who understood grammar was an object of general wonder and respect. The lewd and profane character of the discourses from the pulpit was often such that it would not be tolerated for an instant by the fastidious delicacy of a modern audience. The enjoyment of abundant leisure, the praiseworthy impulse of accumulating information which might prove of advantage, both in disseminating the truths of the Gospel and in magnifying the importance of their order, actuated a certain number of the inmates of every cloister to the transcription of books, to the study of authors, to the illumination of missals. Some wrote poems in Latin. Others, like Hrotswitha, the German nun of Gandersheim, composed dramas in imitation of the classics. These literary efforts, while often coarse in sentiment, immoral in tendency, and crude in execution, seem prodigies of learning when we recall the dense atmosphere of ignorance in which they were produced. In the abbey were preserved contemporaneous records not only of all transactions in which that institution was concerned, but also many details of affairs of national interest, which furnished in after ages invaluable data to the historian. In many convents there existed schools where novices as well as the children of the peasantry could receive rudimentary instruction. Books, among which is mentioned the Fables of Æsop, were chained to tables in the halls for the benefit of those pupils. The great impulse given to intellectual progress by Wyclif’s incomplete translation of the Bible in the fourteenth century is indicated by the ludicrous complaint of an old monkish chronicler, who lamented that “Women are now grown more versed in the New Testament than learned clerks.” Coincident with that auspicious event, the monopoly of letters, so long enjoyed and perverted by the clergy, came to an end. In cases where the interests of religion were thought to be imperilled, the monks did not hesitate to obstruct the path of knowledge. Through their influence the study of physics and of law was forbidden in the twelfth century to the students of the University of Montpellier. In contradistinction to this spirit of offensive bigotry, it must not be forgotten that the first printing-presses used in Europe were placed in monasteries.

The seclusion of monasticism encouraged to a considerable extent the love of the arts. In beauty of design and completeness of finish the efforts of the Gothic architect have never been surpassed. Bookmaking was carried to an advanced state of perfection. From unwieldy volumes with wooden leaves, bound in leaden covers, manuscripts developed into the exquisite specimens of calligraphic and decorative elegance so prized by modern collectors. Some were written in gold and silver letters on purple vellum. The illuminations—whence was derived the first inspiration of modern painting—were often the work of years. The bindings were of carved ivory or of the precious metals, not infrequently enriched with jewels. Those volumes destined for the service of the altar sometimes enclosed a reliquary and became doubly precious, as well by reason of the sacred memento they contained as on account of their costly materials and the labor expended upon them. The art of the sculptor owes much to the diligence and skill displayed by the mediæval wood-carver, whose handiwork is visible in the stalls and altar-screens of Gothic cathedrals. The embroidered vestments wrought by nuns during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries are marvels of ornamentation, patience, and dexterity. Constant practice in the choir led to a considerable advance in the knowledge of poetry and music. Nor were philosophical pursuits, despite their confessed antagonism to the Church, altogether neglected. The name and acquirements of Pope Sylvester II. were to his contemporaries as well as to posterity long suggestive of a compact with the Devil and the practice of magic. Modern science, in its indiscriminate censure of monasticism, should not forget that the great natural philosophers of the Middle Ages, Albertus Magnus and Roger Bacon, belonged to the orders of mendicant friars, for the one was a Franciscan and the other a Dominican.

In the monastery was dispensed not only medical aid, so far as the rudeness and ignorance of the superstitious practitioner allowed, but also unstinted and gratuitous hospitality. The conventual establishment was at once the hospital and the hotel of mediæval society. In the thinly peopled districts usually selected by its founders, no public provision was made for the relief of the sufferings of the invalid or the necessities of the traveller, and both found within its walls a generous and cordial greeting. Its sanctuary covered the trembling victim of feudal oppression with the mantle of its comfort and protection. Its towers, secure in their sacred character, passed unscathed through the wreck of dynasties and the perils of revolutionary violence. The substantial walls of donjon and barbican went down under the assaults of Norman, Saxon, Dane, and Lombard, but the abbey, defenceless save in the immunity afforded by the holy calling of its inmates, remained unchanged amidst these scenes of universal disorder and ruin, the depository of ancient learning, the refuge of the remnant of those elegant social courtesies which had survived the fall of imperial greatness, the asylum of the persecuted, the home of the arts, the preserver of civilization in a martial and unenlightened age.

While Rome was the centre of ecclesiastical and temporal power, Constantinople was the undisputed seat of the refinement and culture of Christian Europe. The transfer of the government of the Empire to the confines of Asia had not, however, destroyed the prestige which the Eternal City had obtained by her glorious achievements in arts, in arms, in literature, in politics, during so many centuries. The new capital of the Cæsars could not properly be called a Roman city. Its population, after the first fifty years following its foundation, was more Greek than Latin, but its most distinctive features were always Asiatic. The ordinary idiom of its citizens was that of Ionia and Attica. The despotism of its court, the manners of its people, bore the pronounced stamp of the Orient. Its society was cosmopolitan, and the relations it maintained through the channels of trade with remote countries constantly filled its thoroughfares with picturesque and barbaric costumes. The brutality of the West, the vices of the East, the superstitions of Africa, the cruelty of Italy, found a congenial home on the shores of the Bosphorus. The successors of Constantine claimed and exercised prerogatives wholly inconsistent with the security of the community or the principles of equity. They interposed their authority to annul the sentences of judicial tribunals. They inflicted frightful tortures without the warrant of law or precedent. They imposed taxes which impoverished even the wealthiest of their subjects. They permitted their flatterers to extort ransoms, traffic in justice, and dispose of employments without even the decorous pretext of concealment. The mutual hatred existing between the bloodthirsty factions of the capital, the ancient enmity of the nobles, the jealousy of rival princes, which had more than once caused disastrous riots, the tumultuous fury of the rabble, induced the emperors to habitually distrust the fidelity of those statesmen whose birth and education best qualified them to direct the policy of a great empire. As a necessity, therefore, eunuchs were intrusted with the management of affairs of state and filled the responsible offices of the imperial household. Surrounded by a crowd of dependents and flatterers, these monsters were the fountain of all honor and the recipients of all homage; while the sovereign of the East, shorn of his actual power, was left to the society of monks and parasites. An excessive love of pomp and of magnificent attire was a marked trait of the Byzantine character. The imperial train often included more than twenty thousand servants, the majority of whom were eunuchs. The eunuch was the most conspicuous personage in the government, in the hierarchy, in commercial adventure, in social amusement, in political intrigue. He discharged the functions of a general often with credit, sometimes with consummate skill. His secretive habits and demeanor admirably fitted him for the tortuous paths and insidious methods of diplomatic intercourse. He was a power in the Byzantine hierarchy. Members of his caste were exalted to high positions in the ecclesiastical order. Some attained to the supreme dignity of Patriarch, an office for centuries of greater importance than that of Bishop of Rome. Others controlled the wealthiest sees of the Eastern Church. Monastic life seemed to possess a peculiar attraction for them, and many convents in Constantinople were peopled exclusively by the victims of man’s deliberate cruelty. Some of these institutions contained nearly a thousand inmates. The prominent part taken by this odious class in establishing the standard of modern orthodoxy, through its influence on the ladies of the imperial household in the early days of Christianity, is familiar to every reader of Church history. The insatiable avarice and rapacity of the eunuch impelled him to the accumulation of wealth through the legitimate channels of foreign commerce and domestic enterprise, as well as by the more questionable means of servility and corruption. His ships were known in every port of the Mediterranean. He was identified with the largest mercantile establishments of the capital. In every social assembly he was conspicuous, in every conspiracy his concealed but powerful hand was felt. His equipage was the gayest, his train the most imposing on the streets. In the circus he took precedence of haughty patricians, whom he far eclipsed in splendor of costume. Ever with an eye to his own aggrandizement, he whispered treason in the ears of the nobles and instigated the rabble to revolt. The sentiments of gratitude, of sympathy, of charity, were unknown to him. The frightful punishments inflicted by the court on political offenders were notoriously suggested by his malignant genius. With the loss of his procreative power seemed to have vanished every trace of honor, of justice, of humanity, of loyalty, of devotion. He was execrated by the Byzantine populace, whose feelings were expressed by the current saying, “If you have a eunuch, kill him; if you have none, buy one and kill him!”

The government of the Byzantine Empire exhibited a curious mixture of irresponsible power and abject dependence. The emperors displayed all the insignia and all the arrogance of despotism, while at the same time they were really the slaves of their parasites. The career of a sovereign was certain to be a short one if he manifested an inclination to independence and to the assertion of his legal prerogatives. In the court of Constantinople poisoning was reduced to a science, and eunuchs, astrologers, priests, and charlatans were ready instruments of ambition and revenge. The formalities attending the intercourse of members of the royal family and the aristocracy were so complicated as to require a long course of study to master them. They were reduced to a code, familiarity with whose rules was considered the greatest accomplishment of a courtier. While this frivolous ceremonial was being sedulously perfected, the constantly receding frontiers of the Empire were abandoned to the encroachments of the barbarians of the Baltic and the Caspian. The state revenues were squandered by ecclesiastics and insatiable favorites. Rapacious tax-collectors displayed the character and adopted the customs of licensed brigands. Their extortions became so excessive and the distress of the people was so great that three-fourths of the inhabitants of the monarchy were officially inscribed upon the public registers as mendicants.

From the eighth to the twelfth century Constantinople was, in all probability, the most opulent and populous city in the world. It had inherited the traditions of the ancient Roman capital, while it had in a great measure discarded the policy which had made those traditions famous. The most exquisite of the works of art that had escaped the fury of the barbarous hordes of Scythia and Gaul had been conveyed within its walls. Its streets were lined with magnificent mansions, colonnades, temples. Everywhere rose suggestive mementos of that great power whose name had been renowned and feared from the Highlands of Scotland to the banks of the Oxus. In forum and garden the mean and stolid visages of sainted monk and anchorite stood side by side with the noble busts and statues of the most illustrious heroes and citizens of classic Rome. The royal palaces were modelled, some after the beautiful villas which had once adorned the Campagna, others after plans suggested by the Saracen architects of Bagdad. The churches also bore evidence of the imitative character of Byzantine art, which borrowed its inspiration from Greece and the Orient. It is said that in 1403 there were three thousand of them in the city. Monolithic columns of different colored marble supported their domes,—sometimes as many as five in number,—roofed with tiles of gilded bronze. Their walls were incrusted with lapis-lazuli and jasper. The sculpture in relief was covered with gold. Elaborate patterns of arabesques in mosaics embellished the walls and formed the pavements. The fountains were of silver and their basins were filled with wine instead of water, for the benefit of the Byzantine mob, whose struggles often diverted the indolent leisure of the monarch and his luxurious court. A separate dwelling was used by the Emperor during each season of the year, and the appointments and furniture of each of them were adapted to the atmospheric vicissitudes of the climate of Constantinople. In all the decorations of these sumptuous edifices jewels were lavished in ostentatious and semi-barbaric profusion. The perverted ingenuity of the Byzantine inventor was expended in the construction of curious toys that might delight the simplicity of childhood, but which could hardly be expected to engage the attention of royalty, even in a degenerate age. One of the masterpieces of these skilful artisans was a tree of the precious metals with foliage occupied by golden birds, whose shrill notes filled the halls of the palace. Notwithstanding its vast expenditure of treasure, such were the resources of the Byzantine monarchy that even after its territory was contracted almost to the walls of the capital, it still embraced the wealthiest community in Christendom. The unrivalled commercial facilities enjoyed by Constantinople more than counterbalanced for centuries the disadvantages of political incapacity, national idleness, and official corruption. The losses resulting from ecclesiastical quarrels, the sanguinary revolutions of political factions, the ravages of Crusaders and the pestilence were speedily supplied from the cities of Greece and the colonies of Asia Minor. The heterogeneous elements of its population, thus recruited from so many sources, early caused it to assume the appearance and the character of the most cosmopolitan of cities; and as the capital was the type of the entire region subject to the sovereign, it has been remarked, not incorrectly, that the Byzantine Empire was a government without a nation.

So marked, however, was the religious and intellectual debasement of contemporaneous Europe that the weakness and crimes of the Greek emperors passed unnoticed amidst the recognized superiority of the civilization which their wanton extravagance polluted. The extent and magnitude of their commerce, the splendor of their embassies, the munificence with which they rewarded their allies, afforded the most exaggerated ideas of their importance and power. The pomp which invested their presence concealed the deplorable conditions under whose restraints they were compelled to direct the affairs of their empire. The political imbecility of the Greeks was, therefore, not visible to their neighbors. These observed only the gorgeous theatrical effects which sustained the prestige of a decaying monarchy, and the alliance of the princes of Constantinople was solicited alike by the khalifs of Bagdad, Cairo, and Cordova, by the emperors of the West, and by the kings of England. In the social polity of the Greeks the court was everything and the people nothing. The natural law of progress, by which man is encouraged to accumulate wealth by the knowledge that he can enjoy it unmolested, and is impelled to intellectual pursuits through the hope of political advancement,—a law practically annulled by the Cæsars of Rome,—was entirely abolished under the emperors of Byzantium. Little security could be expected from a government which attempted to extort from the wretched peasant, whose harvests had been swept away by the barbarian, the same tax demanded from the prosperous merchant, and made no allowance for the destitution for which its own incapacity and corruption were responsible.

The most pernicious ideas relative to the duties and privileges of citizenship had been imported from Italy. The people were divided into castes. The aristocracy considered all occupations carried on for profit as disgraceful to a patrician. It was a maxim with the populace, and one which it would have been dangerous to controvert, that the state owed it sustenance and amusement. In maintaining such a principle, the lower classes could have no motive for labor, and the rabble of Constantinople had not forgotten that the Roman citizen who so far disregarded his dignity as to become an artisan was ignominiously driven from his tribe. The only career open to the aspiring plebeian was through the Church. To obtain a commanding position in the hierarchy, the favor and assistance of a eunuch or of a princess of the royal family was indispensable. The duties of the priesthood required the possession of little intelligence and less education. The affairs of palace and cathedral were usually administered by emasculated monks, indebted for their places to the ostentatious devotion or convenient servility by which they demonstrated their usefulness in furthering the designs of ambitious patrons. While the general licentiousness which scandalized the papal court did not prevail to an equal extent among the clergy of Constantinople, the lives of many of the patriarchs were stained with vices equal in baseness and impiety to any that defiled the character of the worst of the pontiffs. Soldiers, eunuchs, parasites, and tools of intriguing statesmen were elevated in turn to the most eminent dignity of the Eastern Church. Some carried with them into the episcopal palace the manners and the license of the camp. Others, by enlisting the services of the monks and the populace, fomented sanguinary and disastrous revolutions. Others again, by the monstrous extravagance of their behavior and the irreverence which they displayed in the discharge of their sacred functions, aroused the indignation and incurred the censure of the devout. Of the latter, Theophylactus offers a conspicuous example. The sale of ecclesiastical preferments furnished him regularly with means for the gratification of his unholy passions. He was raised to the patriarchal throne of Constantinople at the age of twelve years. He introduced into the Greek ritual absurd ceremonies and licentious hymns which, strange to relate, survived him for almost two centuries. To this practice are traceable the riotous and obscene festivals of the Middle Ages, when religion was travestied and the rites of the Church profaned by license as gross as that which characterized the excesses of the decadent empire of the Cæsars. He deprecated the wrath of the Devil with heathen sacrifices. In his stable were two thousand horses, which were fed on almonds and figs steeped in wine, regaled with costly liquors, and sprinkled with the most exquisite perfumes. Not infrequently in the midst of the mass he left his congregation to visit the stall of some favorite charger. Could piety or virtue be expected from a people whose spiritual necessities were ministered to by such a prelate?