The Lord Philip, archbishop of Ravenna, took this Brother Vita into his retinue when he went as legate to the patriarchates of Aquileia and Grado, to the cities of Ragusa, Ravenna, Milan, Genoa, and their dioceses and provinces, and in general, to Lombardy, the Romagna, and the mark of Treviso. He took him, moreover, because he was from his own country, and because he was a Friar Minor, and finally because he knew how to sing and to compose so admirably. He died in Milan, and was buried in the convent of the Friars Minor. He was a slender and elegant man, taller than Brother Henry. His voice was more suitable for the chamber than for the choir. He often left the order, and often returned; in between times he joined the Benedictine order. And when he wanted to return, Pope Gregory IX always dealt gently with him, for love of the holy Francis and for the sweetness of his song. Once, for example, he sang so enchantingly that a nun who heard him threw herself from her window, in order to follow him. But she could not do this, for she broke her leg in the fall. ... This was no such listening as is written in the last chapter of the Song of Songs, “Thou that dwellest in the gardens, the friends hearken: make me hear thy voice.”
From Chronicle, F. Bernini, ed.; trans. M.M.M.
An Orchestra of the Fourteenth Century
GUILLAUME DE MACHAUT
Fourteenth century
AFTERWARDS all came into the hall which was not ugly or dull, where each was, in my opinion, honoured and served both with wine and meat as his body and appetite demanded. And there I took my sustenance by looking at the countenance, the condition, the carriage, and the bearing of her in whom is all my joy. But here come the musicians after eating, without mishap, combed and dressed up! There they made many different harmonies. For I saw there all in one circle viol, rebec, gittern, lute, micanon, citole, and the psaltery, harp, tabor, trumpets, nakers, organs, horns, more than ten pairs, bagpipes [cornemuses], flutes [flajos], bagpipes [chevrettes], krumhorns, cymbals, bells, timbrel, the Bohemian flute [la flaüste brehaingne], and the big German cornet, flutes [flajos de saus], flute [fistule], pipe, bagpipe [muse d’Aussay], little trumpet, buzines, panpipes, monochord where there is only one string, and bagpipe [muse de blef] all together. And certainly, it seems to me that such a melody was never seen or heard, for each of them, according to the tune of his instrument, without discord, viol, gittern, citole, harp, trumpet, horn. flute, pipe, bellows [?souffle], bagpipe, nakers, tabor, and whatever one can do with finger, feather, and bow, I have seen and heard on this floor.
From “Remède de Fortune,” in Œuvres, E. Hoepffner, ed. (Paris: Firmin Didot, 1911); trans. J.B.R.
The Mirror of History
A Philosophy of History
OTTO OF FREISING
Twelfth century
IN PONDERING long and often in my heart upon the changes and vicissitudes of temporal affairs and their varied and irregular issues, even as I hold that a wise man ought by no means to cleave to the things of time, so I find that it is by the faculty of reason alone that one must escape and find release from them. For it is the part of a wise man not to be whirled about after the manner of a revolving wheel, but through the stability of his powers to be firmly fashioned as a thing four-square. Accordingly, since things are changeable and can never be at rest, what man in his right mind will deny that the wise man ought, as I have said, to depart from them to that city which stays at rest and abides to all eternity? This is the City of God, the heavenly Jerusalem, for which the children of God sigh while they are set in this land of sojourn, oppressed by the turmoil of the things of time as if they were oppressed by the Babylonian captivity. For, inasmuch as there are two cities—the one of time, the other of eternity; the one of the earth, earthy, the other of heaven, heavenly; the one of the devil, the other of Christ—ecclesiastical writers have declared that the former is Babylon, the latter Jerusalem.
But, whereas many of the Gentiles have written much regarding one of these cities, to hand down to posterity the great exploits of men of old (the many evidences of their merits, as they fancied), they have yet left to us the task of setting forth what, in the judgment of our writers, is rather the tale of human miseries....
In those writings the discerning reader will be able to find not so much histories as pitiful tragedies made up of mortal woes. We believe that this has come to pass by what is surely a wise and proper dispensation of the Creator, in order that, whereas men in their folly desire to cleave to earthly and transitory things, they may be frightened away from them by their own vicissitudes, if by nothing else, so as to be directed by the wretchedness of this fleeting life from the creature to a knowledge of the Creator. But we, set down as it were at the end of time, do not so much read of the miseries of mortals in the books of the writers named above as find them for ourselves in consequence of the experiences of our own time. For, to pass over other things, the empire of the Romans, which in Daniel is compared to iron on account of its sole lordship—monarchy, the Greeks call it —over the whole world, a world subdued by war, has in consequence of so many fluctuations and changes, particularly in our day, become, instead of the noblest and the foremost, almost the last....
For being transferred from the City [Rome] to the Greeks, from the Greeks to the Franks, from the Franks to the Lombards, from the Lombards again to the German Franks, that empire not only became decrepit and senile through lapse of time, but also, like a once smooth pebble that has been rolled this way and that by the waters, contracted many a stain and developed many a defect. The world’s misery is exhibited, therefore, even in the case of the chief power in the world, and Rome’s fall foreshadows the dissolution of the whole structure.
But what wonder if human power is changeable, seeing that even mortal wisdom is prone to slip? We read that in Egypt there was so great wisdom that, as Plato states, the Egyptians called the philosophers of the Greeks childish and immature.... And yet Babylon the great, not only renowned for wisdom, but also “the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chaldeans’ pride,” has become, in the words of the prophecy of Isaiah, without hope of restoration, a shrine of owls, a house of serpents and of ostriches, the lurking-place of creeping things. Egypt too is said to be in large measure uninhabitable and impassable. The careful student of history will find that learning was transferred from Egypt to the Greeks, then to the Romans, and finally to the Gauls and the Spaniards. And so it is to be observed that all human power or learning had its origin in the East, but is coming to an end in the West, that thereby the transitoriness and decay of all things human may be displayed. This, by God’s grace, we shall show more fully in what follows.
Since, then, the changeable nature of the world is proved by this and like evidence, I thought it necessary, my dear brother Isingrim, in response to your request, to compose a history whereby through God’s favour I might display the miseries of the citizens of Babylon and also the glory of the kingdom of Christ to which the citizens of Jerusalem are to look forward with hope, and of which they are to have a foretaste even in this life. I have undertaken therefore to bring down as far as our own time, according to the ability that God has given me, the record of the conflicts and miseries of the one city, Babylon; and furthermore, not to be silent concerning our hopes regarding that other city, so far as I can gather hints from the Scriptures, but to make mention also of its citizens who are now sojourning in the worldly city. In this work I follow most of all those illustrious lights of the Church, Augustine and Orosius, and have planned to draw from their fountains what is pertinent to my theme and my purpose. The one of these has discoursed most keenly and eloquently on the origin and the progress of the glorious City of God and its ordained limits, setting forth how it has ever spread among the citizens of the world, and showing which of its citizens or princes stood forth pre-eminent in the various epochs of the princes or citizens of the world. The other, in answer to those who, uttering vain babblings, preferred the former times to Christian times, has composed a very valuable history of the fluctuations and wretched issues of human gr
eatness, the wars and the hazards of wars, and the shifting of thrones, from the foundation of the world down to his own time. Following in their steps I have undertaken to speak of the two cities in such a way that we shall not lose the thread of history, that the devout reader may observe what is to be avoided in mundane affairs by reason of the countless miseries wrought by their unstable character, and that the studious and painstaking investigator may find a record of past happenings free from all obscurity....
For it is not because of indiscretion or frivolity, but out of devotion, which always knows how to excuse ignorance, that I, though I am without proper training, have ventured to undertake so arduous a task. Nor can anyone rightfully accuse me of falsehood in matters which—compared with the customs of the present time —will appear incredible, since down to the days still fresh in our memory I have recorded nothin? save what I found in the writings of trustworthy men, and then only a few instances out of many. For I should never hold the view that these men are to be held in contempt if certain of them have preserved in their writings the apostolic simplicity, for, as overshrewd subtlety sometimes kindles error, so a devout rusticity is ever the friend of truth.
As we are about to speak, then, concerning the sorrow-burdened insecurity of the one city and the blessed permanence of the other, let us call upon God, who endures with patience the turbulence and confusion of this world, and by the vision of Himself augments and glorifies the joyous peace of that other city, to the end that by His aid we may be able to say the things which are pleasing to Him....
But when the Lord wished His city to spread abroad and to be extended from that people [the Jews] to all nations, He permitted the realm to be weakened under pressure of the people’s sins, and the people itself to be led into captivity. But among the nations which He was to summon to faith in Himself, He established the sovereignty of the Romans to rule over the rest. When this had reached its fullest development and the pinnacle of power, He willed that His Son Christ should appear in the flesh.... So then the Lord, transferring His city from that people to the Gentiles, willed that they should first be humbled, despised, and afflicted by many misfortunes—even as it is written, “He scourgeth every son whom He receiveth.” But because scourgings, when they exceed due measure, break the spirit rather than heal it (as medicines taken to excess), at the proper time, as I have said before, He exalted His forsaken and humbled Church. That it might therefore become more tranquil with respect to the promised heavenly kingdom, He bestowed upon it the greatest temporal power possessed by any realm. And thus as I have said the City of God, increasing gradually, reached its pinnacle and undivided authority. And observe that before His incarnation His city was not honoured to the full, but that afterwards, when He had risen to the skies with the body He had assumed and had, so to say, accepted His throne, [then] according to the parable He exalted His kingdom, which is the Church, to the highest dignity—than which there is nothing loftier on earth—that hereby He might reveal Himself to the citizens of the world as not only the God of heaven but also as Lord of the earth, and that through the prosperity of this land of our sojourn He might teach His citizens that the delights of their own country were eagerly to be sought ...
Furthermore, enough has been said above, I think, regarding the two cities: how one made progress, first by remaining hidden in the other until the coming of Christ, after that by advancing gradually to the time of Constantine. But after Constantine, when troubles from without had finally ceased, it began to be grievously troubled at the instigation of the devil by internal strife even to the time of the Elder Theodosius; Arius was the author of this and the lords of the world, the Augusti, were his coadjutors. But from that time on, since not only all the people but also the emperors (except a few) were orthodox Catholics, I seem to myself to have composed a history not of two cities but virtually of one only, which I call the Church. For although the elect and the reprobate are in one household, yet I cannot call these cities two as I did above; I must call them properly but one—composite, however, as the grain is mixed with the chaff. Wherefore in the books that follow let us pursue the course of history which we have begun. Since not only emperors of the Romans but also other kings (kings of renowned realms) became Christians, inasmuch as the sound of the word of God went out into all the earth and unto the ends of the world, the City of Earth was laid to rest and destined to be utterly exterminated in the end; hence our history is a history of the City of Christ, but that city, so long as it is in the land of sojourn, is “like unto a net, that was cast into the sea,” containing the good and the bad. However, the faithless city of unbelieving Jews and Gentiles still remains, but, since nobler kingdoms have been won by our people, while these unbelieving Jews and Gentiles are insignificant not only in the sight of God but even in that of the world, hardly anything done by these unbelievers is found to be worthy of record or to be handed on to posterity.
From The Two Cities, trans. C. C. Mierow (New York: Columbia University Press, 1928).
The Problems and Motives of the Historian
WILLIAM OF TYRE
Twelfth century
THAT it is an arduous task, fraught with many risks and perils, to write of the deeds of kings no wise man can doubt. To say nothing of the toil, the never-ending application, and the constant vigilance which works of this nature always demand, a double abyss inevitably yawns before the writer of history. It is only with the greatest difficulty that he avoids one or the other, for, while he is trying to escape Charybdis, he usually falls into the clutches of Scylla, who, surrounded by her dogs, understands equally well how to bring about disaster. For either he will kindle the anger of many persons against him while he is in pursuit of the actual facts of achievements; or, in the hope of rousing less resentment, he will be silent about the course of events, wherein, obviously, he is not without fault. For to pass over the actual truth of events and conceal the facts intentionally is well recognized as contrary to the duty of a historian. But to fail in one’s duty is unquestionably a fault, if indeed duty is truly defined as “the fitting conduct of each individual, in accordance with the customs and institutions of his country.” On the other hand, to trace out a succession of events without changing them or deviating from the rule of truth is a course which always excites wrath; for, as says the old proverb, “Compliance wins friends; truth, hatred.” As a result, historians either fall short of the duty of their profession by showing undue deference, or, while eagerly seeking the truth of a matter, they must needs endure hatred, of which truth herself is the mother. Thus all too commonly, these two courses are wont to be opposed to one another and to become equally troublesome by the insistent demands which they make....
As for those who, in the desire to flatter, deliberately weave untruths into their record of history, the conduct of such writers is looked upon as so detestable that they ought not to be regarded as belonging to the rank of historians. For, if to conceal the true facts about achievements is wrong and falls far short of a writer’s duty, it will certainly be regarded as a much more serious sin to mingle untruth with truth and to hand to a trusting posterity as verity that which is essentially untrue.
In addition to these risks, the writer of history usually meets with an equal or even more formidable difficulty, which he should endeavour to avoid in so far as in him lies. It is, namely, that the lofty dignity of historical events may suffer loss through feeble presentation and lack of eloquence. For the style of his discourse ought to be on the same high plane as are the deeds which he is relating. Nor should the language and spirit of the writer fall below the nobility of his subject.
It is greatly to be feared, therefore, that the grandeur of the theme may be impaired by faulty handling and that deeds which are of intrinsic value and importance in themselves may appear insignificant and trivial through fault in the narration. For, as the distinguished orator remarks in the first Tusculan Disputation, “To commit one’s thoughts to writing without being able to arrange them w
ell, present them clearly, or attract the reader by any charm is the act of a man who foolishly abuses literature and his own leisure.” ...
In view of the many dangerous complications and pitfalls attending this task, it would have been far safer if I had remained silent. I ought to have held my peace and forced my pen to rest. But an insistent love of my country [the kingdom of Jerusalem] urges me on, and for her, if the needs of the time demand, a man of loyal instincts is bound to lay down his life. She spurs me on, I repeat, and with that authority which belongs to her imperiously commands that those things which have been accomplished by her during the course of almost a century be not buried in silence and allowed to fall into undeserved oblivion. On the contrary, she bids me preserve them for the benefit of posterity by the diligent use of my pen.
Accordingly we have obeyed her behest and have put our hand to a task which we cannot with honour refuse. We care but little what the criticism of posterity concerning us may be, or what verdict may be given as to our feeble style of writing while dealing with a subject so noble....
Wearied by the sad disasters which are occurring in the kingdom so frequently—indeed, almost continually—we had resolved to abandon the pen and commit to the silence of the tomb the chronicle of events which we had undertaken to write for posterity. For there is no one who is not reluctant to recount the failings of his country and to bring forth into the light the faults of his own people. It has come to be almost habitual among men, and indeed is regarded as natural, that each one should strive with all his might to extol his own land and not disparage the good fame of his fellow-countrymen.
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