Worship.
All the folk of St. Aliquis are Christians. Nobody, far and wide,
except a few Jews in Pontdebois, openly dissents from the Catholic
religion, denies the validity of the creeds, or refuses a certain
outward conformity to the Church practices. The age is not greatly
interested in improving the general moral and social condition of the
common people. The common people even are not always interested in this
themselves. Each peasant prays for "just treatment" and for good luck.
Otherwise, castle and village alike accept as a kind of natural law
the immutability of society. God has established the various orders
and gradations. All that one can ask is that each man shall accept the
condition assigned to him and live in it efficiently and happily.
[Sidenote: Religious Attitude of Knights]
Conon, like every other knight, has no temptation to unbelief. The
doctors of the Church know all about religion, just as the king's
falconers know all about hawking. It is sensible to trust the expert.
If you ask idle questions, you merely risk your soul, as do the
followers of Mahound, the false prophet. The baron frequently denounces
the arrogance and covetousness of the clergy and resists their
pretentions, but he nevertheless trusts them to supply him with the
Sacraments and bless his death and burial so that his soul may pass
promptly through purgatory into paradise--where existence presumably
is one grand admixture of a marriage feast in a fine garden and of a
magnificent tournament. Plenty of knights are lax and blasphemous, but
they hardly are deliberately unbelieving.[84] Good knights ought to
hear mass every morning; venerate holy objects and places; hate Jews
and Saracens; worship the Virgin and the saints; also keep most of the
major fasts and other special occasions of the Church. Conon does all
these things. He is "a good Christian." But he is exempted from any
serious thinking for himself upon mysterious matters.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF PRIESTS, THIRTEENTH CENTURY
The one who is near the altar is wearing a chasuble and the second and
third are clad in the dalmatica, or deacon's gown. The second carries
the consecrated wafer and the third a sort of fan. (From a manuscript
in the Bibliothèque nationale.)]
When Conon prays in the morning, if not hurried he lies down with his
head turned toward the east, and his arms stretched out like a cross.
He recites the favors which God has shown him in the past, beseeches
Heaven to continue favorable. Often he adds a Credo and a certain
paraphrase of the Lord's Prayer then very common--"Our Father, who
desirest that we all be saved, grant that we acquire Thy love even as
have the angels who do thy pleasure on high; and give us our daily
bread--for the soul the Holy Sacrament, and for the body its needful
sustenance." Yet if his mood is not unusually humble and contrite,
he is likely to conclude patronizingly, "And I confide also in the
strength of my heart, which thou hast bestowed, in my good sword and my
fleet horse, yet especially in Thee!"
Many a cavalier breaks into blasphemies when things go wrong. Such men
are like William Rufus of England, who cried, "God shall never see me a
good man--I have suffered too much at His hands!" Or Henry II, who, on
learning that his son Henry had revolted, cried aloud, "Since Thou, O
God, hast taken away from me that which I prized the most, Thou shalt
not have what Thou prizest most in me--my soul." And even Conon, once
when hard beset, had exclaimed, like a certain crusading lord: "What
king, O Lord, ever deserted thus his men? Who _now_ will trust in or
fight for thee?"
Nevertheless, one should deal mercifully with such sinful words, for,
after all, is not the world very evil and the temptation to rail at God
extremely great? It is true that things are not as they were in the
year A.D. 1000, when even the wisest felt very sure the Last Day was
at hand. Eclipses, comets and famines had then seemed foreshadowing
this. People crowded the churches in agony, expecting to hear the Seven
Trumpets announce Antichrist. Repeatedly since then, when the years
have been calamitous, monks and old wives have stirred multitudes by
vehement predictions that the plagues of the Apocalypse and the other
preliminaries to the millennium are not to be delayed. As late as A.D.
1200 the monk Rigord, at the abbey of St. Denis, wrote: "The world
is ill; it grows so old that it relapses into infancy. Common report
has it that Antichrist has been born at Babylon and that the Day of
Judgement is nigh."
[Sidenote: A Fearful Excommunication]
Fears like this restrain even reckless seigneurs and sodden peasants
from proceeding to inconceivable crimes. The agonies of the damned will
be so dreadful! The preachers understand very well that it is of little
use to try to restrain the wicked by talking of "the love and mercy
of God." If King Philip had only used love and mercy upon his vassals
he would be now a king without a kingdom. It is the dread of the
eternal burning which apparently keeps a large part of all Christendom
tolerably obedient to the more essential mandates of morality and of
the Church.
When a great criminal deliberately defies the Church there is a
ceremony which makes even the righteous inquire as to their own
salvation. A few months ago a certain impious baron robbed a parish
church of a chalice. Instantly at Pontdebois the bishop took action.
The great bell of the cathedral tolled as for a funeral; and such it
was, though of the soul, far more precious than merely the body. The
bishop appeared in the chancel with all his clergy. Each cleric held
a lighted candle. The building was hung with black tapestry. Amid a
terrible hush the bishop announced the name of the offending knight to
the crowded nave, then proclaimed in loud voice: "Let him be cursed in
the city and cursed in the field; cursed in his granery, his harvest,
and his children; as Dathan and Abiram were swallowed up by the gaping
earth, so may hell swallow him; and even as to-day we quench these
torches in our hands, so may the light of his life be quenched for all
eternity, unless he do repent!" Whereat all the priests dashed their
torches to the pavement and trampled them out. One could almost see
that sacrilegious baron writhing in the flames of Gehenna.
After a scene like this there is no reinstatement for the sinner save
by some great act of penance and mortification. An excommunicated
person is next door to an outlaw. He may find sundry companions in
crime, but most people will shun him as they would a leper. This
particular baron, after vain boasts and defiance, at last was so
conscience-torn and forsaken that he made an abject peace with the
bishop. First, he gave ruinously costly gifts to the cathedral; then he
presented himself barefoot and in the robe of a pilgrim at the chancel.
He prostrated himself and for a day and a night remained in prayer
before the high altar, eating and drinking nothing. After that he knelt
again while some three-score clerics and monks present each smote him
with a rod, he crying aloud, "Just are Thy judgments, O Lord!" after
every blow. Not till all this was accomplished did the bishop raise
him, pronounce the absolution, and give him the kiss of peace. It was
very dreadful.[85]
For lesser offenses against the Church there are lesser but effective
penalties. In Pontdebois there was once a religious procession in
Lent. A certain woman marched therein with pretended devoutness, but
then went home and in defiance of the fast-time dined upon some mutton
and ham. The odor escaped into the street. The woman was seized, and
the bishop condemned her to walk through the town with her quarter of
mutton on the spit over her shoulder, the ham slung round her neck, and
with a ribald crowd, of course, trailing behind. After that penance the
fasts were well kept in Pontdebois.
[Sidenote: Festive Side of Popular Religion]
Yet one must not think of the religion of this Feudal Age as in
general sad. On the contrary (by one of those abrupt contrasts now
grown familiar) clergy and people get vast joy, not to say amusement,
even out of the sacred ordinances. "Men go gayly along the road to
salvation." For example, the great pilgrimages (pardons) are often
festive reunions with merchants chaffering and jongleurs playing or
doing their tricks while the whole company proceeds to some shrine.
Even in the church building solemnity is not always maintained. The
choir, indeed, belongs pretty strictly to worship, but in the nave all
sorts of secular proceedings can go on, even the meetings of malcontent
factions and of rioters. The church bells ring for markets, for
musters, or for peaceful gatherings almost as often as they ring for
the holy services. As for the sacred festivals, good bishops complain
that they are so numerous that the secular element intrudes utterly,
and disfigures them with idleness and carousing. The peasants may go to
early mass; after that they will drink, chatter, sing, dance (in a very
riotous fashion), and join in wrestlings, races, and archery contests
until nightfall.
Besides these ordinary abuses of holy things, every parish seems
to have its own special Reign of Folly, although the name of the
celebration varies from place to place. Even the younger clergy
participate in such mock ceremonies. In Pontdebois the subdeacons
elect a Pope of Buffoons, give him a silver tiara, and enthrone him
with much dignity, electing at the same time several "cardinals" to
help direct his revels. There are noisy processions, cavalcades, and
even scandalous parodies of some of the most sacred services of the
Church. The mock pope issues "bulls" enjoining all kinds of horseplay,
and actually strikes a kind of lead money with such legends as "Live
merrily and rejoice," or, "Fools are sometimes wise." It seems next
to impossible to confine such proceedings to the streets, the market
place and the church porch, although decent bishops fight against
intrusions into the holy building. The canons of the cathedral have
finally induced the junior clergy and the lay rabble to refrain from
the more extreme parodies and from such pranks as stealing the church
bells by giving the "Pope" and all his noisy rout a grand dinner. Pious
churchmen groan on such days, but they comfort themselves by saying
that these proceedings make religion popular and give an outlet for
"the flesh," which if restrained too much, will succumb before even
worse temptations of the devil.
In St. Aliquis village the parish priest actually participates in a
ceremony equally calculated to astonish another age. On a certain
Sunday the folk celebrate the virtues of the ass which bore our Lord
and the Holy Virgin when St. Joseph fled with them into Egypt. The
peasants take the best ass in the neighborhood, caparison it gayly, and
lead it through the streets to the church, all the children running
along, waving flower wands and shouting, with the older folk almost
equally demonstrative. At the holy portal the priest meets them and
announces in Latin "This is a day of mirth. Let all sour lookers get
themselves hence. Away with envy! Those who celebrate the Festival of
the Ass desire jollity!"
[Sidenote: Mass of the Ass]
Then the ass is led straight up into the chancel and tethered to the
altar rail. A solemn Prose, half Latin, half French, is chanted,
setting forth the virtues of the faithful, stolid beast which enabled
our Lord to escape the wicked Herod. Ever and anon the cantor stops
and all the crowded church rings with the refrain, "_He! haw! sire
ass--he! haw!_" everybody trying to pull down his nose and bray as
lustily as possible. Finally, when the ass has been led decorously back
to his stall, the choristers, with many friends, indulge in a bountiful
repast. This Festival of the Ass is celebrated in very many French
cities and villages.
One must also comprehend that certain saints are the particular patrons
of given regions. St. Martin is a potent saint through all France,
but St. Denis is the especial guardian of the royal domains; St.
Nicholas of Lorraine, St. Andre of Burgundy, and of course St. George
of England. St. Michael, too, may assist French knights sooner than
he will foreigners. There are also many local saints of incalculable
sacredness in their own small regions, yet hardly heard of elsewhere.
Thus, if you travel very far, you are likely to lose all trace of good
St. Aliquis, and, indeed, peevish visitors have suggested that he has
never been canonized at Rome or properly accepted by the Catholic
Church. For all that, he is venerated locally, perhaps with greater
fervor than any other holy one, saving always our Blessed Lady herself.
There is no saint with whom it is possible to compare the Virgin. She
is the "Lady of Heaven," the "Queen of the Holy City," the "_Dame
débonnaire_." God the Father and God the Son seem perhaps to be
inaccessible celestial emperors, but the Holy Virgin, who understands
the needs of toiling men, will transmit their pleas and exert her vast
influence in their behalf. Therefore, on her statues she is dressed
like a feudal queen with rich stuffs, a crown glittering with jewels,
and she bears a royal scepter and an orb of the world. All the saints
are her vassals and do her liege homage.
There is another set of joyous celebrations legitimate and uplifting.
At Christmas time, on _Noël_ eve the good folk will install a heifer,
an ox, and an ass in the parish church "to warm the holy babe with
their breath." Torches are lighted everywhere and fires are lit upon
the hills. Groups of people march about dressed like shepherds bound
for the Christchild's manger and led by pipes and viols, while all sing
joyously:
"Good sirs, now hark ye!--
From far lands come we,
For it is Noël."
Then in the church are sung long responses, telling the story of
Christmas in the vernacular and interspersed with comments by the
animals in Latin, because (as says the hymn)
All the beasts in other days
Spoke French less well than Latin.
So the cock crows out his satisfaction, the goat bleats, the calf
bellows, the ox lows, the ass brays. It is all done simply, reverently,
and for the benefit of simple, loving souls.
In Pontdebois, however, they have a more elaborate performance. Twelve
clerks, representing six Jews and six pagans, present themselves in
the cathedral choir, declaring they wish to examine the evidence that
the babe newly born is truly the Redeemer. Whereat appear in stately
sequence all the prophets who have forewarned the coming of Christ,
besides Moses with his horn, Balaam with his ass, the three Hebrew
children of the fiery furnace, the pagan sybils, and the twelve
apostles. Each responds with canticles in sonorous Latin, until the
twelve doubters declare themselves satisfied and fall down to worship
the Infant King.
[Sidenote: Mystery Plays]
At Easter there are other mystery plays telling the story of the divine
Passion and of the Resurrection; and still others come at intervals
through the year. Some of the participants are priests, but many others
laymen, both men and women.[86] All the more important episodes in
the Bible are acted out with considerable detail and with much comedy
interspersed. The crowds howl with glee when Ananias, like a shrewd
Jew, chaffers for the sale of his field, or when hideous devils leap up
from hell to seize Herodias's daughter the instant she has accomplished
her wicked will with John the Baptist. There is no attempt to represent
ancient times. Herod is dressed like a feudal duke, and before him is
carried a crucifix. The numerous devils are always black; the angels
wear blue, red, and white; "God" appears wearing a papal tiara; and the
"souls of the dead" appear covered with veils--white for the saved,
red or black for the damned. It is a source of great delight for the
people to take part in these plays, and even the great folk are not
above joining in them. One need not comment on how completely such
proceedings impress the imaginations of the unlearned with the stories
of the Old and New Testaments. The Bible can be _read_ only by the few,
but an essential part of it is _seen_ and reasonably comprehended by
the many.
So much for ordinary religious beliefs and occasions. But there are
plenty of people who find their sins are so terrible that they must
resort to some great penances, often consuming the remainder of
their lives, in order to propitiate Heaven. Besides the monks and
the nuns dwelling in convents, there exist a great many hermits and
"religious solitaries," who abide in little huts in the woods, perhaps
maintaining a tiny chapel for travelers, and being fed on the offerings
of forest rangers and peasants. Not all these hermits live, however,
in genuine solitude. Right in St. Aliquis village there is something
everywhere common--a female recluse.
Many years ago, a certain peasant woman, Elise, murdered her husband.
She was promptly condemned to the gallows, but Baron Garnier, with
unusual mercy, pardoned her on condition "that she be shut up within
a small house in the cemetery, that she might there do penance and so
end her days." A stone hut was accordingly built, and the unhappy woman
conducted thither with a regular procession, two priests blessing the
hut and giving Elise a kind of consecration. She was put inside. Every
aperture was then built up except a narrow chink to admit air, a little
light, and a small dole of food from her relatives.
Elise has been vegetating in this hut for now twenty years--living
in filth and darkness, but talking most piously to visitors standing
outside. Seemingly, she does little except to mutter almost incessant
prayers. Already her crime is forgotten. The peasants speak of her
as "that holy woman" and even wonder whether, after she dies in her
cell--for she will never leave it--she cannot be enrolled among the
saints. There are many other much more innocent recluses, male and
female, who have been walled up voluntarily--either out of piety or of
sheer love of idleness, possibly because of both.
[Sidenote: Recluses and Pilgrims]
Nevertheless, ordinarily the best way to discharge the load of a guilty
conscience is by pilgrimage. Confessors often impose this means of
penance upon penitents, as the best way of winning the divine mercy.
Since death is about the only judicial penalty for great crimes, a
penance of pilgrimage for six, ten, or twelve years--going from shrine
to shrine all over Christendom--is really a substitute for a term of
imprisonment. Pilgrims of this pronounced type are required to go
barefoot, with head shaved, to quit their families and wives, and to
fast continually--that is, never to touch meat more than once a day.
Even exalted nobles thus spend the remainder of a lifetime expiating
their iniquities. Everyone has heard of Count Fulk the Black of Anjou,
who heaped up misdeeds even to the murdering of his wife. Then at last
he realized the awful peril to his soul. Three times he made the long
pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the third time letting himself be dragged upon
a hurdle through the streets of the Sacred City, while two varlets
smote him with whips.
Such great criminals often carry passports issued by bishops,
certifying that they are expiating by pilgrimage specified evil
deeds--and requesting Christian folk to give them lodging, food, and
assistance. These penitents, if knights, are likely to wear chains upon
their wrists and neck, forged of their own armor, as witnesses at once
of their social position and their genuine repentance.
Most pilgrims, however, have no such fearful things weighing down their
souls. They are simply ordinary erring men who are moved by a genuine
piety, possibly admixed with a willingness to find excuse for "seeing
the world." Every day they appear at the gate of St. Aliquis castle to
ask a share in the supper and a bed on the rushes in the hall, and they
are respectfully treated, although Conon sometimes complains that their
trailing robes of brown wool, heavy staffs, and sacks slung at belt are
merely the disguises for so many wandering rogues. Unwashed and unkempt
though many of them are, it never does to repulse them, lest you lose
the Scriptural blessing for those who received strangers and so "have
entertained angels unawares."
Pilgrims, too, are good newsmongers. They supply you with tidings
from Italy, Germany, Spain, or even the Holy Land. They will carry
letters also to foreign parts and transmit verbal messages to kinsmen.
They do not always travel alone, but by twos, fives, or even tens.
Recently at Dunkirk, where the peasants revolted, the bishop laid upon
twenty-five of their leaders the penance that they should spend a year
going about in a body to different holy places and joining in religious
processions "in twenty-six churches," wearing no clothing save their
trousers, going barefoot, and carrying the rods with which they had
been disciplined.
Innumerable are the shrines where sinners can profit their souls by a
visit. Every important abbey claims to be a pilgrimage resort, and the
monks will tell of remarkable miracles wrought by all the saints whose
relics they chance to treasure. Probably there are more than a thousand
such places whose claims have been somewhat recognized by the Church.
Many of these shrines have some famous image of the Madonna, frequently
brought from the East by Crusaders, but often very old and, to carnal
thinking, ugly, perhaps only a "black virgin," a clumsy doll carved of
wood. This matters not, provided it is holy and efficacious. "Our Lady
of the Fountain" at Samour, "Our Lady of the Osier" near Grenoble, "Our
Lady of Good Hope" at Valenciennes, Our Lady of Chartres, of Liesse, of
Rocamadour, of Auray, of Puy--these are merely examples.
[Sidenote: Favorite Pilgrim Shrines]
The greater the distance the pilgrim must go, the greater his merit
ordinarily. Happy the pilgrim who can venerate the bones of an actual
apostle, as at Rome. Happiest of all is he who can go to Jerusalem
and pray at the Holy Sepulcher. Nevertheless, God has provided very
efficacious shrines nearer home. Right at Paris there are the seats of
St. Génevieve and the great St. Denis. You can pay your devout homage
at Tours to the puissant St. Martin, the ideal of pious warriors. In
Normandy, where Mont St. Michel looks across the sands to the tumbling
ocean, one can pray best to the mighty archangel nearest to God. It
avails much, also, to visit St. Martial of Limoges, St. Sernin of
Toulouse, and more still to visit Spain and at Compostella beseech the
intercession of St. James the Apostle.
[Illustration: A SHRINE IN THE FORM OF AN ALTAR (THIRTEENTH CENTURY) IN
THE CATHEDRAL AT RHEIMS]
Assuredly, however, Rome is best (always barring Jerusalem), and on the
way thither the pilgrim can lighten his spiritual load by visiting many
excellent Italian shrines--such as "Our Guardian Lady" at Genoa, and,
at Lucca, "Our Lady of the Rose." In the city of St. Peter itself, time
fails to enumerate the three hundred churches worthy of a devout visit.
Besides the majestic cathedral of the Prince of the Apostles and the
tomb of St. Paul, even the most hurried pilgrim will not fail to repair
to St. Maria Maggiore, where is the actual manger in which Christ was
born; and St. John Lateran, where are the holy stairs Christ ascended
while wearing the crown of thorns; St. Peter in Montorio, where Peter
himself was crucified, St. Lawrence Without the Walls, where the
blessed martyrs St. Stephen and St. Lawrence are buried; not to mention
others. A man must be a master criminal if he cannot deliver his soul
by suitable visits to these invaluable shrines in Rome.
As is well known, the blessed saints both in this life and after death
wrought many miracles through their relics. These wonders continue
to-day, although the iniquities of mankind render them infrequent.
Every now and then Heaven still permits some holy man to work undoubted
miracles. Thus only recently it is said that when the venerable abbot
of St. Germer preached the Fourth Crusade in England, he need only
bless a fountain, lo! its waters made the dumb speak, the blind see,
and the sick recover. Once (so a pilgrim related in the castle only the
other day) when this abbot reached a village which wanted a supply of
water, he gathered all the folk in the church. Right in the presence of
the people he smote a stone with his staff and water flowed forth--not
merely potable, but healing for all maladies.
God also speaks to us in dreams as he did to Pharaoh and
Nebuchadnezzar. He caused St. Thomas à Becket to visit the late king
Louis VII and warn him to make a pilgrimage to St. Thomas's new shrine
of Canterbury to pray for the recovery of his son Philip, later
"Augustus." Henry II of England was Louis' foe, but the king made the
solemn pilgrimage unimpeded, and the crown prince duly recovered.
[Sidenote: Omens, Spirits and Monsters]
Omens of calamity, too, appear often, although it is not always clear
whether sent from God or the devil. A few years ago the wolves in
the forest near the monastery of St. Aliquis howled steadily all
through the day of the feast of St. Honore. "A clear sign of trouble,"
announced the prior; and four days later the feud began betwixt Conon
and Foretvert, which convulsed the whole countryside. Many a man is
warned to prepare for death by seeing a will-o-the-wisp in the marshes,
a shooting star, or a vulture hovering above his house. If thirteen
people chance to sit at one table, or if one chances to dream of a
physician, it is proof positive some one in the house is about to die.
The same is true if a man inadvertently puts on a clean white shirt on
Friday; while if the left eye of a dead man will not close promptly
the deceased will soon have company in purgatory. Any woman, also,
who thoughtlessly washes her clothes in lye during the holy week is
not long for this world. It is needless to explain how sinister are
eclipses and comets. In July, 1198, there was a great comet visible.
Sage people wagged their heads with melancholy satisfaction when
Richard the Lion Hearted died very soon after.
Time will fail to list all the strange beings, neither human, angel,
nor exactly devil, that Providence permits to infest the world. These
creatures possess no souls, and when they perish are gone like cattle,
although they live long and are very hard to kill. Probably they are
more numerous in wild and solitary places, yet towns and crowded
castles are not free from them. Thus there are _fées_ (fairies) good
and bad--creatures relatively like human beings; undines in the waters,
who by their perfidious beauty lure unwary knights to destruction;
ogres who lie in wait to devour small children; ghouls who disinter
the dead and gnaw their bones; vampires who rise every night from the
tombs and suck the blood; wolf-men (humans turned into beasts) who
attack lonely travelers; dracs, who carry off little children to their
subterranean realms; will-of-the-wisps in the marshes, who are the
souls of unbaptized dead infants; also many rather friendly spirits
such as the _soleves_, who sometimes overnight do a weary laborer's
work for him. It needs much knowledge to tell the good spirits from the
bad--to know, _e.g._, whether you are dealing with a goblin who will
only display harmless antics, or an _estrie_, a real imp of darkness,
who may hug you like a bear, to suffocation.
The Church does not forbid the belief in these creatures, nor of such
pagan monsters as giants, pygmies, cyclops, satyrs, tritons, sirens,
etc., although it plainly teaches us that they are only ministers of
the devil. The existence of the devil is as certain as that of the
Holy Trinity. As has been said already, the fear of falling into his
clutches has often a more excellent effect upon the sinner than the
love of God. Countless legends and sculptures in the cathedrals tell
all about the master-fiend. The monk in his convent, the peasant in his
hut, yes (for all his brave words and his long sword), the baron in his
castle, all tremble lest they meet him.
The devil produces all kinds of misery, and he can actually take
possession of the living bodies of men. It is affirmed that once, not
far from St. Aliquis, a knight was sitting peaceably at table when
suddenly the devil entered into him. The fiend spoke through the poor
man's mouth. He raved and uttered blasphemies. The priest brought his
book of exorcisms. When he recited them, the devil screamed horribly.
Yet for some days he resisted the holy formulas, and then departed,
leaving his victim utterly exhausted.
[Illustration: RICHARD COEUR DE LION
From Capefigue's _Histoire de Philippe-Auguste_]
[Sidenote: Bargains with the Devil]
It is much worse when you make a direct pact with the devil. Some
time ago, it is affirmed, there was a young scholar at Paris. He was
much troubled because he progressed slowly in his studies. Then Satan
visited him, saying: "Do me homage. I will make you excel in wisdom!"
He gave the youth a stone, asserting that, "So long as you hold this
stone in your hand you will know everything." Soon the lad astonished
the schools by his erudition, but, on falling sick, confessed his
crime, threw away his stone, and at once forgot all his learning.
Speedily he died. At once the devils began to torture his soul, but God
promptly sent an angel ordering them "to let alone this soul which you
have tormented." Immediately the soul flew back into the body, which
sprang to life even as the Paris students were celebrating the funeral
service. The revived scholar, however, at once entered a convent and
took no more chances with carnal studies.
Very many people, however, have compounded with the devil and been
less fortunate. The fiend apparently will not come unless one is in a
desperate plight and willing to promise everything. Then usually the
unhappy mortal must deny the Christian faith, repudiate the saints,
utter blasphemies, and, it is even asserted, kiss the arch fiend upon
the buttocks. Next a horrid oath must be taken, standing inside of
three magic circles and burning incense. After that the devil will, it
is true, give his votary great worldly prosperity and especially riches
through a long life, but in the end the fiend never fails to claim
his soul for an eternal possession. It is even said that Satan made
such a bargain with the great ecclesiastic Gerbert, who became Pope
Sylvester II. He was very wise[87] or very wicked, probably both; and
in the opinion of many he rose to be Pope by the aid of "a hierarchy
of demons and a brass idol which uttered oracles." But on the day of
his death (A.D. 1002) Satan demanded his own; and whenever a pope lies
near his end the bones of Sylvester II rattle in the tomb. The Church
discredits this scandalous story, but it is widely believed.
Since the recent trial of a witch and a wizard before the bishop at
Pontdebois, the folk near St. Aliquis have gained a much more precise
knowledge of the black art. Magicians usually begin their ceremonies
by creating a magic smoke of various inflammables and spices, also by
burning such fiend-compelling ingredients as the brain of an eagle,
the blood of a black cat, and plenty of hellebore. The smoke thus
created is so dense and foul that uninitiated customers are readily
convinced there are demons rising in the vapor and talking to the
wizard. Thanks to such assistance, the magician, and his even more
sinful wife, the witch, were able to instruct how to find a pot of
gold and how to rob the house of a rich Jew, but especially they could
prepare philters--some of them intended to inspire love and others
hatred. Wives could buy fearful compounds made of substances from "the
three domains of nature"--the entrails of animals, scales of fishes,
parings of nails, human blood, pulverized load-stone, and such powerful
drugs as mandragora--which, if duly brewed and beaten up together, then
put in an unfaithful husband's goblet, would win back his affection.
Other such potions, a little changed, however, would make sworn lovers
separate.
[Sidenote: Methods of Witchcraft]
These dealers in the black art at Pontdebois could also sell magic
rings which had power over demons, thereby protecting the wearer from
sudden death, illness, or dangers of travel, and enabling him to drive
good bargains. The witch and wizard also possessed, undoubtedly, the
"evil eye"--which, if resolutely fixed on an ox or sheep, would cause
it to perish and was almost as dangerous to human beings. However, the
twain were presently ruined (thus showing how fickle a protector is
the devil) because a certain silly nobleman got them to "overcast" a
knightly enemy against whom he lacked the courage to press an honorable
war. After the wizard had burned much incense, the witch had proceeded
to shape a puppet of virgin wax as much like the victim as possible.
Then, with a shameless parody of the baptismal service, she christened
the doll with the name of her patron's enemy. Next the wizard placed
the livers of swallows under the armpits and upon the place where the
heart of the puppet ought to be. Finally, he and his wife pierced the
wax image with red-hot needles, then cast it into a blazing fire,
chanting all the while cabalistic words--probably beseeching the
special help of the devil.[88]
Inevitably, soon after this the knight thus assailed would have
sickened and died had not, by the mercy of God, the whole proceeding
been discovered. The knight was saved by the powerful exorcisms of the
bishop. The wizard--after proper tortures to get confession--was buried
alive. His wife, the witch, was burned. The foolish cavalier who had
plotted murder saved his life, for he had powerful relatives, but was
condemned to go on a pilgrimage to Rome. Certain fatuous women who had
bought love philters were publicly rebuked in the church and spent an
unhappy afternoon in the pillory. Good Christians hope that it will be
a long day before the black art is again practiced so iniquitously in
this part of France.
Nevertheless, there are some forms of divining which the Church counts
as innocent. Any time you desire you can consult the holy books.
With proper prayer and circumspection you should open the Bible at
random and note the tenor of the first passage that meets your eye.
Is it favorable to your condition, or unfavorable? The pious Simon de
Montfort thus consulted the "sacred lots" ere taking the cross for the
Albigensian crusade. Chapters of canons use this method to see what
the omens are concerning a candidate for a bishopric. According to
jongleurs' tales, even popes thus seek for an oracle ere taking any
important step in the government of the Church, although these stories
are wisely doubted. A more precise method of augury is the "_Sortes
Apostolorum_." Fifty-six sentences (expressing sentiments good or bad)
are written on parchment; a string is attached to each and allowed to
protrude while the sentences are covered up. You say a prayer, seize a
string at random, then follow it down to read its sentiment. In this
way the saints and not the devil will reveal the future to you.
Undoubtedly the peasants carry their belief in bad omens or unlucky
actions too far. Conon and Adela laugh heartily at some of their
notions. To avoid bad luck, Georges, when weaning a calf, always pulls
it away from its mother by the tail backward. He never begins plowing
until he has walked thrice around the plow with a lighted candle.
Jeanne never spins or sews on Thursdays or Fridays, lest she make the
Virgin weep. In the springtime a bone from the head of a mare should be
set out in the garden to drive off the caterpillars. Time fails to list
these rustic beliefs; besides, they vary from village to village. But
what peasant has not as many thereof as he has hairs in his head?
[Sidenote: Universal Adoration of Relics]
There is one pious matter shared in alike by great and humble and
highly approved by the Church, although the wiser ecclesiastics
deprecate some of its excesses--the worship of holy relics.
Saints' relics abound. Where is the monastery, church, or even castle
without them? Sometimes they rest in golden caskets in the very place
where the holy personages departed this life. Sometimes they have been
brought from Rome or Palestine by pious pilgrims; very often they come
as gifts. The direct purchase of relics is somewhat sacrilegious,
but you can present a king, duke, or great ecclesiastic with a good
relic just as you give him some hawks or ermine skins--as a reward for
favors past or expected. The Pope is always sending desirable relics
to bishops and abbots whom he wishes to honor; and, as all know, after
the Latins sacked Constantinople in 1204 there was hardly a shrine in
all France which did not get the skull, a few ribs, or even the entire
body of some Eastern saint. The booty in relics in fact, was almost as
important as that of gold and jewels.
Possessing relics is most desirable. Prayers said near them have
extra efficacy. Oaths taken upon their caskets are doubly binding,
but sometimes the holy objects are surreptitiously removed when the
pledge is being given; it is then no perjury to break the promise. In
dealing with slippery individuals one must, therefore, beware. On the
other hand, who is ignorant of the manner in which William the Norman
inveigled Harold the Anglo-Saxon into taking a great oath of fealty?
The slow-witted Englishman swore to the pact, believing the casket on
which he rested his hands contained relics of very inferior worthies,
who could never punish him if he perjured himself; but the instant the
words were said the priests opened the sacred box, showing it full of
the bones of the most powerful saints imaginable. Harold turned pale
with horror, realizing how he had been trapped. When later he broke his
oath, beyond a doubt it was these angered saints who wrought his death
at Hastings.
Good relics also imply a source of income, provided that they are
properly advertised so as to make the church or abbey possessing them a
pilgrimage resort. Sometimes, indeed, one fears lest overzealous monks
exaggerate the miracles wrought by the relics at their abbey church.
The tale runs that when the Abbey of St. Vanne was deeply in debt, the
abbot asserted: "Our debts will all be paid with the red tunic of St.
Vanne (a relic). I never doubt it."
The monks at St. Aliquis are proud of their collection, although by no
means the largest in the region. They have two teeth of the prophet
Amos; hairs of St. Martin and St. Leonard; finger-nail parings of the
martyrs of the Theban legion; bits of the robe of St. Bernard; finger
bones of Saints Saturnin, Sebastian, and of the Patriarch Jacob; a
fifth rib of St. Amond; a skull of one of the Holy Innocents; a chip
of the stone on which Christ stood when He ascended to heaven; the jaw
bone of St. Sixtus; some of the hay from the manger of Bethlehem; and,
last but not least, a fair-sized splinter of the true Cross. The mere
adoration of such things cancels many grievous years in purgatory.
It is advantageous to the whole region to have such a collection. If
there is need of rain, the relics can be carried in procession around
the thirsty country and relief is sure to follow. If there is a public
assembly, the holy relics can be brought in before the contending
knights or burghers--wise counsels will ensue. If you are going on a
journey, a visit to a shrine with such relics almost guarantees a safe
return. We have already seen how Conon (as did other knights) kept
certain relics always in his sword hilt, to confirm his oaths and to
lend efficacy to his actions.
[Sidenote: Contests Over Relics]
The enormous value of such sacred things often makes them the booty
of thieves. Thus in 1219 a band of robbers stole the remains of St.
Leocadia from the Abbey of Vic, and when pursued cast the holy bones
into the Aisne, whence they were rescued with serious difficulty.
We need not multiply records of similar crimes. Profligate noblemen
will sometimes seize and keep very sacred relics in their castles, as
talismans against long-delayed justice.
Not less miraculous is the manner in which the relics have been
preserved when less sacred objects have been lost. This is, indeed, a
divine mystery, not lightly to be inquired into. When, however, two
identical relics of the same saint are displayed in France, how are
worldly questionings to be silenced? For surely the holy men of old
had only one head and two arms apiece. Not long since, the monks of
St. Étienne exhibited a skull of St. Denis. But the monks of St. Denis
claimed _they_ had the skull of their own patron saint already. What
lack of charity ensued! The backbiting did not cease till the great
Pope Innocent III tactfully silenced the controversy without actually
deciding which relic was the more authentic. Many say that such relics
can miraculously duplicate themselves--so that _all_ are equally
genuine; and undoubtedly God has worked far greater wonders than this.
Nevertheless, such is the sinfulness of men that spurious relics are
often imposed upon the faithful. Good churchmen do zealous work in
exposing these sacrilegious frauds. Not long since, Father Grégoire had
Conon give a terrific flogging to a pretended pilgrim who was trying
to sell the credulous peasants "a bit of the sail of St. Peter's boat
and a feather of the Angel Gabriel." It is more serious when a spurious
shrine is set up. Near Lyons recently the peasant women insisted in
venerating "the tomb of St. Guinefort." It was discovered to be only
the spot where a lady had buried a favorite greyhound. In another
case, many years ago, the great St. Martin found near Tours a chapel
where the people worshiped a supposed martyr. The saint stood on the
sepulcher and prayed, "Reveal unto me who is really here!" Soon a dark
form arose and the specter confessed to Martin: "I am a robber. My soul
is in hell, but my body is in this sepulcher." The saint, therefore,
destroyed the chapel, and saved many from wasting their prayers and
substance.
It is a dangerous business, however, to be over-skeptical concerning
popular relics. Even great churchmen, such as the late Bishop
of Orléans, are liable to be mobbed if they call an alleged and
much-venerated skull of St. Génevieve "the head of some old woman"--as
once did that astute prelate. Nevertheless, the authorities try to
do their duty. Pope Innocent III has issued a formal warning to the
French clergy against accepting spurious relics, and the monks of every
monastery never hesitate to dispute the authenticity of almost every
kind of a relic provided only it is deposited in a neighboring and
rival abbey!
[Sidenote: "Translations" of Relics]
If, however, relics are genuine, it is impossible to exaggerate their
desirability. They are produced on numerous holidays; and often a
special holiday is proclaimed when they are "translated." Then you
may see the relics of some saint being carried through the streets of
a village or town, the holy objects themselves borne in their golden
boxes under a canopy, accompanied by all the local clergy, with perhaps
the barons and the duke of the entire region being allowed to assist
the highest prelates in carrying or at least in escorting the sacred
casket.
Thus has been explained certain features of the religion of the
laity, humble and exalted. At length we can approach one of those
great institutions which have built up the strength of Catholic
Christianity. A league from the castle lies the other great center for
the countryside--the monastery of St. Aliquis.
FOOTNOTES:
[84] In the well-known romance of _Aucassin and Nicolette_, Aucassin
complains that if he cannot have his beloved he cares not to go to
paradise. "For there go those aged priests, and those old cripples
and the maimed, who, all day long and all night long, cough before
the altars ... who are naked and barefoot and full of sores.... _But
to hell will I go!_ For to hell go the fair clerks and the great
warriors.... And there go the fair and courteous ladies, who have
friends, two or three together with their wedded lords!" This was
blasphemous enough, but it was not atheistical.
[85] This was very much like the penance imposed on Henry II after the
murder of Thomas à Becket at Canterbury.
[86] These plays might be guild or even civic affairs, with the secular
element predominating among the actors.
[87] His real "wisdom" probably lay in a superior knowledge of
mathematics.
[88] This wizard and witch evidently used almost exactly the same means
to "overcast" their victim as did Robert of Artois' wizard, when (in
1328) that great nobleman tried to destroy his aunt Mahaut.