by Will Durant
Chilperic is described to us as “the Nero and Herod of our time,” ruthless, murderous, lecherous, gluttonous, greedy for gold. Gregory of Tours, our sole authority for this portrait, partly explains it by making him also the Frederick II of his age. Chilperic, he tells us, scoffed at the idea of three persons in one God, and at the conception of God as like a man; held scandalous discussions with Jews; protested against the wealth of the Church and the political activity of the bishops; annulled wills made in favor of churches; sold bishoprics to the highest bidders; and tried to remove Gregory himself from the see of Tours.51 The poet Fortunatus described the same king as a synthesis of virtues, a just and genial ruler, a Cicero of eloquence; but Chilperic had rewarded Fortunatus’ verse.52
Chilperic was stabbed to death in 584, possibly by an agent of Brunhilda. He left an infant son, Chlotar II, in whose stead Fredegunda ruled Neustria with as much skill, perfidy, and cruelty as any man of the time. She sent a young cleric to kill Brunhilda; when he returned unsuccessful she had his hands and feet cut off; but these items too are from Gregory.53 Meanwhile the nobles of Austrasia, encouraged by Chlotar II, raised revolt after revolt against the imperious Brunhilda; she controlled them as well as she could by diplomacy tempered with assassination; finally they deposed her, aged eighty, tortured her for three days, tied her by hair, hand, and foot to the tail of a horse, and lashed the horse to flight (614). Chlotar II inherited all three kingdoms, and the Frank realm was again one.
From this red chronicle we may exaggerate the barbarism that darkened Gaul hardly a century after the urbane and polished Sidonius; men must find some substitute for elections. The unifying work of Clovis was undone by his descendants, as that of Charlemagne would be; but at least government continued, and not all Gauls could afford the polygamy and brutality of their kings. The apparent autocracy of the monarch was limited by the power of jealous nobles; he rewarded their services in administration and war with estates on which they were practically sovereign; and on these great demesnes began the feudalism that would fight the French monarchy for a thousand years. Serfdom grew, and slavery received a new lease of life from new wars. Industry passed from the towns to the manors; the towns shrank in size, and fell under the control of the feudal lords; commerce was still active, but hindered by unstable currencies, highway brigandage, and the rise of feudal tolls. Famine and pestilence fought successfully against the eager reproductiveness of men.
The Frank chieftains intermarried with what remained of the Gallo-Roman senatorial class, and generated the aristocracy of France. It was in these centuries a nobility of force, relishing war, scorning letters, proud of its long beards and silken robes, and almost as polygamous as any Moslem save Mohammed. Seldom has an upper class shown such contempt for morality. Conversion to Christianity had no effect upon them; Christianity seemed to them merely an expensive agency of rule and popular pacification; and in “the triumph of barbarism and religion” barbarism dominated for five centuries. Assassination, patricide, fratricide, torture, mutilation, treachery, adultery, and incest mitigated the boredom of rule. Chilperic, we are told, ordered every joint in Sigila the Goth to be burned with white-hot irons, and each limb to be torn from its socket.54 Charibert had as mistresses two sisters, one a nun; Dagobert (628–39) had three wives at once. Sexual excesses perhaps accounted for the exceptional sterility of the Merovingian kings: of Clovis’ four sons only Chlotar had issue; of Chlotar’s four sons only one had a child. The kings married at fifteen, and were exhausted at thirty; many of them died before the age of twenty-eight.55 By 614 the Merovingian house had spent its energy, and was ready to be replaced.
Amid this chaos education barely survived. By 600 literacy had become a luxury of the clergy. Science was almost extinct. Medicine remained, for we hear of court physicians; but among the people magic and prayer seemed better than drugs. Gregory, Bishop of Tours (538?–94), denounced as sinful the use of medicine instead of religion as a means of curing illness. In his own sickness he sent for a physician, but soon dismissed him as ineffectual; then he drank a glass of water containing dust from St. Martin’s tomb, and was completely cured.56 Gregory himself was the chief prose writer of his time. He knew personally several Merovingian kings, and occasionally served as their emissaries; his History of the Franks is a crude, disorderly, prejudiced, superstitious, and vivid firsthand account of the later Merovingian age. His Latin is corrupt, vigorous, direct; he apologizes for his bad grammar, and hopes that sins of grammar will not be punished on Judgment Day.57 He accepts miracles and prodigies with the trustful imagination of a child or the genial shrewdness of a bishop; “we shall mingle together in our tale the miraculous doings of the saints and the slaughters of the nations.”58 In 587, he assures us, snakes fell from the sky, and a village with all its buildings and inhabitants suddenly disappeared.59 He denounces everything in anyone guilty of unbelief or of injury to the Church; but he accepts without flinching the barbarities, treacheries, and immoralities of the Church’s faithful sons. His prejudices are frank, and can be easily discounted. The final impression is one of engaging simplicity.
After him the literature of Gaul becomes predominantly religious in content, barbarous in language and form—with one shining exception. Venantius Fortunatus (c. 530–610) was born in Italy and educated at Ravenna; at thirty-five he moved to Gaul, wrote lauds for its bishops and queens, and developed a platonic affection for Radegunda, wife of the first Chlotar. When she founded a convent Fortunatus became a priest, her chaplain, and finally bishop of Poitiers. He wrote pretty poems in honor of potentates and saints; twenty-nine to Gregory of Tours; a life of St. Martin in heroic verse; above all, some sonorous hymns, of which one, Pange lingua, inspired Thomas Aquinas to a similar theme and still higher performance, while another, Vexilia regis, became a lasting part of Catholic liturgy. He mingled feeling admirably with poetic skill; reading his fresh and genial lines we discover the existence of kindliness, sincerity, and the tenderest sentiment amid the royal brutalities of the Merovingian age.
IV. VISIGOTHIC SPAIN: 456–711
In 420, as we have seen, the Visigoths of Gaul recaptured Spain from the Vandals, and returned it to Rome. But Rome could not defend it; eighteen years later the Suevi emerged from their hills in the northwest, and overran the peninsula. The Visigoths under Theodoric II (456) and Euric (466) came down again across the Pyrenees, reconquered most of Spain, and this time kept the country as their own. A Visigothic dynasty ruled Spain thereafter till the coming of the Moors.
At Toledo the new monarchy built a splendid capital and gathered an opulent court. Athanagild (564–7) and Leovigild (568–86) were strong rulers, who defeated Frank invaders in the north and Byzantine armies in the south; it was the wealth of Athanagild that won for his daughters the privilege of being murdered as Frank queens. In 589 King Recared changed his faith, and that of most Visigoths in Spain, from Arian to orthodox Christianity; perhaps he had read the history of Alaric II. The bishops now became the chief support of the monarchy, and the chief power in the state; by their superior education and organization they dominated the nobles who sat with them in the ruling councils of Toledo; and though the king’s authority was theoretically absolute, and he chose the bishops, these councils elected him, and exacted pledges of policy in advance. Under the guidance of the clergy a system of laws was promulgated (634) which was the most competent and least tolerant of all the barbarian codes. It improved procedure by weighing the evidence of witnesses rather than the character certificates of friends; it applied the same laws to Romans and Visigoths alike, and established the principle of equality before the law.60 But it rejected freedom of worship, demanded orthodox Christianity of all inhabitants, and sanctioned a long and bitter persecution of the Spanish Jews.
Through the influence of the Church, which retained Latin in her sermons and liturgy, the Visigoths, within a century after their conquest of Spain, forgot their Germanic speech, and corrupted the Latin of the peninsula into the masculine
power and feminine beauty of the Spanish tongue. Monastic and episcopal schools provided education, mostly ecclesiastical but partly classical; and academies rose at Vaclara, Toledo, Saragossa, and Seville. Poetry was encouraged, drama was denounced as obscene—which it was. The only name surviving from the literature of Gothic Spain is that of Isidore of Seville (c. 560–636). An edifying legend tells how a Spanish lad, reproved for mental sluggishness, ran away from home, and, tired with wandering, sat down by a well. His eye was caught by the deep furrow in a stone at the edge; a passing maiden explained that the furrow was worn by the attrition of the rope that lowered and raised the bucket. “If,” said Isidore to himself, “by daily use the soft rope could penetrate the stone, surely perseverance could overcome the dullness of my brain.” He returned to his father’s house, and became the learned Bishop of Seville.61 Actually we know little of his life. Amid the chores of a conscientious cleric he found time to write half a dozen books. Perhaps as an aid to memory he compiled through many years a medley of passages, on all subjects, from pagan and Christian authors; his friend Braulio, Bishop of Saragossa, urged him to publish these excerpts; yielding, he transformed them into one of the most influential books of the Middle Ages—Etymologiarum sive originum libri xx (Twenty Books of Etymologies or Origins)—now a volume of 900 octavo pages. It is an encyclopedia, but not alphabetically arranged; it deals successively with grammar, rhetoric, and logic as the “trivium”; then with arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy as the “quadrivium”; then with medicine, law, chronology, theology, anatomy, physiology, zoology, cosmography, physical geography, architecture, surveying, mineralogy, agriculture, war, sports, ships, costumes, furniture, domestic utensils …; and under each topic it defines, and seeks the origin of, the basic terms. Man, we learn, is called homo because God made him from the earth (humus); the knees are genua because in the foetus they lie opposite the cheeks (genae).62 Isidore was an industrious, if indiscriminate, scholar; he knew considerable Greek, was familiar with Lucretius (rarely mentioned in the Middle Ages), and preserved in extracts many passages of pagan literature that would otherwise have been lost. His work is a farrago of weird etymologies, incredible miracles, fanciful allegorical interpretations of the Scriptures, science and history distorted to prove moral principles, and factual errors that a little observation would have set straight. His book stands as a lasting monument to the ignorance of his time.
Of the arts in Visigothic Spain almost nothing remains. Apparently Toledo, Italica, Cordova, Granada, Merida, and other cities had fine churches, palaces, and public buildings, designed in classic styles but distinguished by Christian symbols and Byzantine ornament.63 In the palaces and cathedral of Toledo, according to Arab historians, Arab conquerors found twenty-five gold and jeweled crowns; an illuminated Psalter written upon gold leaf with ink made of melted rubies; tissues inwoven, armor inlaid, swords and daggers studded, vases filled, with jewelry; and an emerald table inwrought with silver and gold—one of many costly gifts of the Visigothic rich to their protective Church.
Under the Visigothic regime the exploitation of the simple or unfortunate by the clever or the strong continued as under other governmental forms. Princes and prelates united in a majesty of secular or religious ceremonies, tabus, and terrors to subdue the passions, and quiet the thoughts, of the populace. Property was concentrated in the hands of a few; the great gulf between rich and poor, between Christian and Jew, divided the nation into three states; and when the Arabs came, the poor and the Jews connived at the overthrow of a monarchy and a Church that had ignored their poverty or oppressed their faith.
In 708, on the death of the feeble king Witiza, the aristocracy refused the throne to his children, but gave it to Roderick. The sons of Witiza fled to Africa, and asked the aid of Moorish chieftains. The Moors made some tentative raids upon the Spanish coast, found Spain divided and almost defenseless, and in 711 came over in fuller force. The armies of Tariq and Roderick joined battle on the shores of Lake Janda in the province of Cadiz; part of the Visigothic forces went over to the Moors; Roderick disappeared. The victorious Moslems advanced to Seville, Cordova, Toledo; several towns opened their gates to the invaders. The Arab general Musa established himself in the capital (713), and announced that Spain now belonged to the prophet Mohammed and the caliph of Damascus.
V. OSTROGOTHIC ITALY: 493–536
1. Theodoric
When Attila’s empire crumbled at his death (453) the Ostrogoths whom he had subdued regained their independence. The Byzantine emperors paid them to drive other German barbarians westward, rewarded them with Pannonia, and took Theodoric, the seven-year-old son of their King Theodemir, to Constantinople as a hostage for Ostrogothic fidelity. In eleven years at the Byzantine court Theodoric acquired intelligence without education, absorbed the arts of war and government, but apparently never learned to write.64 He won the admiration of the Emperor Leo I; and when Theodemir died (475), Leo recognized Theodoric as king of the Ostrogoths.
Leo’s successor Zeno, fearful that Theodoric might trouble Byzantium, suggested to him the conquest of Italy. Odoacer had formally acknowledged, actually ignored, the Eastern emperors; Theodoric, Zeno hoped, might bring Italy back under Byzantine rule; in any case the two leaders of dangerous tribes would amuse each other while Zeno studied theology. Theodoric liked—some say propounded—the idea. As Zeno’s patricius he led the Ostrogoths, including 20,000 warriors, across the Alps (488). The orthodox bishops of Italy, disliking Odoacer’s Arianism, supported the Arian invader as representing an almost orthodox emperor. With their help Theodoric broke Odoacer’s sturdy resistance in five years of war, and persuaded him to a compromise peace. He invited Odoacer and his son to dine with him at Ravenna, fed them generously, and slew them with his own hand (493). So treacherously began one of the most enlightened reigns in history.
A few campaigns brought under Theodoric’s rule the western Balkans, southern Italy, and Sicily. He maintained a formal subordination to Byzantium, struck coins only in the emperor’s name, and wrote with due deference to the Senate that still sat in Rome. He took the title of rex or king; but this term, once so hateful to Romans, was now generally applied to rulers of regions that acknowledged the sovereignty of Byzantium. He accepted the laws and institutions of the late Western Empire, zealously protected its monuments and forms, and devoted his energy and intelligence to restoring orderly government and economic prosperity among the people whom he had conquered. He confined his Goths to police and military service, and quieted their grumbling with ample pay; administration and the courts remained in Roman hands. Two thirds of the soil of Italy was left to the Roman population, one third was distributed among the Goths; even so not all the arable land was tilled. Theodoric ransomed Roman captives from other nations, and settled them as peasant proprietors in Italy. The Pontine Marshes were drained, and returned to cultivation and health. Believing in a regulated economy, Theodoric issued an “Edict Concerning Prices to be Maintained at Ravenna”; we do not know what prices were decreed; we are told that the cost of food, in Theodoric’s reign, was one third lower than before;65 but this may have been due less to regulation than to peace. He reduced governmental personnel and salaries, ended state subsidies to the Church, and kept taxes low. His revenues nevertheless sufficed to repair much of the damage that invaders had done to Rome and Italy, and to erect at Ravenna a modest palace and the churches of Sant’ Apollinare and San Vitale. Verona, Pavia, Naples, Spoleto, and other Italian cities recovered under his rule all the architectural splendor of their brightest days. Though an Arian, Theodoric protected the orthodox Church in her property and worship; and his minister Cassiodorus, a Catholic, phrased in memorable words a policy of religious freedom: “We cannot command religion, for no one can be forced to believe against his will.”66 A Byzantine historian, Procopius, in the following generation, indited an impartial tribute to the “barbarian” king:
Theodoric was exceedingly careful to observe justice … and attained th
e highest degree of wisdom and manliness. … Although in name he was a usurper, yet in fact he was as truly an emperor as any who have distinguished themselves in this office from the beginning of time. Both the Goths and the Romans loved him greatly. … When he died he had not only made himself an object of terror to his enemies, but he also left to his subjects a keen sense of bereavement and lose.67
2. Boethius
In this environment of security and peace Latin literature in Italy had its final fling. Flavius Magnus Aurelius Cassiodorus (480?–573) served as secretary to both Odoacer and Theodoric. At the latter’s suggestion he wrote a History of the Goths,68 which aimed to show supercilious Romans that the Goths, too, had behind them noble ancestors and heroic deeds. Perhaps more objectively Cassiodorus compiled a Chronicon, a chronological history of the world from Adam to Theodoric. At the close of his long political career he published as Variae a collection of his letters and state papers; some a little absurd, some a bit bombastic, many revealing a high level of morals and statesmanship in the minister and his king. About 540, having seen the ruin and fall of both the governments that he had served, he retired to his estate at Squillace in Calabria, founded two monasteries, and lived there as half monk and half grandee till his death at the age of ninety-three. He taught his fellow monks to copy manuscripts, pagan as well as Christian, and provided a special room—the scriptorium—for this work. His example was followed in other religious institutions, and much of our modern treasure of ancient literature is the result of the monastic copying initiated by Cassiodorus. In his last years he composed a textbook—Institutiones divinarum et humanarum lectionum—or Course of Religious and Secular Studies—which boldly defended the Christian reading of pagan literature, and adopted from Martianus Capella that division of the scholastic curriculum into “trivium” and “quadrivium” which became the usual arrangement in medieval education.