THE LANDS
The inquiring curiosity of men as well as of children is not first
stimulated by those things which seem most usual and commonplace. The
latter are taken for granted. Science originates rather in the wonder
aroused by the extraordinary or by the impressive. Only after a long
process of development does it turn to the study of the homely and the
obvious.
The truth of this is illustrated in the medieval geography of the lands.
Geomorphology, or the science of land forms, was very much in its
infancy during our period and for many centuries thereafter. Only rarely
did the man of the Middle Ages seek for an explanation of the origin of
the familiar features of the earth’s surface which he saw around him day
by day. If he described a landscape in terms that often reveal love of
its beauty or, at least, appreciation of its productive capacity, he was
almost totally blind to the possibilities of profounder analysis of its
nature. A plain was a plain, a valley a valley because God had made it
so.
The present chapter will deal mainly with the character of these
external, unscientific descriptions of land forms. The attempt will be
made, however, to point out a few notable exceptions to the general
rule, a few cases where men sought for a deeper meaning in the aspects
of nature than the meaning written upon the surface.
_CLASSIFICATION OF LAND AREAS_
QUANTITATIVE AND QUALITATIVE SUBDIVISIONS
There are two ways of subdividing and classifying areas of land, the
quantitative and the qualitative.
Adelard of Bath gives us an example of a quantitative subdivision where
he tells in his _De eodem et diverso_[954] that the inventor of geometry
split the known world into parts (or, perhaps, continents), the parts
into provinces, the provinces into regions, the regions into localities,
the localities into territories, the territories into fields, the fields
into centuries, and the centuries into _jugera_ (acres).
The author of the _De imagine mundi_, borrowing from Isidore,[955] makes
a qualitative subdivision.[956] Land, he says, may be grouped under six
different heads, _terra_ being the name applied to the entire element of
earth. The six kinds of _terra_ are: (1) _tellus_, fertile; (2) _humus_,
infertile, because of an excess of moisture; (3) _arida_, waterless,
like Libya, dried up by the sun; (4) _sicca_, rather less dry than
_arida_, but where, nevertheless, all precipitation quickly disappears,
as in Judea; (5) _solum_, so called from its solidity, as mountainous
land (_a soliditate ut sunt montana_); and, finally (6) _ops_, or
wealthy land, like that of India, where gold and gems abound.[957]
In addition to such variations in the character of the lands, it was a
common view that certain localities are by nature either peculiarly
noxious or else peculiarly free from poisons. Gervase of Tilbury
notes[958] an area near Pozzuoli which resembled a dried-up swamp but
proved fatal to all animals venturing upon it. Elsewhere[959] he
repeats, in connection with the tree of life spoken of by Alexander in
his supposed letter to Aristotle, a widespread tradition of a land where
no man could die even though he were decrepit with old age and might
wish for relief from the cares of this world.[960] The _Image du
monde_[961] attributes a similar quality to an island in the northern
seas. When the inhabitants wished to die they had themselves taken to
Tylle (Thule), where they might expire in peace. Giraldus Cambrensis
describes[962] such an island in a lake in Ireland, as well as an island
where no females could live.
GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS’ COMPARISON OF EAST AND WEST
Probably, however, the most striking study of the varying qualities of
different regions is Giraldus Cambrensis’ elaborate comparison of Orient
and Occident.[963] In Chapter VII we discussed this writer’s belief that
the atmosphere of the West is far healthier than that of the East. But
not only is the air better, he asserted, but also the land itself, and
of all the lands Ireland is the most healthy. No venomous reptiles can
exist in the Emerald Isle. Giraldus attributed this phenomenon not to
the beneficent work of St. Patrick in driving out the snakes[964] (this
story, he said, was merely a pleasant fiction) but rather to some
natural deficiency in Irish soil that had existed long before St.
Patrick’s time. He explained further that no poisonous reptiles could
survive in Ireland even when they were brought there;[965] toads, when
carried over on ships, burst open as soon as they are thrown ashore; and
the dust of Ireland, when sprinkled on poisonous creatures of any sort,
kills them instantly.[966] The East, on the other hand, Giraldus
called[967] a fountain of poisons (_fons venenorum_), and he waxed most
eloquent on its terrors:[968] poisonous animals abound, the waters are
always polluted, and death lurks on every hand; but the farther away
from this Oriental source of poison one travels, the less its effect,
until in the extreme West it exerts no influence at all, just as the
sun’s rays are weaker the farther one goes from beneath the zodiac.
This distinction between Eastern and Western climate and conditions of
terrain may to a limited extent have been based on actual observation.
Undoubtedly the pilgrim and Crusader suffered more from disease and
hardship when traveling in the Orient than they did at home, because
they were not acclimatized to Levantine conditions of life and did not
understand what was necessary for the preservation of health; and this
may well have produced the unfavorable impression of the East which
found its way in exaggerated form into the pages of the _Topographia
Hiberniae_.
_MOUNTAINS_
Mountains are the most imposing natural features of the lands.[969]
Though there did not exist in the Middle Ages anything comparable to
that love of mountains for their own sake which developed later and of
which we see an early manifestation in the ascent of Mont Ventoux by
Petrarch in April, 1336, the very bulk of the hills, nevertheless,
impressed men’s imaginations, and medieval literature is full of notices
concerning mountains.
ORIGIN OF MOUNTAINS
In regard to their origin, Peter Comestor asserts that the mountains may
not have been as high at the time of the Flood as they now are,[970] and
Gervase of Tilbury cites the opinion of some that there were no
mountains at all on the face of the earth before the Deluge.[971]
Bartholomew Anglicus[972] conjectured that in the very beginning the
earth was a plain covered with waters, the movements of which produced
the valleys, while the heights were the ridges that remained separating
the valleys; many mountains also were the result of great telluric
convulsions and were full of caverns that give forth immense volumes of
water and form the sources of rivers.
In a translation by Alfred of Sareshel of an Arabic work,[973] perhaps
that of Avicenna, we have a strikingly modern description of the
geological processes resulting in the production of mountains by the
forces of erosion and by the accumulation of soil and earth. “Mountains
may arise from two causes, either from uplifting of the ground, such as
takes place in earthquakes or from the effects of running water and wind
in hollowing out valleys in soft rocks and leaving the hard rocks
prominent, which has been the effective process in the case of most
hills. Such changes must have taken long periods of time, and possibly
the mountains are now diminishing in size. What proves that water has
been the main agent in bringing about these transformations of the
surface is the occurrence in many rocks of the impressions of aquatic
and other animals. The yellow earth that clothes the surface of the
mountains is not of the same origin as the framework of the ground
underneath it but arises from the decay of organic remains, mingled with
earthy materials transported by the water. Perhaps these materials were
originally in the sea which once overspread all the land” (Geikie’s
translation).[974]
If, in reading the above passage, we feel that we are dealing with ideas
that could well stand in the light of modern science and that in this
passage at least geomorphology has emerged from its infancy, we are
brought back to the Middle Ages when we turn to Rupert of Deutz’s
teleological explanation of the reasons why God created deep valleys and
high mountains on the land. According to this mystic, these features
were made to serve as a protection to the human wanderer upon the
surface of the earth from the violence of the winds which would
otherwise have unlimited power over all things, as they do on the Libyan
desert or on the ocean.[975]
THEIR SIZE AND HEIGHT
The fact that, great as mountains may appear to men, they are in reality
but insignificant in comparison with the size of the entire earth, was
partially appreciated by the author of the _De imagine mundi_, when he
remarked[976] that, if we could look down on the earth from the air
above, the entire height of the mountains and depth of the valleys would
seem less than the width of the fingers of one who holds a very large
ball in his hand.
We find occasional speculations regarding altitudes. Peter Comestor,
followed by Gervase of Tilbury, asserted[977] that Olympus reaches up
into a region of calm, windless air; and William of Conches held[978]
that the presence of snow on mountains is due to the rarity of the air
at high altitudes. Gervase stated,[979] on the authority of Posthumianus
in the _Dialogue_ of Sulpicius Severus[980] (a historian of the fourth
century of our era), that Sinai is so lofty that its peak is very near
the heavens and that consequently it is impossible to go there.[981]
_Miraculous Mountains_
Mountains and hills might have miraculous qualities. Giraldus Cambrensis
told[982] of heights in Mona and in the northern part of Britain, beyond
the Humber, over the crests of which no shouts could be heard; and
Gervase of Tilbury described[983] Mount Cavagum (Canigou) in Catalonia,
with a miraculous lake, the dwelling place of devils, on its summit; on
one peak there lies perpetual snow and ice in a spot where the sun never
shines, and a river of golden sand flows from its base. In the Romance
of Alexander, the conqueror was said to have passed near a mountain
which made brave men cowards and cowards brave.[984] On another
occasion,[985] Alexander and his army became lost in a perilous valley
among wild peaks; they could not find their way out unless one man
sacrificed himself for the others by remaining in the valley. Alexander
himself volunteered to remain, and the army escaped in the midst of
fearful tempests; but subsequently Alexander was conducted out by a
devil whom he found in the place and to whom he did a good turn.
ACCURATE OBSERVATION OF OROGRAPHIC PHENOMENA
On the other hand, during our period there was not a little reasonably
accurate observation of the phenomena of mountains. Bernard Sylvester,
for example, pointed out that mountains are bad plowland largely because
of the thinness of the soil on their steep slopes.[986] Gervase of
Tilbury noted that many of the high hills of Wales, though they might
have firm and rocky bases, were characterized by watery and boggy
summits.[987] Giraldus Cambrensis pictures the characteristics of the
Welsh hills and brings out their combination of crag and pasture land.
In one passage he tells of Mount Ereri—called by the English “Snowdon,”
or mount of snows—which has such an extent of pasture lands upon it that
it could supply the flocks of the whole of Wales.[988] The land of
Meiryonidd (Merioneth) he spoke of as a wild, rough region, with
mountains so broken and irregular that it frequently took all day for
the shepherds to gather together in one spot,[989] even though they
might have been within earshot of one another in the morning.
APPRECIATION OF THE BEAUTY OF MOUNTAINS
It is not hard to believe that during our period some men had the
beginnings of a genuinely esthetic appreciation of the beauty of
mountains. Bernard Sylvester tells of the orographic systems of the
world in terms not lacking in color and poetic appreciation.[990] He
writes that the world is strung with mountains like nerves in a body and
goes on to enumerate and describe them: “Clear Olympus, which looks down
on the clouds; Parnassus, with double yoke; Lebanon, in its woods;”
Sinai, Athos, Eryx, Pindus, Othrys, Pelion, Caucasus. Though he merely
repeats classical names and classical designations, the whole long
passage could hardly have been written by a man wholly blind to the
grandeur of his subject. Giraldus Cambrensis tells about the Church of
St. David, now known as Llanthoni Abbey, in the midst of the hills of
southern Wales. “Here the monks, when they sit down in their cloister to
rest and take the air, see in all directions over the high gables of
their roofs the peaks of the mountains bounding their horizon and, as it
were, touching the sky. They see the wild deer pasturing on their
summits, and at about the hour of the prime or shortly before in clear
weather they see the sun appearing over the mountain crests.”[991] This
certainly shows that the writer found delight in the restful qualities
of a highland landscape.
If Walter of Châtillon had not at some time in his life felt the elation
of a view at dawn from a mountain summit, he could hardly have written
the brilliant description in the _Alexandreis_ where he tells how
Alexander, at the moment when the sun began to gleam upon the surface of
the sea, rushed forth from his camp and climbed upon a steep peak whence
his vision embraced the bounds of Asia. Looking out over fields green
with crops, over many a forested mountain and meadow lavish in its rank
grass, over many a city with its encircling walls and many a vineyard
and elm tree entwined with vines, the conqueror exclaimed: “Enough! my
friends: this land alone satisfies me. To you I leave Europe and your
native country.”[992]
RELIGIOUS ATTITUDE TOWARDS MOUNTAINS
Ganzenmüller in his book on the feeling for nature in the Middle Ages
cites several important texts which illustrate the religious attitudes
towards mountains that must have prevailed throughout our period. We
shall see a little later that Bernard of Clairvaux in one of his letters
spoke of mountains as symbolizing the aspirations of the haughty and
worldly.[993] But others believed that there is a godly quality about
the heights. The biographer of bishop Altmann of Passau, writing in the
twelfth century, tells us that one day the bishop, accompanied by an
immense crowd of people, climbed a mountain near Mautern in Lower
Austria firmly believing that those who serve God here below will climb
to the corners and bounds of heaven.[994] Eadmer records of Anselm of
Canterbury that on one occasion, when the latter happened to find
himself on a high summit, he was so refreshed by the clear air and
solitude that he remarked: “Here is my resting place: here will I
dwell.”[995] St. Francis of Assisi must have felt the same mystic love
of mountains that he felt for birds and animals and that he expressed so
beautifully in his hymn to Brother Sun, for did he not in 1224 go into
retreat at La Verna, a remote, forest-covered peak in the
Casentino,[996] and did he not, as he left, turn back and bless the
mountain as he had blessed the birds? At the present time the lower
slopes of La Verna are bare and sun-baked. The summit, buttressed by
massive ledges, is covered with a beautiful wood, and from it the eye
wanders over Tuscany, across the ranges of the Apennines, and to the
eastward catches a glimpse of the Adriatic. That St. Francis should
deliberately have chosen this place of exceptional charm for a retreat;
that he should have made a long, hard journey to reach it; and, above
all, that here he received the supreme glory of his life reveal to us
something far deeper than mere esthetic satisfaction in the beauty of
nature. To St. Francis the quiet summit of the mountain was a symbol of
the peace and tranquillity of heaven and of eternity.
NORMAL MEDIEVAL FEELING ABOUT MOUNTAINS
But for the most part mountainous regions were regarded as places of
grimness and horror. The many journeys over the Alps made in the Middle
Ages by pilgrim, soldier, and trader brought forth few comments on aught
else than the hardships of the way. Otto of Freising tells[997] how in
September, 1155, Frederick Barbarossa’s army passed through a narrow
gorge in the Alps above Verona where robbers impeded its passage. Otto’s
description is very brief and simple; the road, he says, runs between
high cliffs on one side and the unfordable river on the other. Gunther
in the _Ligurinus_[998] elaborates on this by the copious addition of
words emphasizing the terrors of the route: the narrow track wide enough
for only one person at a time to proceed; on one side the “cloud-swept
crags of the jagged Alps,” on the other a chaotic, whirling stream;
these combined to fill the passer-by with fear.
Perhaps the most striking narrative of a mountain passage dating from
our period tells of the crossing of the Great St. Bernard Pass by the
abbot of St. Trond and the archdeacon of Liége in 1128.[999] Having
celebrated Christmas at Piacenza, the travelers arrived at the beginning
of winter in the village of Restopolis (Étrouble) in the valley leading
to the pass, Mons Jovis; here they were snowbound until after New Year’s
Day. Finally the native guides were able to conduct them on to St. Rhémy
farther up the valley close to the final ascent. “Frozen as it were in
the jaws of death” they remained here a day and a night, constantly
menaced by the gravest danger. The small village was full of travelers,
many of whom had been overwhelmed by the avalanches which kept falling
from the high cliffs on either side. Some of these unfortunates had been
suffocated, and others so badly hurt that they were disabled.[1000] The
ecclesiastics were obliged to spend several miserable days in this
“accursed spot,” but at last they were able to prevail on their guides
to lead them onward. A procession was organized, the guides in the lead,
clad in thick felt hats, gloves, and with spikes in their boots to
enable them to cross the ice; then came other storm-bound travelers; the
horses and the clergy, who were physically the weakest, brought up the
rear. Just before leaving, the party stopped for mass in a chapel. While
the service was going on, ten of the guides who had gone ahead were
engulfed by an avalanche and killed. This so alarmed the prelates that
they retreated to Restopolis; but at last good weather came, and on
January 6 they managed to get across the pass with no great difficulty.
In 1188 John of Bremble, a monk of Christ Church, Canterbury, visited
the Great St. Bernard Pass. He wrote about it as follows to his
sub-prior, Geoffrey, and gave expression to what Gribble correctly calls
the “normal medieval view of mountains:”[1001] “I have been on the Mount
of Jove; on the one hand looking up to the heaven of mountains, on the
other shuddering at the hell of the valleys, feeling myself so much
nearer heaven that I was sure that my prayer would be heard. ‘Lord,’ I
said, ‘restore me to my brethren, that I may tell them that they come
not to this place of torment.’ Place of torment, indeed, where the
marble pavement of the stony ground is ice alone, and you cannot set
your foot safely; where, strange to say, although it is so slippery that
you cannot stand, the death into which there is every facility for a
fall is certain death” (Gribble’s translation).
GLACIERS
As a general rule the medieval traveler took no interest in glaciers.
Journeys across the Alps were such hazardous undertakings that even the
traveler of scientific tastes could have had little opportunity or
inclination to investigate the phenomena of the ice. A passage in the
_Gesta Danorum_ of Saxo Grammaticus, therefore, is doubly remarkable
because it gives us some specific details regarding the glaciers of
Iceland. After speaking of the ice floes breaking on the shore, Saxo
writes: “There is also there another type of ice which runs between the
rocks and passes of the mountains. This undergoes certain changes: it is
subject to a process of transposition in which the upper parts sink down
to the bottom and the lower parts arise to the surface. It is reliably
asserted that persons who happened to be passing over the flat surface
of the ice have fallen into crevasses and gaping fissures and that, soon
after, their dead bodies have been recovered without a trace of ice
above them. This circumstance has led many people to believe that
whomsoever the icy caldron takes into its lowest depths, it will deliver
again shortly after upside down.”[1002] Though this passage shows that
Saxo did not have a clear conception of what he was trying to describe,
it was certainly based upon some knowledge, though slight, of glacial
phenomena. It is a well-known fact that on its arrival at the lower
portion of a glacier, ice that at higher elevations was at the bottom
often comes to the surface and brings with it materials scraped from the
glacial bed or objects that may have fallen into the crevasses. This
passage of Saxo has been cited as the earliest occasion in literature in
which the motion of glacial ice was recognized.[1003]
_VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES_
VISITS TO VOLCANOES
Volcanoes are a type of mountain that attracted particular attention,
and, though the men of medieval and ancient times were certainly not
mountain climbers,[1004] there are a few records of their having
deliberately visited volcanoes out of curiosity or scientific interest.
It is well known that Pliny the Elder perished in an attempt to
investigate the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 A. D., and during the twelfth
century the Sicilian scholar and administrator, Henricus Aristippus, is
said to have made a careful study of the volcanic phenomena of Etna, not
without danger.[1005] In the legend of St. Brandan’s voyage we find an
account of the manner in which a companion of the saint lost his life in
an attempt to scale a fiery peak on an island in the northern
seas.[1006]
The writer of the second verse redaction of the _Image du monde_ also
tells us that he himself had made the ascent of Mongibel (Etna), and his
observations are so detailed and realistic that we cannot but believe
that he is telling the truth.[1007] His object was to see what comes out
of the smoking mouth of the mountain. He noticed that the fire which
issues forth soon turns to vapor and smoke; that the rocks of the
mountain resemble “foam of iron” (_escume de fer_—pumice or some other
volcanic ejecta); that the land about the mountain is broken (_esparse_)
and appears to be blasted and burned (_bruslée et arse_). The volcanic
heat touched (_ting_) his bare hand, and a gentle sweat broke out over
his body; but near the summit he was able to slake his thirst from
frozen snow. On the way down he had the curious experience of hearing
thunder in the clouds below him. When he finally got back to the city,
the people thought he was a fool (_musard_) for venturing into a place
with such a bad reputation. He adds that some people say that Mongibel
is the highest mountain in the world. That it is much higher than
appears from below, he himself had demonstrated. It can be seen from no
less than two hundred leagues away at sea.
VOLCANIC REGION OF SOUTHERN ITALY AND SICILY
The two volcanic regions known to the medieval world were Southern Italy
and Sicily on the one hand and Iceland on the other. Gervase of Tilbury
describes Vesuvius and the volcanic features about Naples;[1008] he says
that in the vicinity of Pozzuoli there are hills with sands near the
summit so hot that they hinder persons from ascending across them. On
the very outskirts of Naples he speaks of a high mountain, called Mons
Virginum, overlooking the sea and the surrounding country. In the month
of May it belches forth a terrifying smoke with firebrands that turn to
the color of carbon when burnt out. This would seem to indicate the
presence of a vent connecting the mountain with the infernal regions.
(“Unde illic quoddam inferni terreni spiraculum asserunt ebullire.”) The
south wind blows a hot dust from the volcano which ruins the crops and
fruits of the neighborhood and tends to render the land barren and
sterile. To this fairly clear description of a volcano Gervase adds a
fantastic tale about the preventive measures which Virgil[1009] took to
avert the disaster caused by the hot winds; the poet erected a statue
holding a horn which automatically tooted whenever the south wind began
to blow, and for some reason repulsed the blast.[1010] Recently,
however, the statue had either gone to pieces with age or else had been
destroyed by malice, for the damage done by the volcanic blasts was once
more repeated as in bygone days.
The traveler Conrad of Querfurt looked with interest upon the volcanic
features of the Phlegraean Fields to the northwest of Naples and drew
attention to the confused labyrinth of passages in the interior of Monte
Barbaro and to the hot springs, subterranean channels of boiling water,
and other wonders of the region.[1011]
Guy of Bazoches, who passed through Sicily on the way to the Holy Land,
included in a letter to his nephews a striking word picture of Etna.
“Sicily,” he wrote, “fears not to pierce the clouds with its immense
mountain summits. Etna towers above all of these with its flaming crests
upon which the opposing elements strive with each other tirelessly and
indomitably in an immense conflict. For though Etna incessantly sends
forth scorching heat, its summit, none the less, is white with snow, and
with a wintry garment it covers its burning shoulders.”[1012] Guy
mentioned also the “Isles of Vulcan” in the Sicilian Sea, “the interior
of which were said to glow with eternal fires. Eolus once dwelt in these
isles and was in the habit of dispensing their smokes, which were
stirred up by the winds, and hence he came to be called the king of the
winds.”[1013] The _Image du monde_ refers to a volcano two leagues
distant at sea from Sicily; this may have been Vulcano or possibly
Stromboli, though in any case the distance was underestimated.[1014]
_Michael Scot on the Eolian Isles and Etna_
Michael Scot brought together information about the volcanoes of the
Eolian (Lipari) Islands and of Sicily which he included in a discourse
on natural phenomena that he prepared for his patron Frederick II.[1015]
He speaks of “Strongulus” (Stromboli), “a mountain which is in the midst
of the sea,” of “Strongulinus” (Strombolicchio), “Vulcanus” (Vulcano),
“Vulcaninus” (Vulcanello?), “Moncibellus” (Etna), and the isle of
Lipari, “on which there are all manner of fine trees and grains.” From
the summit of Stromboli and “Strongulinus,” a lesser mountain than
Stromboli, great fiery flames are continuously emitted. The other four,
he declares, emit flames only when the south wind (_Auster_) blows; and,
when the flames cease, a mighty smoke issues from them. The eruptions
are often accompanied by showers of scorched rock and sometimes with
roots of trees (? _sticiones lignorum_) and cinders; the ground is
covered and the air obscured as stream waters are clouded with sand.
Glowing bombs are hurled aloft like sparks from a furnace; when these
fall to the ground they burst into fragments, great and small, and in
these fragments is found the pumice which writers use. This pumice
floats on the sea and is carried ashore, where the people collect it for
building walls and for uses similar to those to which we put bricks.
Liquid sulphur is also gathered by sailors from the surface of the sea
thereabouts in baskets and bowls. The nearer this may be obtained to the
mountains whence it boils forth, the better its quality.
VOLCANOES OF ICELAND
In the _Topographia Hiberniae_ of Giraldus Cambrensis we find a
description of the volcanic eruptions of Iceland.[1016] After remarking
that thunder and lightning are rare in the northern isle, he goes on to
explain that there is another and even worse affliction than these;
every year or two fire bursts out of a certain part of the island like a
whirlwind with a violent gale and melts everything in its path; he adds
that the cause of this phenomenon and whether it originated above or
below ground are unknown. Into two manuscripts of Solinus, the oldest of
which dates from the twelfth century, there was inserted some additional
information about the northern isles. We are told that the marine ice on
the coasts of Iceland “ignites itself on collision, and when it is
ignited it burns like wood” (Nansen’s translation).[1017] Adam of Bremen
had also spoken of ice that appeared to be black and dry on account of
its age and burned when kindled.[1018] Though it has been suggested that
this impression may have been derived from mists arising from the ice,
the story was perhaps, as Nansen observes, “due to statements about
volcanoes and boiling springs which have been confused with it. The
black color and dryness of the ice may have been due to confusion with
lava or with floating pumice stone in the sea.”[1019]
More definite information concerning the volcanic activity of Iceland
reached Saxo Grammaticus about a century after the time of Adam of
Bremen. Saxo refers to a mountain there which perpetually glows like a
star with its burning flame, and it seemed to him no less marvelous that
the eruption could occur in a region of such extreme cold.[1020] In the
_Historia Norwegiae_ the fiery outbreaks of Mons Casule (Hekla) are
likened to those of Etna, and an immense submarine eruption is
described; over a space three miles wide the sea had boiled and bubbled
as in a caldron; the earth was upheaved and out of the submarine depths
there arose fiery fumes, and a mighty mountain sprang from the
sea.[1021] This perhaps refers to a submarine eruption that took place
off Cape Reykyanes in 1211.[1022]
In the _King’s Mirror_ the volcanic activity of Iceland is compared with
that of Sicily, and the curious statement is made that, unlike the
subterranean fires of the Mediterranean isle, those of Iceland will burn
neither wood nor earth. On the other hand, they will burn the hardest
stones and pieces of rock just as easily as oil.[1023]
ST. BRANDAN’S VISITS TO VOLCANIC ISLES
St. Brandan in the course of his wanderings came across two fiery
islands.[1024] The first was eight days’ sail to the north of the
mysterious crystal column we have already mentioned. It was a rough,
treeless, and rocky isle covered with the forges of smiths. Though the
saint wished to keep clear of this dangerous spot, a wind sprang up
which drove his vessel towards it. One of the smiths threw a gigantic
mass of molten slag at the voyagers; but luckily he missed the ship, and
the slag fell into the sea, sending up huge clouds of steam. This was a
signal for all the smiths to start heaving lumps of molten ore at the
vessel, running back and forth from their forges to heat them. Soon the
entire island was burning and blazing like a furnace, and the sea around
boiling like a kettle. The saint and his party miraculously escaped from
this peril, but throughout the entire day they could hear an immense din
and shouting from the isle; and even when they had drifted out of sight
the tumult came to their ears, and their nostrils were afflicted by a
terrible stench. Soon the wanderers approached the second fiery isle;
their first sight of it revealed a mighty mountain on the northern
horizon, with its peak enveloped in what appeared to be a thin cloud but
in reality was smoke. They landed on the shores of the island, and one
of Brandan’s companions who endeavored to climb the steep, high crags
and investigate the summit was burned to death by the fires. Happily for
the others, a wind arose which drove the ship southward, whence they saw
the island now clear of smoke and spouting flames into the air, so that
the whole mountain appeared to be aglow.
It has been suggested that these stories were derived from classical and
Celtic mythology. The first island brings to mind pagan tales mingled
with Christian traditions of devils and the infernal regions; perhaps it
owes something to the Homeric account of the isle of the Cyclops. But
why, we may ask, did Irish writers place such fiery phenomena in the
cold and rainy seas surrounding their home? Is it not possible that
early Irish poets had heard vaguely of the volcanoes of Iceland and that
nebulous reports of them, modified by the influence of classical and
Christian traditions, took the form which we find in the legend of St.
Brandan’s voyagings? May it not be significant that the fiery islands of
St. Brandan were reached only after northerly wanderings?
VOLCANOES AS GATES OF HELL
Volcanoes were often popularly supposed to be the entrances into Hell or
else little independent scenes of punishment and dwelling places of
devils. Michael Scot would not decide “whether the gate to the lower
regions is” in the volcanoes of the Lipari Islands and Sicily “or in the
northern isle seen by St. Brandan....” But, he said, “whatever the way
in, Hell is in the bowels of the earth, and there is no way out”
(Haskins).[1025] St. Brandan, seven days’ journey to the south of the
second island just described, found Judas sitting alone on a rock in the
midst of the sea.[1026] In the course of their conversation, Judas
explained that he was imprisoned every day excepting Sundays and
Christmas in the mountain which they had seen erupting. On these days,
through the infinite mercy of Jesus Christ, he was permitted to come out
and cool off. The bishop of Pozzuoli, Gervase of Tilbury tells us,[1027]
on several occasions heard the wailings and lamentations of the damned
during his walks in the volcanic country near his city and had actually
seen the gates of Hell in a lake near by. Icelandic mythology conceived
of a gigantic hell under and inside of Mount Hekla.[1028] The _King’s
Mirror_ placed in the volcanic fires of Iceland a scene of punishment
for souls.[1029] In addition it speaks of a cold hell, belief in which
seems natural to Northern peoples and is also expressed in Saxo
Grammaticus’ description of the moanings and wailings to be heard in the
clashing of ice floes on the cliffs and crags of the Icelandic
coast.[1030]
CAUSES OF VULCANISM
Medieval writers did not add much to what the Greeks and Romans had said
in regard to the causes of vulcanism. In general they accepted the
theories of Isidore and Pliny. Sicily, a typical volcanic region, was
supposed to be cavernous and full of sulphur and bitumen strata which,
when ignited and kept burning by the air, throw off smoke, vapor, and
flames and, when a strong wind blows upon them, vomit forth masses of
sand and rocks.[1031] Gervase of Tilbury elaborates confusedly on this
theme,[1032] saying that there are many fires and earthquakes in Sicily
because beneath that land there is a mighty abyss, the bottom of which
is unknown to man. Near at hand are immense caverns and broad caves,
wherein winds are conceived from the whirling of the waters, for
mountains and waters create winds—mountains by offering an obstacle to
the air. Though he does not say so specifically, we may conclude that
Gervase believed that earthquakes and other volcanic phenomena were
caused by these winds trying to escape from the interior of the earth.
This was certainly the opinion of Michael Scot, who pointed out that
masses of sulphur and other white-hot rocks (_petre calidissime_) are
made to burn by the native heat of the earth’s interior and by the winds
which enter the earth’s crust in remote regions (_in extremis partibus_)
and force their way downward through passages, tubes, and caverns. These
winds are volatilized and given explosive force by contact with the
sulphur and hot rocks. When they burst forth again into the atmosphere
they have all the attributes of fire and flame—sparks, ashes,
cinders—and are supposed by many people to be genuine fire, though as a
matter of fact they are by nature quite different because the waters
ever present in the subterranean cavities fail to extinguish them. So
intense is the heat produced by the sulphur and other combustible
materials that the world would be entirely consumed by the winds that
would blow over them if they were on the earth’s surface. Hence it is a
great mercy of God that he has hidden them away in the depths of the
ground and has thus made impossible the destruction of the world by this
cause and that he has permitted men to dwell and cultivate their fields
on the mountains beneath which such evil forces are buried.[1033]
Alexander Neckam defined a volcano as a subterranean fire which, though
bound to the earth with one foot, seeks to spring aloft with the other.
He believed that volcanic rocks contain gases within them which when
kindled produce eruptions.[1034]
Though these passages reveal to us belief during the Crusading age in
the presence of heat and fire in the inside of the earth, the teachings
of Plato and many of the Church Fathers that the sources of volcanic
fires spring from immense subterranean reservoirs of fire do not appear
to have been given much credence. Though the earth’s crust and even its
innermost heart might be interpenetrated with cavities into which air,
water, and fire enter, confidence in the essential solidity and
massiveness of the earth prevailed, and theories which would admit of
the presence of bodies of water or of fire of any great extent within
the heaviest and most solid of the elements were not regarded as worthy
of serious consideration. Hell, however, was almost universally placed
at the very center of the earth by medieval theologians and geographers
alike.[1035]
EARTHQUAKES
The majority of medieval writers believed that earthquakes are caused by
the same physical forces as those which produce volcanic eruptions, the
violent stirring of winds,[1036] vapors, or exhalations within the
earth’s crust.[1037] In the _Quaestiones naturales_ of Adelard of Bath,
which takes the form of a dialogue between uncle and nephew, the nephew
finds it difficult to reconcile the stability and immobility of the
earth, which his uncle had just demonstrated, with the well-known fact
that the earth sometimes quakes and trembles. To this Adelard replies
that, while it is true that the earth may occasionally move in
particular localities, it does not move as a whole[1038] and that
earthquakes are caused by the air contained within the earth and have
nothing whatever to do with the intrinsically stable qualities of the
earth as a globe. He then proceeds to give the Aristotelian explanation
of the causes of earthquakes.[1039] The _De imagine mundi_, followed by
the _Image du monde_ and by Bartholomew Anglicus,[1040] also assigns the
same causes; and William of Conches explains[1041] that earthquakes are
the result of waters descending into underground hollows where they
encounter vapors, condensed into cloudlike form by the coldness of the
earth’s interior; these vapors, in turn, produce telluric movements by
forcing their way to the surface. Neckam repeats much the same
explanation but adds the usual allegorical lesson:[1042] the land
symbolizes the Church, which, although on the whole serene and firm, may
well be shaken now and then by purely local troubles and disturbances.
The medieval chronicler took delight in mentioning prodigies of nature
that came to his attention, and of these prodigies earthquakes were
among the most striking. The _Gesta regis Henrici Secundi_, under the
year 1178, records a terrific earthquake at Oxenhale in England:[1043]
some land owned by Hugh, bishop of Durham, rose up like a tower, so that
its highest point was on a level with the summits of the hills and
higher than the highest pinnacle of the churches (_templorum_); after
remaining like this from nine o’clock until nightfall, it collapsed at
sunset with a terrific noise that frightened all the onlookers. The
earth then absorbed the tower of land and in its place there remained
until the time of writing a well of immense depth as a perpetual
testimony to the occurrence of this phenomenon. In the same chronicle,
under the date of April 15, 1185,[1044] we find a more typical and less
fantastic description of an earthquake felt throughout almost the entire
length of England; rocks were shattered, stone houses fell in ruins, and
the metropolitan church of Lincoln was broken asunder from top to
bottom.
_DESERTS_
The deserts of the Orient impressed the medieval writer in much the same
way as mountains, by the obstacles and difficulties which they presented
to the traveler. William of Tyre dilates[1045] on the terrors of drought
in the desert and explains how the Saracens carry in great sacks on
camels water sufficient to serve man and beast for many days at a time;
he pictures impressively the horrors of the sand storms that may spring
up at any time. In the Egyptian desert, he says, the land is so dry and
barren that no manner of tree can grow there. The features of the desert
are also described in the _Letter of Prester John_.[1046] This fabulous
Christian potentate of the East tells us that in the great Sandy Sea
which lies in his country the sands are disturbed by the wind and form
endlessly moving waves like the waves of the real sea. But the analogy
with the sea is carried a trifle too far when he goes on to assert that
fish are found in the Sandy Sea. He adds that from certain mountains,
three days’ journey away, a river of stones flows down and, running
three days a week, sweeps both rocks and logs into the Sandy Sea, but
they disappear in the sands and are never seen again. If we remove the
halo of fable surrounding all this, we discern here an account of a
desert of dunes, with dry watercourses entering it, a feature common
enough in southwestern Asia and northern Africa. On the whole, however,
little was known of deserts in Western Europe in the Middle Ages, and,
though the waste places of Asia and India are constantly mentioned in
the Romance of Alexander, the descriptions of them are wholly fanciful.
_ISLANDS_
ORIGINS
The men of the West at this time were familiar with many islands.
Giraldus Cambrensis takes up the problem of the origin of the islands of
the earth and in particular the question of whether they were formed at
the time of the Deluge or long before or long after.[1047] His opinion
seems to have been that some time after the Flood the lands became
replete with animal life and that it was then that the islands came into
existence, not violently and suddenly but little by little out of
alluvial deposits.[1048] In his emphasis on the gradual and
non-catastrophic manner of their formation, Giraldus by hazard
enunciates a sound geological doctrine which contrasts favorably with
the theories he elsewhere expresses about the violent and sudden
appearance of lakes.
MIRACULOUS ISLANDS
Like mountains and lakes, islands were convenient topographic units to
which the medieval mind was wont to attribute fabulous and supernatural
qualities. Gervase of Tilbury, for example, describes a certain isle in
the sea off the coast of the Kingdom of Arles—Lirniensis, perhaps the
Isle de Lérins—where no worms ever are found.[1049] He was unable to
decide whether this was due to the extreme holiness of a colony of monks
which once dwelt on the island or to some natural peculiarity of the
soil. At all events, this reminds us of the tradition about the
inability of poisonous reptiles or noxious animals of any kind to exist
in Ireland.
Giraldus Cambrensis speaks of a floating island in a lake on the summit
of Mount Snowdon.[1050] This was said to be blown about by the winds,
and shepherds were much startled now and then to see their cattle
transported on it from one side of the lake to the other. Giraldus
explains this reasonably enough as follows: a portion of the shore had
become bound together and made firm and solid as if by ropes formed from
the roots of the willow and other plants. After being gradually
increased in size by the addition of alluvium it finally broke off. The
violent winds prevalent in the vicinity then drove it back and forth
over the surface of the lake. This story undoubtedly had a basis of
truth, for it is well known that sod floats about on the surface of one
of the lakes near Snowdon, but that it could carry cattle upon it is a
decided exaggeration.
ISLANDS OF ST. BRANDAN
The most marvelous of the islands mentioned in medieval legend were
those which St. Brandan visited.[1051] The first one he came to, a high
and rocky crag rising abruptly out of the sea, was doubtless suggested
to the mind of the poet by one of the forbidding islets in the seas off
the western coast of Ireland. Thence the saint and his crew voyaged in
turn to an island entirely covered with sheep, to one that proved to be
the back of a gigantic fish called Jasconius, to one full of miraculous
birds that could speak, to one that put them in mind of Paradise, to a
rocky isle full of forges and smiths, to an isle where there dwelt a
certain hermit, Paul, who had lived there forty years without food but
for thirty years had been fed by a certain beast;[1052] and finally the
saint himself attained the island which was the goal of all his
wanderings, the Saints’ Land of Promise (Terra repromissionis
sanctorum), or Paradise—a reminiscence perhaps of the Hesperides, or
Happy Islands, of Greek mythology.
Giraldus describes an isle off the Irish coast which would seem to be
akin to Brandan’s Jasconius.[1053] Doubts were raised as to whether this
peculiar island was a whale or some other monster or whether it was
really land; for some youths had tried to disembark upon it, but, just
as they were about to set foot ashore, it disappeared beneath the waves.
The next day it reappeared and the same thing was repeated. Finally, on
the third day, one of the young men shot a red-hot arrow into it; this
seems to have stabilized it, for the island did not disappear again and
ultimately proved to be habitable. From this Giraldus argued that as
fire is the most noble of the elements no phantasm can withstand its
power.
_INFLUENCES OF GEOGRAPHICAL ENVIRONMENT_
ON PLANT AND ANIMAL LIFE
In the writings of the Crusading age we find a few scattered remarks on
the relationship between geographical features and environment and the
life of man and animals, or on those branches of our science now called
biogeography and anthropogeography. The writings of Bernard Sylvester
furnish us with some striking examples. The Platonic and realist
conception of the unity of all matter, which was exemplified in the
theory of a World Soul and expounded in vivid terms by Theodoric of
Chartres, led Bernard in his _De mundi universitate_ to emphasize the
close interrelations of all natural phenomena and the influences of the
various elements and parts of the universe upon each other. He stressed,
for example, the importance of astrological influences, by attributing
to the moon control over the tides and other terrestrial
phenomena.[1054] In geography he emphasized the influences of terrain on
plant and animal life. Thus he says “fruitful land gives birth to
wolves, desert to lions, arid land to serpents, woods to bees.”[1055]
Elsewhere he explains how the plane tree grows in flat country, the
alder in valleys, the box among rocks, the willow on the banks of
streams, the fragrant cypress in the mountains, the sacred vine on the
slopes, and the olive in well-worked loam.[1056] Neckam also recognized
that the growth of plants was governed by the qualities of the
earth.[1057] Only about the center of the globe is there really true
earth; the surface which we cultivate is not true earth because it is
intermingled with particles of air, fire, and other substances.
Consequently it follows that in the same territory there may grow herbs
by nature both warm and cold and that in certain places oats thrive well
and in others barley.
There is a very striking passage in Hildegard’s _Subtilitates_
explaining in much detail the influence of various kinds of soil upon
agriculture.[1058] Hildegard asserts that there are divers types of soil
(_terra_)—black, white, and red. White soil is pallid and sandy and
contains much humidity in the form of large raindrops: because of this
quality white soil produces great vines and apple orchards but is rather
less well adapted for the raising of grains. The latter may better be
cultivated upon soil characterized by humidity of finer texture and
minuter drops. Black soil contains too much cold and dampness to produce
more than a moderate yield; red soil, on the other hand, has the right
balance of dampness and dryness and hence produces a quantity of fruits,
which, however, through their very abundance fail to attain perfection.
And so Hildegard proceeds with a discussion that would have been of a
highly utilitarian character, had it only been based more directly upon
the observation of the facts of nature.
ON MAN
The influence of geographical environment on man is also noted by some
of the writers of our period. Otto of Freising explains[1059] that the
Lombards on entering Italy gave up their wild customs and adopted
Italian ways, partly because they married native women but partly as a
result of the nature of country and climate. Giraldus tells how the
plains of southern Wales are far more pleasant to live in than those of
the north.[1060] The latter region, on the other hand, has not only
better natural defenses but a richer soil and is more fertile in
producing men of strength and power. Gunther in the _Ligurinus_[1061]
enlarged on Ragewin’s simple description (in his continuation of Otto of
Freising’s _Gesta Friderici_) of the wild ferocity of the natives of
Poland by saying that their fierceness and savagery is due partly to the
nature of the soil and partly to the influence of their neighbors.
_Topography As a Natural Defense_
In the same connection these authors try to show that topography may
often serve as a natural defense against hostile invaders. Giraldus
speaks of Wales[1062] as a country easily defensible because of the
depth of its valleys and the immensity of its woods, waters, and swamps.
The remnants of the ancient Britons who were driven here were able to
hold out and preserve their independence against both Angles and
Normans. On the other hand, those who were driven into the southern
promontory (Cornwall), where the land was not by nature so easy to
defend, yielded to the conqueror. In another connection[1063] Giraldus
speaks of the difficulties any one would encounter in trying to conquer
such a rough country as Wales and one so well fortified by nature.
Gervase of Tilbury also testifies to the strong natural defenses of
Wales,[1064] specifying how the Welsh, when enemies appear, take to the
bog lands on the mountains, which they can easily cross through an
agility resulting from long familiarity. Here they either escape from
their enemies or lie in wait to inflict grave harm on them.
Giraldus[1065] tells that the islands in the lakes of Ireland were used
for refuges as well as for dwelling places by the lords of the
surrounding districts; and Ragewin[1066] speaks of the natural defenses
of Genoa, hemmed in on one side by mountains and on the other by the
sea.
_Theory of the Westward Flow of Civilization_
We may close this account of the relations of man with his geographical
environment with a few words about a strangely fatalistic theory which
prevailed among certain thinkers and in particular among the mystics. It
was a theory that civilization flows from the East to the West and that
when it reaches the uttermost limits of the West the human race will
meet its doom and extinction. Severian of Gabala had said in the fourth
century:[1067] “God looked into the future and set the first man in that
place [Paradise, in the East] in order to cause him to understand that,
just as the light of heaven moves toward the west, so the human race
hastens towards death; but that it is just as reasonable to expect a
future resurrection from death as it is to expect that the stars will
again rise in the east.” This idea appears in the writings of Hugh of
St. Victor, who states in the _De arca Noë morali_[1068] that the order
of places and the order of time run in series; that whatever happened in
the beginning of time happened in the Orient and that henceforth the
course of events has gradually been moving westward, until now it has
reached the end of the earth and we must face the fact that we are
approaching the end of the ages (_saeculi_). Shortly after the Deluge
the most important kingdoms and the capitol of the world were in the
East, in the lands of the Assyrians, Chaldeans, and Medes; then the
supreme power passed to the Greeks; and finally, towards the end of the
ages, to the Romans who dwell on the confines of the world. In the _De
arca Noë mystica_ the front of the ark is said to face the east and the
rear the west “in order that the position of places shall correspond
with the order of time and the end of the world shall be at the end of
the centuries.”[1069] The ark is here supposed to represent a map of the
world, and the segment of the circle of the _orbis terrarum_ cut by the
ark and facing the east is the location of Paradise; the segment facing
the west will be the place of universal resurrection. Ideas very similar
to this are also found in the _De vanitate mundi_ of Hugh of St.
Victor.[1070]
Though it cannot be proved that Otto of Freising made use of these
works, nevertheless his philosophy of history is to a large extent based
on the theory of the westward flow of civilization.[1071] In the
prologue to his _Chronicon_ he queries, “Who can wonder that human power
is changeable, when mortal wisdom also is unstable (_labilis_)? What
great learning there was in Egypt and among the Chaldeans, from whom
Abraham derived his knowledge! But what now is Babylon, once famous for
its science and its power? A shrine of sirens, a home of lizards and
ostriches, a den of serpents! And Egypt is now in large part a trackless
and uninhabitable waste, whence science was transferred to the Greeks,
then to the Romans, and finally to the Gauls and Spaniards. And,” he
concludes, “let it be observed that because all human power or wisdom
began in the Orient and will end in the Occident, the mutability and
disappearance of all things is demonstrated. This I propose, with God’s
aid, to make clear in the work which follows.” Otto again hammers on
this theme in the prologue of his fifth book[1072] and finally, near the
close of the same book,[1073] remarks, “For behold, as I have explained
above, just as the heavens turn from east to west, so we behold worldly
affairs and powers revolving.” If human power is so changeable, he asks,
who can expect that the Kingdom of the Franks will last very long?
The idea that “westward the course of empire takes its way” was thus
raised in the Middle Ages to a position of theological doctrine and
philosophical principle.
_FEELING FOR LANDSCAPE AND SCENERY_
The pagan, or classical, attitude toward nature was characterized by a
subjective and esthetic enjoyment of beautiful scenery; the Christian
saw in nature the symbol and manifestation of the divinity.[1074] Both
points of view were represented in the literature of our age.
SPIRITUAL FEELING FOR NATURE
The more spiritual feeling found its expression in the writings of men
like Bernard of Clairvaux, Hugh of St. Victor, Francis of Assisi,
Alexander Neckam, and many others.[1075] Bernard of Clairvaux believed
that a man could learn more of the eternal verities through a reverent
contemplation of nature than through the study of books. He wrote to
Master Henry Murdach, an Englishman who afterwards became a monk of
Clairvaux: “Believe one who has tried: you shall find a fuller
satisfaction in the woods than in books. The trees and the rocks will
teach you that which you cannot hear from the masters. Do you think that
you cannot draw honey from the rock and oil from the hardest flint? Do
not our mountains drop sweetness? the hills flow with milk and honey?
and the valleys stand thick with corn?” (Eales’s translation).[1076]
Bernard was fond of complex and detailed allegorical comparisons of the
aspects of nature with the theological or spiritual concepts which he
believed they symbolize. In a sermon on Benedict he said: “St. Benedict
was a mighty fruit tree, like a tree planted by a watercourse. Where are
the watercourses? Truly they are in the valleys, because midway between
the mountains the water flows down. Who may not perceive that the
streams retreat from the steep slopes of the mountains and make their
way straight to the lowly midst of the valleys? Thus does God repulse
the haughty and give grace to the humble. Here you may set foot in
safety. Whoever of you are of the flock of Christ, place your trust in
his staff and follow the footpath in the valley. On the hillsides that
ancient serpent has ever chosen his abode which bites the horse’s hoof
and makes the rider fall back. Select rather the valley for your
wanderings and plantings. Do not seek the dry and rocky mountain side to
set out trees. In the valleys is abundance. There plants thrive, the
grass is lush, fruits grow, and, according to the words of Scripture,
‘the vales shall abound with corn.’”[1077]
It was in much the same vein that Bernard spoke of the sea as the origin
of all springs and rivers and compared it with Christ, the fount of all
virtue and wisdom.[1078] It was a wish to find an allegorical meaning in
the phenomena of nature that induced Abelard to compare the flood of the
Nile with the spread of Christian grace throughout the world.[1079]
These and the many other similar allegorical comparisons that are so
frequent in the literature of our period are not mere juxtapositions of
things that were seen to be alike. Bernard did more than liken the
valley to the humble of spirit. He implied that the valley itself
partook of the quality of humility and was thereby in some way more
divine than the mountain. But, if Bernard believed that mountains were
symbolical of pride and arrogance, others, like Altmann of Passau,
Anselm of Canterbury, and Francis of Assisi, were lovers of mountains in
a truly spiritual sense. To the twelfth-century mystic the beauty of
nature was more than a symbol of the divinity: it drew its very essence
from God. The love that St. Francis bore towards birds and animals,
mountains and fellow man was a love that arose out of his regarding all
of these as creatures of God impregnated with something of the divine.
ESTHETIC LOVE OF NATURE
The esthetic love of nature that existed during our period was very
different. It had its roots in a movement of protest and rebellion
against the austerity of the Christian life and ideals. Men wished to
enjoy the things of this world without thought of the next. What is
more, they sometimes actually dared to write about their pleasures.
These early stirrings of the humanistic spirit, the spirit of the Great
Renaissance, brought forth troubled protests and angry remonstrances
from men like Bernard and other reformers; but none the less love poems
were often composed in the monasteries, and vagrant poets wandered over
Europe singing the praises of earthly love, rejoicing in the springtime,
with little heed for aught but the beauty of the world. Popular wherever
they went, these wanderers exerted a great influence, and something of
their joyous, pagan spirit crept into more serious writings of the age.
It would be possible to quote at some length texts testifying to the
presence of an esthetic feeling for nature in the twelfth and early
thirteenth centuries.[1080] Two or three examples must here suffice.
One of the most enthusiastic observers of natural scenery was Guy of
Bazoches. He describes the environs of the castle of St. Gilles in
southern France about as follows:[1081] “Here smile cultivated and
fertile fields, and here the sides of the hills are adorned with
vineyards. The pleasing aspect of the shrubbery and the beauty of
gardens meets the eye, and oh! how the sweet smell of the grass fills
the air! Fruit trees groan under their load and lament their fertility,
and the warbling birds in the branches send forth rich harmonies. If we
look in a different direction we see the plain stretching out its level
lap covered with green meadows and alluring us with its beauty. The
Rhone, disdainfully cutting through the midst of the fields, rolls down
proud waters and, reaching its place of birth, flows forth into the
neighboring sea.”
Even more striking is a passage from a poem that has been ascribed to
Marbod of Rennes. “My uncle owns an estate in the forest where I am in
the habit of going to leave care behind and all that may trouble one.
The green grass, the silent woods, the soft and festive breezes, and a
lively spring in the meadow revive my tired spirit: they give me back to
myself and enable me to regain my poise (me mihi reddunt et faciunt in
me consistere). For who is not robbed of himself in the restless city,
roaring with a multitude of noises?”[1082] The writer goes on to
meditate in truly Roman fashion on the transitory character of all
things of this earth. Ganzenmüller comments on the subjective character
of these sentiments: “What a distance separates this from the attitude
towards nature of a Bernard of Clairvaux! Bernard ascribes loneliness to
God, our poet to himself. No longer did one seek in nature for God but
for one’s own self.”[1083]
PRACTICAL INTEREST IN COUNTRYSIDES
On the whole, however, the passages just quoted are more or less
exceptional. The majority of descriptions of countrysides that date from
our period reveal neither highly developed esthetic feeling nor
transcendental emotion. What they do reveal is the prevalence of keen
intellectual interest in detail. If a region was in any way unusual
either by reason of the richness of its produce or the marvelous tales
that were in circulation about it, that region was held to be worthy of
comment.
Dreesbach has clearly pointed out[1084] that the passages from the
French literature of the Crusading period which describe the Orient show
that the things which impressed themselves on the minds of historian and
chronicler and poet were the richness of gardens and orchards and the
fertility of the fields. Her fecundity, not her romantic or esthetic
qualities, made the average man of the Middle Ages love nature; and a
country not rich and prosperous hardly deserved any particular notice,
in his way of thinking. The descriptions of Syria in William of Tyre’s
history reveal a great number of observations like the following: “The
plain of Antioch, full of many rich fields for the raising of wheat and
abounding in springs and rivulets,”[1085] or the neighborhood of
Damascus, “where there are a great number of trees bearing fruits of all
kinds and growing up to the very walls of the city and where everybody
has a garden of his own.”[1086] Elsewhere William of Tyre emphasizes the
contrast between the sterility of the desert and the marvelous fertility
of Egypt, with its abundance of wheat.[1087] The same interest in the
economic qualities of the land appears in the few local descriptions
that we find in the writings of Otto of Freising. Otto speaks[1088] of
the forested region about the Rhine, near Worms, as being “rich in
produce and wine, abundant in hunting and fishing,” and for this reason,
he adds, the region was pleasing to the princes who came from across the
Alps to take part in the Diet at Worms. In detailing the life of
Corbianus, founder of the church at Freising, he gives us a
topographical account of the vicinity of this city.[1089] A hill, he
says, situated in a most beautiful and delicious spot, overlooks like a
watchtower the whole region, through which can be seen the swift stream
of the Isar. In the days of Corbianus (about 745 A. D.) this territory
was said to have been covered with woods and was a haunt of game; traces
of these woods were still to be found in the ancient tree trunks among
the thickets of the plains, and to Otto’s own day immense quantities of
deer and goats ran wild there. In the northern part of the district by
no means inconsiderable tracts of woodland, commonly called “the
forest,” were still in existence, and from them much useful building
material and fuel could be procured. The land contiguous to the hill was
inclosed by the rivers Isar on the south and Amper on the north, and
between the two streams it extended four German miles in the form of a
very fertile peninsula. At the end of this, where the two rivers come
together, was a place called Moosburg, beautiful and delightful, the
site of a congregation of clergy connected with the church of the
blessed Castulus.
GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS’ EYE FOR LOCAL TOPOGRAPHY
Giraldus Cambrensis, more than his contemporaries, had an eye for local
topography. In spite of his taste for the marvelous, this impelled him
now and then to paint a fairly clear word picture of the appearance of
the countryside. He notes many things of a sort that do not usually
occur in other medieval works; for instance, the fact that in fair
weather it is possible to see the hills of Ireland from St. David’s Head
in Wales;[1090] that the fertility of the Irish soil lies in its
grassland rather than in its grain;[1091] that Ireland is rugged and
hilly, very damp and watery, full of woods, swamps, and trackless
wastes, with lakes at the foot of the hills and pools and bogs even on
the highest summits; that here and there one sees beautiful plains, but
in general open surfaces are of limited extent in comparison to
woodland; that the seacoasts are low, that hills and mountains are
restricted to the interior, and that both inland and along the shores
there is more sandy than rocky country.[1092] He was also impressed by
the barren and desolate character of many parts of Wales;[1093] the
“angle” of the land near St. David’s, he says, has a rocky, sterile
soil, with neither woods, nor rivers, nor orchards, but is open and
exposed to winds and storms. Mona also is arid and rocky, deformed in
appearance, and generally unpromising, though as a matter of fact vastly
more fertile and opulent than the adjacent portion of the Welsh
mainland.[1094]