We must add, likewise, that as society progressed, new means of illustration, new kinds of notability arose; the moral power of opinion, which had been attached exclusively to nobility, communicated itself by degrees to those who contributed to the prosperity of society by their talents, their knowledge, or their industry.

We have seen the brilliant side of feudalism; we have now to speak of the state in which the inhabitants of the cities and the country groaned. Most of the villages and cities depended upon some baron, whose protection they purchased, and who exercised an arbitrary jurisdiction over them. Man, reduced to servitude, or rather slavery, had no law which guarded him against oppression; the produce of labour, the wages of his sweat, did not belong to him; he was himself a property which could be claimed anywhere, if he fled away from his home. Chained to the glebe, he must often have envied the animal who helped him to trace the furrow, or the palfrey, the noble companion of his master. The serf had no other hope but that which religion afforded him, and left nothing to his children but the example of his patience in suffering. He could neither make a contract during his lifetime, nor a testament at the hour of death. His last will was not recognised by law; it died with him. To excuse the barbarity of this gross age, we must remember the still more frightful fate of slaves among the Greeks and Romans. We have no need to point out the obstacles this state of things must have opposed to the development of the industry and the social faculties of man. Thus the country was covered with forests, and most of the cities presented nothing but an aspect of poverty and misery.

The cities of Lombardy, and a great part of Italy, were the first places that shook off the yoke of feudalism. The emperors of Germany, as we have seen, were almost always at variance with the popes. The cities took advantage of these quarrels, to arrogate rights which no one disputed. Others purchased them of the emperors, who believed they made a good bargain when they sold that which they had not the power to refuse. Towards the middle of the eleventh century, the clergy and nobility had already no more influence in the cities of Italy. According to the evidence of Otho of Freisengen, a contemporary author, Italy was full of free cities, all of which had obliged their bishops to reside within their walls; there was scarcely a noble who was not subject to the laws and government of a city. In Germany the cities obtained their freedom at a later period. These Germans, who, according to Tacitus, considered dwelling in cities as a mark of servitude, not only in the end built cities, but sought liberty in them. The cities of the Rhine appear to have been made free by the emperors in the eleventh century. But most of these cities were poor, they contained but few inhabitants, and were not able to defend themselves against the German oligarchy. At the commencement of the fourteenth century, several free cities, enriched by the commerce of the East, and by the communications opened by the crusades, formed a confederation, and by that means made their independence respected.

In England, the spirit of liberty did not take its spring before the holy wars; the cities, with the exception of that of London, which had obtained several privileges, scarcely dreamt of independence; the Britons, as in the times of Virgil, appeared still separated from the rest of the world. It may be said that liberty in the English nation was not an affair of locality, but a general affair, which was to be decided at a later period.

In Spain, the war against the Moors, as we have already said, favoured the independence of the commons. We are in possession of historical documents of the eleventh century, which prove that several Spanish cities enjoyed certain immunities at this period. But the first of these cities which were summoned to the Cortes, urged by a spirit of jealousy, refused to admit the others, which was very injurious to the development and progress of liberty in Spain.

In the south of France, the archives of the communes present us with some traces of liberty, a long time before the period of the crusades. The influence of a fine climate, the vivacity which animated the inhabitants, with some traditions of the Roman law, preserved, in the provinces which border on Spain and Italy, habits of independence which might serve as models or examples. When the kings of France thought of enfranchising some communes, it was from the south of the kingdom they must have taken the idea.

These enfranchisements of the southern cities, however, were rather consecrated by custom than by positive laws. According to the best opinions, the formal and legal enfranchisement of communes in France dates from Louis-le-Gros, who granted privileges to some cities situated within the domains of the crown. The example of Louis-le-Gros was followed by Louis VII. and Philip Augustus. A great number of cities saw all sorts of slavery excluded from their walls, chose their own magistrates, levied their own taxes, kept up a military force, and had a jurisdiction entirely their own. Such was the first blow given in France to the feudal government.

Before this period it was customary to implore the aid of the barons against violence and robbery. This support was abandoned as soon as another tutelary power arose. The serfs, and even the freemen, who had at first sought safety in castles, soon sought it in cities, against their former protectors, the castellans; the first engagements of the inhabitants of cities were mutual defence and reciprocal protection.

The liberty of cities began by the corporations; men could only be strong when united. This necessity for union in moments of crisis or peril is so natural, that when society is disturbed, factions and parties are formed which are like corporations. The spirit of a public body, or the spirit of party, in whatever way it may be considered, holds essentially with the social character. Liberty was much more considered in relation with the community than in relation with individual man; it was considered a benefit that could only be enjoyed in common. Thus society did not find itself subordinate to the individual, but the individual to society. Isolated man could do nothing; strength lay with the association, which effectually protected the rights of all, and watched over the conservation of individual liberty and public liberty.

When cities situated within the royal domains had obtained their franchises, the spirit of independence soon possessed the other cities of the kingdom. The communes which succeeded in gaining their enfranchisement, did not all obtain the same advantages; they were, more or less, favoured by circumstances. Here, liberty was purchased of the lord; there, the yoke was shaken off by force; in other places, treaties were effected, in which the spirit of liberty and feudal power made mutual concessions.

During the crusades, the long absence of the barons must have multiplied, for the communes, opportunities of enfranchising themselves. Most of the lords who ruined themselves for the holy wars, exchanged, for the money of which they stood in need, all their rights over the cities which depended upon them—rights which they yielded the more willingly from hoping to win principalities in Asia.

This enfranchisement of communes produced a very different effect for the great vassals and the crown. It weakened the authority of the lords, because the spirit of liberty was against them; it increased the royal authority, because the cities which were free, or had a desire to be so, looked to the king. Cities, when their independence was threatened, implored the king’s protection. We find in old chronicles, that Philip Augustus granted letters of protection to cities dependent upon barons. Thus kings became the hope of all the communes of the kingdom, and liberty supported itself by royalty. This is why the cities of France, to defend their franchises, formed no league, as they did in other countries; for they found a natural defence in royal power.

The revolution which was destined to destroy feudalism, appeared to act as of itself. There is, in the possession of a newly-acquired good, a restlessness, an anxiety, a fear of losing it, which kept the communes always on the alert; there is, on the contrary, in the possession of an anciently-acquired good, an indolent security, which did not permit the barons to see the true state of things. The lords only opposed new ideas by a short-sighted disdain, and believed they had lost nothing as long as they retained their swords by their sides.

If, however, we may judge by the complaints of Guibert, abbot of Nogent, a contemporary historian, the enfranchisement of the communes met with some opposition. There was no want of sour spirits, who considered it a dangerous and destructive innovation. But we may believe that these complaints were only inspired by that natural repugnance which the greater part of men entertain for seeing anything change which is consecrated by time, and by that vague mistrust which novelty produces, under whatever form it may appear. The truth is, that nobody knew, or could possibly judge, of the extent of the changes that were then in operation. Revolutions, whatever may be their object or their character, are never thoroughly understood before they have finished their course, and never reveal their secret at their commencement.

A century after Louis-le-Gros, Louis VIII. pretended to have the right of immediate sovereignty over all the communes. This was a signal for all the cities to complete their emancipation from the barons; this was the mortal blow to the feudal aristocracy. This great revolution of the social state went on so rapidly, that history can with difficulty follow its progress, and cannot assign the part which the crusades bore in it.

Happy had it been for society if that spirit of liberty which then set it in motion, and which advanced without ceasing, sowing blessings and evils on its route, had produced none but wise institutions; if, always confined within just bounds, it had not frequently kindled bloody discords, and had not at last mingled itself with the blind passions of the multitude! What a picture were that which should exhibit the consequences of this revolution up to modern times, which should represent monarchy rising from the ruins of feudalism and then itself succumbing in a new revolution! What a subject for serious thoughts in the historian, when, embracing with a rapid glance ancient and modern times, he sees the two most active forces of society, at the revival of civilization,—royalty and liberty, marching constantly one towards the other, demanding of each other reciprocal support, overthrowing all the barriers that separated them, destroying all they found in their passage; at last, after several ages of endeavours, meeting face to face upon the ruins accumulated round them, taking each other at first sight for enemies, declaring war against each other, and falling together on the same field of battle![102]

God forbid that I should here be thought to present discouraging images! I have only wished to show the fragility of human affairs, and the want of foresight in those who direct societies. The revolution we have beheld is, perhaps, less the work of liberty than of the equality which is seen to figure, for the first time, in the political world.

This equality, such as the moderns have constituted it, was scarcely known in the ancient republics, of which the language had no word to express it. The first book that spoke of equality was the Gospel. Christianity constantly represents all men as equal before God. The object of the Gospel was to lower the pride of the great; which was salutary. I know not what false philosophy made use of equality to raise the pride of the low;—and then society was shaken to its very foundations.

The great revolution which has been effected in the manners and laws of Europe, and which began at the times of the crusades, may be divided into two principal epochs. At first it was desirable to wrest from the feudal lords a power which they abused: that was the first epoch,—that was the revolution of liberty. When the feudal lords had nothing left but distinctions, these distinctions irritated pride and jealousy, which, in the end, persuaded themselves that every political superiority was a tyranny, which must be brought low. This was the second epoch,—the revolution of equality; much more terrible than the first, because it had for motive, passions much more difficult to satisfy than the love of liberty.

But the peasants and serfs of the country, whilst the cities were in the enjoyment of liberty, still groaned in slavery. Up to the fourteenth century, this numerous class found no abatement in the rigours of their servitude. The greatest advantage the crusades could have bestowed upon the peasants, was the momentary cessation of brigandage, and the peace which reigned in the country, all the time the wars against the Saracens were being carried on.

It is probable that serfs in Europe were not better treated, according to the legislation and customs of the West, than they were in the Holy Land, according to the Assizes of Jerusalem. There is no doubt that peasants taken from the glebe for the crusade became free men; but most of them perished by misery or by the swords of the Mussulmans. What became of the few who revisited their homes cannot be ascertained.

A population dispersed and scattered about a country did not present, as in cities, a formidable mass, capable of resistance. Peasants rarely communicated with each other, and could not support any demand, or establish any common right. Man requires some intelligence to make him sensible of the advantages of liberty, and the peasant class was then brutified by ignorance. We must likewise add, that the love of independence came with riches; and this is why it arose earlier in cities than in the country, and earlier in flourishing cities than in poorer ones. The serfs of the country were poor; they would not have known what use to make of liberty. Liberty is of little value to him who is in want of the first necessaries of life. Among warlike and barbarous hordes, who entertained a repugnance for labour, it was natural that they should be despised who gave themselves up to the painful toil of cultivating the earth. This repugnance was necessarily more strong among nomad nations, like those that conquered Europe. The contempt felt in the middle ages for the peasantry was injurious to their liberty; and this contempt even survived their servitude. People felt, in some sort, forced to treat as slaves men who performed a task which was considered necessary, but which every free man disdained.

The inhabitant of the country, abandoned to his own resources, did not aspire to independence; the only good he could pretend to was the choice of slavery. As the Church inspired more confidence than the nobles, a crowd of unfortunate beings took refuge, in a manner, at the foot of the altars, and devoted their liberty and that of their children to this church or that monastery, to which they looked for protection. Nothing is more curious than the formulæ by which the clergy received this sacrifice of individual liberty. They congratulated the new serfs with having preferred “the domination of Jesus Christ to the liberty of the age;” they added, that “to serve God was to reign,” and that “a holy servitude was true independence.” These words must have been in harmony with the manners and ideas of the times, since a multitude of men and women were seen every day flocking to the monasteries, and conjuring the Church to admit them among “the serfs of Jesus Christ.” That they should believe themselves, on that account, much more free than other men, we may at the present day be astonished; but was there not a sort of liberty in wearing chains they had chosen, and with which they had fettered themselves?

Some free cities of Germany contributed to the enfranchisement of the peasants of their territory. The same thing happened in Italy and in Spain, where the territory of cities was considerable; in England, the peasantry waited a long time for any amelioration of their fate. But nothing is more difficult than to ascertain with certainty the destiny which, during many ages, this multitude of men who covered the plains of Europe underwent; in the darkness of the middle ages, numberless generations of serfs passed over the earth, without leaving any traces in history. We can with difficulty catch, in old chronicles and acts of administration, here and there a few scattered gleams to throw a light upon our researches.

In France, it is not till the commencement of the fourteenth century that any ordinances of the kings upon the enfranchisement of the serfs are to be found. In an ordinance of 1315, Louis X. made use of these remarkable words: “Many persons among our common people are enchained in the bonds of servitude, which displeases us greatly.... Our kingdom,” he added, “is called and named the kingdom of the Franks; we are desirous that the thing should in truth be in accordance with its name,” &c. In this ordinance, made only for the royal domains, the king of France pressed the nobles to follow his example. “We are in possession of a letter-patent of the same king, by which commissaries were commanded to transport themselves to the bailiwick of Senlis, and “to give freedom to all who required it,” on condition, nevertheless, of paying a sum for the rights of servitude, which reverted to the crown.

All the historical documents of this period prove, more and more, that the kings had placed themselves at the head of the general movement of society. In all they then did, their motive, doubtless, was to reëstablish order in the kingdom, and to found their authority upon the protection granted to those who suffered from the violences and excesses of feudal anarchy. If, however, we may judge by the ordinance just quoted, and by many other similar ones, their policy was not always disinterested, and, like most of the barons, they sometimes sold rather than granted the freedom of the serfs and the communes.

Many peasants showed themselves but little disposed to receive a liberty which was to be sold to them. Some from poverty, others from mistrust, a great number from unwillingness to change their condition, refused the benefit that was offered to them. Such is the spirit of man, that they resolved to remain serfs, because they were condemned to be such no longer. In several provinces, even disorders were created by their resistance. This was slaves fighting, with their chains, against Liberty herself. At a later period, the jaquerie proved that it was more easy to kindle the passions of a gross people, than to make them free; and that it was far, as regarded the serfs, from impatience under the yoke and hatred for their masters, to the true love of liberty.

When we are desirous of breaking the chains of the multitude, it is never to the multitude that we must address ourselves; in order that the fate of the lower classes should be ameliorated, the amelioration must come from the superior classes, by whom knowledge is spread and institutions are established. This is what happened at the period of which we are speaking. The servitude of the country was much softened by the maxims of the clergy, but more particularly by the influence of that French magistracy which had arisen contemporaneously with civilization.

In the middle of the fifteenth century, some serfs of Catalonia, who had taken refuge in France, being claimed by their lords, the parliament of Thoulouse declared that every man who entered into the kingdom crying France! became free. Mezerai,[103] who relates this fact, adds: “Such is the kingdom of France, that its air communicates liberty to those who breathe it, and our kings are so august that they only reign over free men.”

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, scarcely a trace of servitude could be found in the cities or the country. History could but applaud this revolution, if the fall even of feudalism, whilst destroying ancient abuses, had not placed governments in antagonism with difficulties which had not been foreseen, and whose consequences were destined to be deplorable. When the feudal government, which cost the people nothing,[104] was quite overthrown, it became necessary to provide for the expenses of a new administration; when the state had lost the defenders which the feudal laws provided for it, others were to be sought, and their services to be remunerated. Thence came the necessity for stipendiary armies and regular and permanent taxes. To provide the money wanted, the coinage was debased, the Jews were persecuted, violence was had recourse to, and justice was sold,—all of which tended to corrupt both the government and the nation. The embarrassment of the finances, and the disorders it produced, have only increased up to the present day. To remedy this, the moral strength and life of society have often been neglected, and means of raising money have constituted the whole policy of states. To have credit, or not to have it, that is, now-a-days, life or death for governments. Credit, deficit, bankruptcy, are three words, of which the ancients and the middle ages were quite ignorant; but which are now constantly present to the restless, uneasy minds of kings and ministers. These three words will perhaps one day be sufficient to explain the decline and fall of empires.

Whatever was the weight of the public impositions, it must be allowed that the taxes gave rise to more frequent relations between governments and the people, which proved advantageous to liberty. People gave more attention to the administration which they paid for with the fruit of their industry and labour. Sovereigns had more consideration for the different classes of citizens of whom they demanded tribute; and were constrained to consult them in certain circumstances, in order that the people, says Pasquier, might not have occasion to be dissatisfied or murmur. The origin of representative government, as it exists in many European nations in our days, has been sought for in remote times; but everything leads us to believe that it owed its birth to the relations which the wants of states and the necessity for taxes naturally established between peoples and governments.

That which most increased the embarrassments of the majority of European monarchies, after the fall of feudalism, was the excessive enlargement of their military establishments. At the moment I am writing, there is no necessity to point out this fearful rock of modern societies It is not a century since Montesquieu predicted that Europe would perish by its armies.[105] God grant that this prophecy be not about to be accomplished! The military force of Europe has given us reason to dread all the evils it was intended to prevent. It was to defend every kingdom from foreign invasions; and yet there is not a kingdom in Europe that has not been invaded, or threatened with invasion. It was deemed necessary to restrain the multitude by means of armies; and armies have been raised to such numbers of men, that they have become the multitude itself under arms. Can it be true, as has been said, that there is no remedy for this evil? Deplorable state of things, without which society cannot last, with which it cannot exist!

The crusades have been reproached with having given birth to the idea of imposts; this idea is too simple not to have arisen without the help of the crusades.[106] It is probable that the manner in which the tenths were collected for the holy war, might serve as a model for those who afterwards established regular contributions. As to regular armies, the expeditions to the East might furnish the first idea of them. It is certain that these distant expeditions changed the conditions of the feudal service, and accustomed people to see permanent armies maintained and commanded by princes.

Among the institutions which contended with the barbarism of the middle ages, we will, in the first place, consider chivalry, the exploits of which are much better known than its origin. At a time when everything was decided by force, and everything was determined by the sword;—in which, as Montesquieu says, to judge was to fight—women, children, and orphans were not able to defend their rights, and were abandoned a prey to iniquity. Generous warriors came forward to defend them; their devotion was applauded,—their example was followed. Shortly the order of Paladins was formed, who perambulated the world, seeking for wrongs to redress, and felons to combat with. Such was, doubtless, the origin of chivalry, which is so uselessly sought for in the forests of Germany. This institution sprang from the extreme disorder of society, and arose like a bulwark, which human generosity opposed to the irruptions of license, and the passions of a barbarous age.

Chivalry was known in the West before the crusades. These wars, which appeared to have the same aim as chivalry,—that of defending the oppressed, serving the cause of God, and combating with infidels,—gave this institution more splendour and consistency,—a direction more extended and salutary.

Religion, which mingled itself with all the institutions and all the passions of the middle ages, purified the sentiments of the knights, and elevated them to the enthusiasm of virtue. Christianity lent chivalry its ceremonies and its emblems, and tempered, by the mildness of its maxims, the asperities of warlike manners.

Piety, bravery, and modesty were the distinctive qualities of chivalry: “Serve God, and he will help you; be mild and courteous to every gentleman, by divesting yourself of all pride; be neither a flatterer nor a slanderer, for such people seldom come to great excellence. Be loyal in words and deeds; keep your word; be helpful to the poor and to orphans, and God will reward you.”[107] Thus said the mother of Bayard to her son; and these instructions of a virtuous mother comprised the whole code of chivalry.

The most admirable part of this institution was the entire abnegation of self,—that loyalty which made it the duty of every knight to forget his own glory, and only publish the lofty deeds of his companions in arms. The deeds of valour of a knight were his fortune, his means of living; and he who was silent upon them was a robber of the property of others. Nothing appeared more reprehensible than for a knight to praise himself. “If the squire,” says le Code des Preux, “be vain-glorious of what he has done, he is not worthy to become a knight.” An historian of the crusades offers us a singular example of this virtue, which is not entirely humility, and might be called the false modesty of glory, when he describes Tancred checking his career in the field of battle, to make his squire swear to be for ever silent upon his exploits.

The most cruel insult that could be offered to a knight, was to accuse him of falsehood. Want of truth, and perjury, were considered the most shameful of all crimes. If oppressed innocence implored the succour of a knight, woe to him who did not respond to the appeal! Shame followed every offence towards the weak, and every aggression towards an unarmed man.

The spirit of chivalry kept up and strengthened among warriors the generous sentiments which the military spirit of feudalism had given birth to: devotion to his sovereign was the first virtue, or rather the first duty, of a knight. Thus in every state of Europe grew up a young military power, always ready for fight, and always ready to sacrifice itself for prince or for country, as for the cause of justice and innocence.

One of the most remarkable characteristics of chivalry, and that which at the present day most strongly excites our surprise and curiosity, was the alliance of religious sentiments with gallantry. Devotion and love,—such was the principle of action of a knight: God and the ladies,—such was his device.

To form an idea of the manners of chivalry, we have but to glance at the tournaments, which owed their origin to it, and which were as schools of courtesy and festivals of bravery. At this period, the nobility were dispersed, and lived isolated in their castles. Tournaments furnished them with opportunities for assembling; and it was at these brilliant meetings that the memory of ancient gallant knights was revived,—that youth took them for models, and imbibed chivalric virtues by receiving rewards from the hands of beauty.

As the ladies were the judges of the actions and the bravery of the knights, they exercised an absolute empire over the minds of the warriors; and I have no occasion to say that this ascendancy of the softer sex threw a charm over the heroism of the preux and the paladins. Europe began to escape from barbarism from the moment the most weak commanded the most strong,—from the moment when the love of glory, when the noblest feelings of the heart, the tenderest affections of the soul, everything that constitutes the moral force of society, was able to triumph over every other force.

Louis IX., a prisoner in Egypt, replies to the Saracens, that he will do nothing without Queen Marguerite, “who is his lady.” The orientals could not comprehend such deference; and it is because they did not comprehend this deference, that they have remained so far in the rear of the nations of Europe, in nobleness of sentiment, purity of morals, and elegance of manners.

Heroes of antiquity wandered over the world to deliver it from scourges and monsters; but these heroes were not actuated by religion, which elevates the soul, nor by that courtesy which softens the manners. They were acquainted with friendship, as in the cases of Theseus and Pirithous, and Hercules and Lycas; but they knew nothing of the delicacy of love. The ancient poets take delight in representing the misfortunes of certain heroines abandoned by their lovers; but, in their touching pictures, there never escapes from their plaintive muse the least expression of blame against the hero, who thus caused the tears of beauty to flow. In the middle ages, or according to the manners of chivalry, a warrior who should have imitated the conduct of Theseus to Ariadne, or that of the son of Anchises towards Dido, would not have failed to incur the reproach of treachery.

Another difference between the spirit of antiquity and the sentiments of the moderns is, that among the ancients love was supposed to enervate the courage of heroes; and that in the days of chivalry, the women, who were the judges of valour, constantly kept alive the love of glory and an enthusiasm for virtue, in the hearts of the warriors. We find in Alain Chartier, a conversation of several ladies, who express their opinions upon the conduct of their knights, who had been present at the battle of Agincourt. One of these knights had sought safety in flight, and the lady of his thoughts exclaims: “According to the law of love, I should have loved him better dead than alive.” In the first crusade, Adela, countess of Blois, wrote to her husband, who was gone to the East with Godfrey of Bouillon: “Beware of meriting the reproaches of the brave.” As the count of Blois returned to Europe before the taking of Jerusalem, his wife made him blush at his desertion, and forced him to return to Palestine, where he fought bravely, and found a glorious death. Thus the spirit and the sentiments of chivalry gave birth to prodigies equally with the most ardent patriotism of ancient Lacedæmon; and these prodigies appeared so simple, so natural, that the chroniclers only repeat them in passing, and without testifying the least surprise at them.

This institution, so ingeniously called “Fountain of courtesy, which comes from God,” is still much more admirable when considered under the all-powerful influence of religious ideas. Christian charity claimed all the affections of the knight, and demanded of him a perpetual devotion for the defence of pilgrims and the care of the sick. It was thus that were established the orders of St. John, of the Temple, of the Teutonic Knights, and several others, all instituted to combat the Saracens and solace human miseries. The infidels admired their virtues, as much as they dreaded their bravery. Nothing is more touching than the spectacle of these noble warriors, who were seen by turns in the field of battle and in the asylum of pain; sometimes the terror of the enemy, and as frequently the consolers of all who suffered. That which the paladins of the West did for beauty, the knights of Palestine did for poverty and misfortune. The former devoted their lives to the ladies of their thoughts; the latter devoted theirs to the poor and the infirm. The grand-master of the military order of St. John took the title of “Guardian of the poor of Jesus Christ,” and the knights called the sick and the poor “Our lords.” It appears almost an incredible thing, but the grand-master of the order of St. Lazarus, instituted for the cure and the relief of leprosy, was obliged to be chosen from among the lepers.[108] Thus the charity of the knights, in order to be the better acquainted with human miseries, in a manner ennobled that which is most disgusting in the diseases of man. Did not this grand-master of St. Lazarus, who was obliged himself to be afflicted with the infirmities he was called upon to alleviate in others, imitate, as much as is possible on earth, the example of the Son of God, who assumed a human form in order to deliver humanity?

It may be thought that there was ostentation in so great a charity; but Christianity, as we have said, had subdued the pride of the warriors, and that was, without doubt, one of the noblest miracles of the religion of the middle ages. All who then visited the Holy Land could but admire in the knights of St. John, the Temple, and St. Lazarus, their resignation in suffering all the pains of life, their submission to all the rigours of discipline, and their docility to the least wish of their leader. During the sojourn of St. Louis in Palestine, the Hospitallers having had a quarrel with some Crusaders who were hunting on Mount Carmel, the latter brought their complaint before the grand-master. The head of the Hospital ordered before him the brothers who had outraged the Crusaders, and to punish them, condemned there to eat their food on the ground upon their mantles. “It happened,” says the sieur de Joinville, “that I was present with the knights who had complained, and we requested the master to allow the brothers to arise from their mantles, which he refused.” Thus the rigour of the cloisters and the austere humility of cenobites had nothing repulsive for these warriors. Such were the heroes that religion and the spirit of the crusades had formed. I know that this submission and humility in men accustomed to arms may be turned into ridicule; but an enlightened philosophy takes pleasure in recognising the happy influence of religious ideas upon the manners of a society given up to barbarous passions. In an age when all power was derived from the sword, in which passion and anger might have carried warriors to all kinds of excesses, what more agreeable spectacle for humanity could there be than that of valour humbling itself, and strength forgetting itself?

We are aware that the spirit of chivalry was sometimes abused, and that its noble maxims did not govern the conduct of all knights. We have described in the history of the crusades, the lengthened discords which jealousy created between the two orders of St. John and the Temple. We have spoken of the vices with which the Templars were reproached towards the end of the holy wars. We could speak still more of the absurdities of knight-errantry; but our task is here to write the history of institutions, and not that of human passions. Whatever may be thought of the corruption of men, it will always be true that chivalry, allied with the spirit of courtesy and the spirit of Christianity, awakened in human hearts virtues and sentiments of which the ancients were ignorant.

That which proves that everything was not barbarous in the middle ages is, that the institution of chivalry obtained, from its birth, the esteem and admiration of all Christendom. There was no gentleman who was not desirous of being a knight. Princes and kings took honour to themselves for belonging to chivalry. In it warriors came to take lessons of politeness, bravery, and humanity. Admirable school, in which victory laid aside its pride, and grandeur its haughty disdain; to which those who had riches and power came to learn only to make use of them with moderation and generosity.

As the education of the people was formed upon the example of the higher classes of society, the generous sentiments of chivalry spread themselves by degrees through all ranks, and mingled with the character of the European nations; gradually, there arose against those who were wanting in their duties of knighthood, a general opinion, more severe than the laws themselves, which was as the code of honour, as the cry of the public conscience. What might not be hoped from a state of society, in which all the discourses held in camps, in tournaments, in meetings of warriors, was reduced to these words: “Evil be to him who forgets the promises he has made to religion, to patriotism, to virtuous love; evil be to him who betrays his God, his king, or his lady?”

When the institution of chivalry fell by the abuse that was made of it, or rather in consequence of the changes in the military system of Europe; there remained still in European society some of the sentiments it had inspired, in the same manner as there remains with those who have forgotten the religion in which they were born, something of its precepts, and particularly of the profound impressions which they received from it in their infancy. In the times of chivalry, the reward of good actions was glory and honour. This coin, which is so useful to nations, and which costs them nothing, did not fail to have some currency in following ages. Such is the effect of a glorious remembrance, that the marks and distinctions of chivalry serve still in our days to recompense merit and bravery.

Since it can with truth be said that the crusades added some lustre and gave some ascendancy to chivalry, it must be agreed that they rendered essential service to humanity.

If the institution of chivalry was a barrier against license and barbarism, the institution of the clergy, founded upon more fixed and durable principles, ought to have rendered still greater services to civilization.

The ascendancy and wealth of the clergy placed them on an equality with the nobility, in the feudal system; but it must be allowed that the rank assigned them in this order of things was repugnant to their character and to the state of society. We do not hesitate to say that the feudal system had a tendency to corrupt the institution of the clergy, as the clergy corrupted the feudal system. The clergy, instructed in principles of peace, were not fit to carry out the conditions of the military régime; on the other side, the military régime was sure to change the pacific manners of the clergy. It was not at all uncommon to see prelates clad in cuirass and helmet. Sometimes country priests led to battle the flock which a religion of peace had confided to them. This military spirit in ecclesiastics was much increased by the crusades, in which their arms were sanctified by the object of the war. The clergy, however, never became sufficiently warlike to fulfil all the feudal engagements; and we may add likewise, that they were not always sufficiently pacific to fulfil all their religious duties.

It may be concluded, from what we have just said, that the ecclesiastical order and the feudal government would, in the long run, repel each other. If we consult the history of the middle ages, we shall see that the barons and nobles often showed themselves jealous of the power of the clergy, and that the clergy, in the end, contributed to the ruin of the foundations of feudalism.

The existence of the clergy underwent many modifications, according to times, places, and circumstances. In Italy, they enjoyed but very little credit, and took part in most popular factions. In Germany, the high clergy shared with the nobility the wrecks of imperial power. In Spain, they contributed greatly to the expulsion of the Moors, and the spoils of the vanquished added to their wealth. In England, the clergy associated themselves with the barons, and contended with the crown. In France, they attached themselves to royalty, and favoured the constantly increasing power of the monarchs.

If we may judge by the councils which were held during the crusades, most of which were occupied with reforming ecclesiastical discipline, we have reason to believe that the morals of the clergy had then a strong tendency to corruption. Old chronicles are particularly severe against the Crusaders and the clergy of the East, whom they unceasingly accuse of outraging morality and religion by their excesses. Some of the chroniclers even, like James of Vitry, draw such hideous pictures, that they are suspected of injustice, or at least of exaggeration. It is not useless, for the sake of historical truth, to remark here, that most of the historians of whom we now speak, belonged to the class of preachers charged with the task of censuring their age, and who were often obliged to darken their colours in order to move the multitude. In all times, sacred orators have been seen exaggerating the vices it was their object to combat; and if we were not aware of the charity which animates them, we might sometimes mistake their discourses for violent satires. This is an observation of which we ought not to lose sight whilst reading the chronicles of the middle ages, which are almost all drawn up by ecclesiastics, accustomed by their profession to judge their contemporaries with severity. Another observation proved by history is, that corruption is spoken of with more bitterness in times in which it is scarcely known, than in times in which it has become general. In ages in which some ideas of virtue still prevail, people accuse themselves; and in ages quite corrupted, they praise themselves.

A chronicle of the time of the first crusades tells us, that the iniquities of men had then reached their height; and, what at once characterizes the spirit of the chronicler and that of his age, he adds that these iniquities would have shortened the duration of the world, “if it had not been that some new monastic congregations were formed.” In fact, during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, more monasteries were founded than in all the other centuries of the middle ages. The enthusiasm for the holy wars, by exalting the imaginations of nations, had produced a mental revolution; prodigies were everywhere seen that had never been observed till that time; devotion itself believed that it could no longer attain salvation by ordinary ways: whilst a crowd of warriors precipitated themselves upon the East, many pious souls, to perform penance, sought for private mortifications, and devoted themselves to the rigours of a voluntary exile, or buried themselves in deserts.

At the head of the monastic congregations which were formed at this period, we must place that of the Brothers of Mercy, which had its birth in the third crusade, and was instituted for the purpose of delivering captives. These venerable cenobites, after the example of the heroes of chivalry, sought for victims to console, and for the miserable to succour. Like knights, they exposed themselves to a thousand dangers, and braved death in the exercise of beneficence and charity. It was during the sixth crusade that the two orders of St. Dominic and St. Francis arose, orders which, according to the expression of the abbot of Usberg, renewed the youth of the Church. From the thirteenth century these two orders sent missions into the East, and into the north of Asia. Whilst the Tartar hordes were overturning empires, ravaging Europe, and threatening all Christendom, poor priests traversed the solitudes of Tartary, penetrated even into China; and, peaceful conquerors, armed with the Gospel, extended the empire of Christianity, and planted the standard of the cross at the extremities of the known world. The religious colonies which they then founded in Asia lasted much longer than the colonies founded by the Crusaders.

We will not attempt to enumerate all the services which religious communities rendered society. They had regulations which might serve for models in the infancy of political legislation. They were in all respects like the corporations of cities. Whilst anarchy disturbed cities, the woods had their legislation; and the germs of civilization developed themselves in silence and in solitude.

It was in monasteries that were found the only schools in which letters were taught, and that the Latin language, and the wonders it produced, were preserved. It was in them that studious men kept a faithful register of events, and employed themselves in transmitting to us those historical documents without which the glory and the manners of our ancestors would be unknown to us.

Besides that the clergy contributed greatly to the fertilizing of uncultivated lands, they protected the labourers with the whole power of the Church. The Truce of God, which was the work of the clergy, placed under the safeguard of Heaven, the inhabitants of the fields, the oxen, the companions of their labours, and even the instruments of their tillage. The Church went still further; it multiplied the festivals of the calendar, for the sake of the people. By augmenting the number of religious solemnities, the Church had two motives: the first, to bring more frequently to the foot of the altar an ignorant and gross multitude, who there found the instruction necessary for the amelioration of their morals and the consolation of their evils; the second, to procure some days of repose for that crowd of serfs, condemned by the avarice of their masters to labours which had no end, and of which they did not gather the fruit.[109]

Amidst wars which revived without ceasing, the peasantry often found an asylum near a monastery inhabited by peaceful men, and protected by the opinions of the times. Nothing can prove better the ascendancy of the Church, than seeing, on one side, the nobility shut up in their strong castles, and on the other, cenobites dwelling in cloisters scarcely closed, and defended only by faith and confidence. As might be expected, the peace which reigned in the neighbourhood of monasteries attracted a numerous population around them. Many towns, and even cities, owed their origin to the vicinity of a monastery, whose name they still preserve.

The maxims of the clergy, more perhaps than their example, contributed to the enfranchisement of serfs. Gregory the Great, when giving liberty to some slaves, said that the Redeemer came upon earth to release men from slavery, and to substitute the rights of the people for the code of servitude. In the middle ages, many charters of liberty were granted for “the love of God,—for the salvation of the soul,—for the remission of sins.” It was at the hour of death, and by testamentary dispositions, that most enfranchisements were granted; from which we may conclude that it was the work of the priests who assisted the dying. The clergy represented the enfranchisement of slaves as a thing agreeable to God; the ceremony of manumission was performed in the church as a solemn religious act. It was at the foot of the altars that the holy words were pronounced which broke the bonds of slavery. Thus everything announced that the spirit of the Gospel was everywhere mingled with the progress of civilization, and that the liberty of modern nations was to be one of the blessings of Christianity.

There was another mode of gaining liberty, which was by entering into holy orders, or to take vows in a monastery. So great a number of slaves escaped by that means from the yoke of their masters, that this custom was obliged to be restrained, and at last entirely abolished, in almost all the states of Europe. The crusades often bestowed upon the serfs the same privileges that the clergy did. Beneath the banners of the cross, serfs found the enfranchisement they had before found in monasteries. This facility which peasants possessed, of breaking their chains by going to the Holy Land, would have depopulated the plains, if new regulations had not placed restrictions and limits to it.

It has been said that the clergy became enriched by the crusades. This assertion, which has been so often repeated by the writers of the last century, requires to be examined by the impartiality of history. The clergy were rich at the period of the first crusade. Their enemies accused them for a long time of having usurped immense properties. In France, under the two first races, their wealth had given umbrage to the barons, who had several times despoiled them, under the pretext that they did not defend the state, and that the property they held belonged to them whose bravery watched over the safety of the kingdom.

If the crusades enriched the clergy, it might be supposed that the clergy would be most rich in countries which took the greatest part in the crusades. Now, the clergy of Germany, and several other states of Europe, surpassed in wealth the clergy of the kingdom of France, where the crusades excited so much enthusiasm, and caused so many warriors to take arms. The clergy, it is true, found new possessions in the East; but, after the crusades, nothing of them was left but vain titles.

The first crusade must have been, as we have said, very profitable to the clergy; they were not obliged to pay the expenses of it; the zeal of the faithful furnished them. Nevertheless they did take part in this crusade; and the priests who set out, with the other Crusaders, certainly did not enrich themselves in their pilgrimage. Many, no doubt, shared the fate of Robert, abbot of St. Remi, the historian of the first crusade, who, on his return from Jerusalem, was expelled by his monks for having ruined his convent.

At the second crusade, contributions were levied upon the churches, without any regard to the warm remonstrances of the ecclesiastics. From that time an opinion, which became very injurious to the clergy, was established throughout the Christian world, which was, that wars undertaken for the glory of Jesus Christ and the deliverance of the holy places, ought to be paid for by the Church. Tributes were at once levied upon the clergy, without consulting any other authority, or following any other regulations than those of necessity and circumstances. To reckon from the third crusade, after the publication of the Saladin tenth, more regular imposts were established, which were fixed by the popes or councils, and which were collected with such rigour, that churches were despoiled of their ornaments, and sometimes the sacred vases were put up to sale. It is true that the clergy sometimes received offerings and bequests from those who went to the Holy Land, or had made a vow to go; but what did such tributes of piety amount to when compared to the tributes they themselves were compelled to pay? We do not hesitate to affirm that, in the space of two hundred years, the clergy paid towards the holy wars more money than would have been required to purchase all their property; and thus the zeal of ecclesiastics for the deliverance of the holy places was observed perceptibly to cool; and it may be said that the indifference which followed among Christian nations the ardour for the crusades, began by the clergy. In Germany, and many other countries, their discontent was carried so far, that at last the popes did not dare to trust the preaching of crusades to the bishops, and only gave this mission to the mendicant orders, who possessed nothing, and had nothing to pay for the expeditions against the infidels.[110]

It has been said that the clergy took advantage of the crusades to buy at low prices the property of the nobility, as, in our days, we have seen many people take advantage of a revolution, to purchase at a moderate price the property of the clergy themselves. We find, in fact, examples of such acquisitions in the first crusades; but these examples must have been more rare in the holy wars, of which the clergy were obliged to pay the expenses.[111] The great advantage that the clergy had over the nobility was, that the nobles were able to pawn or alienate their possessions, and that ecclesiastics were never allowed to pledge or alienate their property. Another advantage the clergy possessed was, that they formed a body always animated by the same spirit, and always governed by the same laws. Whilst everything changed around them, they never changed. It was thus they resisted the revolution which was effected in property.

We have seen, that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries a great number of monasteries were established. By that means wild, uncultivated places became fertile lands; and these conquests made over the desert added to the domains of the clergy. We must likewise add, that the jurisdiction of the clergy, which every day made fresh progress, was for them a source of wealth. It was in the nature of things, as we have already remarked, that the most enlightened class should become the richest. The clergy had therefore no need of profiting by the ruin of the Crusaders in order to become rich; their knowledge, their spirit of order and economy, with the ascendancy they possessed over the people, offered them ample means for increasing or preserving their possessions.

Everybody, besides, had reason to rejoice at seeing the clergy acquire wealth; for this wealth belonged to everybody. In fact, every man could enter into the clergy, and the clergy belonged to all families. This order, so powerful in the middle ages, was as a natural link, as an intermediate point, which drew together and united all the classes of society. In the quarrels which jealousy sometimes raised between the clergy and the nobility, the great vassals reproached the ecclesiastics with being the children of serfs. It was not uncommon to see men who had issued from the lowest class of the people, in the highest functions of the Church; a certain proof that the clergy offered every one a way by which he might elevate himself, and that they thus assisted in reëstablishing the harmony destroyed by feudal inequality.

The clergy—such as our fathers saw it—only now exists in the memory of men.[112] In proportion as this institution, with all the advantages we have spoken of, shall be further removed from us, we shall perhaps become the more aware of its value. There are things of which we judge more favourably when memory recalls them to us, than when they are present.

After a revolution which has ruined so many families, in which so many hopes have been deceived,—at a time in which a numerous youth is crowded in the confined circle of public employments,—in which the divers professions, among the enlightened class, by no means suffice for the vast number of the candidates,—let me ask whether the Church, with its riches and its consolatory morality, would not be as a port in the storm,—as a refuge always open for those to whom the world has nothing to give? At a time in which everything is uncertain, moving, and transitory,—in which no man is sure of his destiny, who but must envy those men whose fate never changed,—who lived always in the same manner,—who saw the present without complaining,—to whom the future gave no uneasiness, and who might justly be compared to the young ones of the birds, of which Scripture speaks? If I durst utter all my thought—and I speak less in the name of religion than in the names of philosophy and humanity—I should even regret those austere retreats, open to piety, and consecrated by peace and prayer. There, at least, a shelter was found from the passions which disturb society, as they trouble the heart of man. Why, in fact, should there not be hospitals for the miseries of the soul, as there are for other human infirmities? Why are not they who have suffered from the storms of life, and whose heart is torn by deep wounds, to find a refuge against their ills, as well as those whom indigence overtakes, or as well as the war-mutilated soldier? Who does not know that great revolutions, like great griefs, inspire a desire for concealing existence, and seeking repose in solitude? “When the storm growls,” says Pythagoras, “worship echo.” Let us look back to the times which preceded the middle ages,—to those times in which the world was ready to fall to pieces with the Roman empire: it was at this deplorable epoch that the deserts of the Thebais were peopled with pious cenobites, who were no longer able to support the spectacle of human passions. It was not only simple and vulgar men who flocked to the solitudes of Cetteus and Memphis, but learned men, warriors,—men who had been seen in the courts of emperors. Whilst society was shaken to its foundations,—whilst disorder and corruption spread their baneful influence everywhere, elevated minds, whom this state of things drove to despair, went to bury themselves in retirement, embracing the altars of that Christian religion which was the only support left to unfortunate virtue, and was the last hope of civilization.

The swords of knights and the maxims of the clergy, as we have seen, contended with advantage against the excesses of barbarism; but no institution had yet attained sufficient consistence to guarantee the security of European societies. In spite of all efforts for the reëstablishment of order, anarchy still subsisted. In order to know what, either in an age or a people, is the spirit of civilization, it is sufficient to be acquainted with the progress that has been made in that same age, or among that same people, in the administration of justice. Of all the monuments the human mind can raise, a civil and criminal code is that which requires the most extensive knowledge, and the profoundest acquaintance with the passions of man.

In the middle ages, society, immersed in darkness, had lost the lessons and examples of antiquity in all which concerned judicial order; and found itself, in a manner, reduced to the experience of the barbarians.

When the barons usurped from the crown the right of administering justice, there were as many jurisdictions in France as there were lordships. Judicial administration then lost that spirit of wholeness, that uniformity, which gives weight and rectitude to its decisions. Judgment was no longer given but according to local customs, or uncertain traditions.[113] When, in the seventeenth century, the judicial customs and traditions which had been found in preceding ages were collected, there were found two hundred and eighty-five of them; a certain proof that in the times of which we speak, there could be no fixed rule, and that anarchy had invaded the sanctuary of justice.

Royalty could not watch over seignorial jurisdictions, and the ordinances of the kings were powerless out of the domains of the crown. The great vassals had no mutual understanding that might modify or regulate legislation. It is a remarkable thing that France, after the decline of the empire of Charlemagne, remained more than two centuries without recognising any authority to which it could carry its griefs and its complaints,—without having, either in the person of the monarch or the assemblies of the great, a power which could establish regulations, repair injustices, correct abuses, and consecrate the maxims of experience. If the kingdom was able to subsist for so long a time in this state, have we not reason to believe that there is in every society an unknown force, which defends that society against its own excesses, and saves the people in spite of their passions,—in spite of all which seems calculated to bring on their ruin?

To decide in civil and criminal causes, there was no other guide, no other intelligence, but the instincts and the conscience of the judges. These feeble means were not competent, in complicated cases, to assign to actions their true intention, or to appreciate the language of innocence or the denegations of crime. All matters were then treated according to verbal conventions, and judged according to unwritten testimonies. Words, often ill-interpreted, sometimes partially effaced from the memory, frequently contradicted or falsified, could not enlighten justice. Good faith was implored; the consciences of witnesses and parties were appealed to; but it was too frequently perjury that answered, and which commanded the decisions of the judges. At length, it was believed that an infallible means was discovered for detecting falsehood and fraud; an appeal was made from the consciences of men to the justice of Heaven. He who was accused, he whose evidence was contradicted, submitted to the ordeals of fire, boiling water, or red-hot iron. It was believed that Heaven would not permit injustice, and that it would rather suspend the laws of nature than the laws of society.

These proofs, however, were abandoned to the vulgar; judicial combat was the ordeal of nobles or of freemen. This species of justice, in which every warrior had only his own valour as the arbiter of his destiny, conformed exceedingly well with the military spirit of the age.

So barbarous a custom was generally adopted: not satisfied with having recourse to judicial combat in criminal cases, civil questions were subject to its decisions. A gentleman had not only a right to defy his adversary, he might also challenge the witnesses themselves, and force sometimes even the judges to descend with him into the arena. Justice was then only seen in victory, or rather victory became the sole justice. Thus the Franks, in the crusades, often expressed their astonishment that God should sometimes allow the Mussulmans to conquer the Christians.

The sword decided everything; the places where justice pronounced her decrees resounded with the cries of fury and hatred. They were stained, by turns, with the blood of the innocent or with the blood of the guilty, as skill, strength, or fortune favoured the arms of the combatants. In the face of such combats, how was it possible to preserve the idea of justice or injustice? Must not ferocity of manners have increased, and education become unnatural?

We ought, however, to remember the circumstances which brought about this custom, and which may render it excusable in the eyes of enlightened philosophy. In the impossibility in which the judges often found themselves of ascertaining the truth or pronouncing with certainty, fraud, perjury, and falsehood triumphed over the laws, and threatened to invade the whole of society. No better means could be discovered to prevent this misfortune than to terrify imposture and perfidy, by the preparations, “pomp, and circumstance,” of a judicial combat. Justice, being unable to reveal herself amidst the darkness of barbarism, surrounded herself with terrible images, and would only allow her sanctuary to be approached with mistrust and fear. The terror which the idea even of a judicial combat inspired, the uncertainty of such a judgment, must have prevented many contests, and that was a great advantage. No other more certain means, besides, were to be found to appease quarrels, which could not be prolonged without perilling the whole of society. In an age in which the passions were mixed with everything, it was doubtless important for society that justice should terminate debates in an equitable manner; but it was likewise important that these debates should terminate promptly.

At the first aspect, we only see in this custom a privilege and a monstrous employment of physical force. But without this employment of physical force, the world was perhaps likely to become the prey of perjured, faithless men. We ought then to sigh less over this revolting abuse than over the state of society in which it appeared necessary, in order to prevent abuses still more revolting. It required much trouble afterwards to reform the judicial combat. The prejudices most difficult to be destroyed are those in which bravery and the point of honour believe themselves interested. Neither the power of kings, nor religion, nor philosophy, have been able to abolish duels among modern nations; and duels, in some respects, are nothing but the justice which was rendered by the sword in the middle ages.

We have not yet made known all the obstacles which the triumph of justice met with in the manners and customs of these remote times. The absence of laws caused great disorders; but the yoke of the laws was more insupportable to the barons than anarchy itself. The confidence which the barons felt in their arms, rendered them at least indifferent to all kinds of legislation. In any society whatever, the men who have power or force in their hands are seldom the first to appeal to laws; because nobody can be unjust towards them with impunity, and they have always the means of doing themselves justice.[114]

Judicial order, as we understand it now-a-days, could be nothing, in the twelfth century, but an abstraction which did not enter into men’s minds. The warlike nobility of Europe would have had nothing to do with any kind of justice which did not present an image of war. The barons could not form an idea that legislation might be a safeguard for themselves as well as society. They only felt an injustice as they felt a wound in the field of battle; and personal resentment was the only motive which animated them to the pursuit of the guilty. Equity then scarcely passed for a virtue, but revenge was a duty. There were no laws against those who were unjust, but there were laws against those who did not avenge themselves.

With these manners and this character, the barons were not able to renounce the practice of private wars, which the Franks and other barbarians had brought with them into Europe. Every noble who fancied himself attacked in either his honour or his property, took arms to defend his rights or avenge his quarrel. All the relations and vassals of the belligerent parties were obliged to take part in the quarrel. Fields were ravaged, towns and villages were burnt, and it was thus they demanded or rendered justice. During many centuries Europe was desolated by these intestine wars. Sanguinary discords, which were transmitted from generation to generation, became an habitual state, for which customs and regulations were invoked; and whilst society was without laws, civil war had its jurisprudence.

It was not easy to remedy such vast disorders. How could force be disarmed, and despoiled of a prerogative it seemed to prefer to all other privileges? Society, such as it then was, had but one single power capable of counterbalancing that of the warlike passions which desolated Europe; this was the force of religious ideas and the ascendancy of Christianity. The authority of councils was invoked against private wars; the saints were made to speak; superstition itself was called in; visions, revelations, and prodigies were had recourse to. The Church put forth all its threats and launched all its thunders. These means sometimes suspended the progress of the evil, but the principle of discord always subsisted. It was not possible to put an end to private wars, but they were at length suppressed during certain days of the week; and all the good that such a powerful religion could do was to bring about the adoption of the Truce of God. It was here the crusades wonderfully seconded the zeal of the clergy. Whenever war was declared against the Saracens, discords were all at once appeased, as if by miracle, and Europe remained in profound silence before the standard of the cross.

The efforts of the clergy, however, in conjunction with some other favourable circumstances, were destined in the end to bring about the triumph of justice and humanity. Before civil justice was established, the Church possessed a holy jurisdiction which judged the faithful. This justice stood in no need of pursuing the guilty; the guilty came to give themselves up to its judgments: it was not blind, like human justice; the most secret folds of the conscience developed themselves before it: it met with no resistance, it excited no murmurs; those whom it condemned, condemned themselves. To cause its laws to be executed, and to sanction its decisions, it had the power of remorse, the fear of an avenging God, the promises of heaven, the menaces of hell. Such was the tribunal of penitence, which, in the absence of civil laws, held the place sometimes of other tribunals, and watched over public order, as a triumph of religion. A tribunal so formidable necessarily increased the influence of the clergy, and contributed, no doubt, to extend their jurisdiction even to affairs in which evangelical morality was not at all interested. People, persuaded that all justice comes from God, were likely to be led to believe that God pronounced his least judgments by the organs of his ministers upon earth. When the popes were reproached with interfering in the policy of princes, they answered that the acts of that policy might be sins, and thence these acts came under the pontifical jurisdiction. The clergy usurped judicial authority in civil affairs, as the sovereign pontiffs had usurped temporal authority.[115] In the middle ages the clergy declared themselves arbiters of the just and the unjust; and as their jurisdiction was much more favourable to humanity, more conformable to reason than that of the barons, it made rapid progress. Among the privileges which the popes granted to the Crusaders, that of being judged by the ecclesiastical laws was placed in the first rank. The clergy took advantage of the absence, the death, or the ruin of the nobles who were gone to the crusades, to extend their jurisdiction, as the commons availed themselves of this circumstance to obtain their liberty, and kings to increase their power. At last this jurisdiction became so powerful that it awakened the jealousy of the feudal nobility. Towards the middle of the thirteenth century, the nobles formed a league against the clergy, and in a manifesto, which we still possess, they demanded that “they should render to Cæsar that which belonged to Cæsar.” They forbade their vassals to appeal to the ecclesiastical tribunals, except in cases of heresy, marriage, and usury, and threatened delinquents with the loss of their property and the mutilation of a member. “The clerks,” added they, “enriched at our expense, shall be brought back to the state of the primitive church and to a contemplative life, leaving to us the action which becomes us, and presenting to us the miracles which we have not seen for a long time.”

As the influence of the clergy arose from Christianity, the nobles, in their manifesto, wished to claim the advantage of having alone converted the Gauls by their arms. All that they said in support of this assertion gave reason to predict that they would not triumph in a contest in which Victory would range herself on the side of knowledge and intelligence.