"My good husband, with whom I have ever associated without strife;" and she declares regarding her own sorrow: "I have suffered so much anguish for the death of my beloved husband that, stunned by grief, I had well-nigh died of the same wounds!"
"My good husband, with whom I have ever associated without strife;" and she declares regarding her own sorrow: "I have suffered so much anguish for the death of my beloved husband that, stunned by grief, I had well-nigh died of the same wounds!"
As soon as her strength would permit, Joanna summoned a council of her advisers and signed a commission giving Hugh de Balzo full authority to seek out the murderers and punish them. Suspicion at once fell upon Philippa the Catanese, and upon other members of her family, as her hatred of the Hungarians was well known, and her past reputation for intrigue and mystery only added strength to the accusation. Philippa, who, since the death of King Robert, had been created Countess of Montoni, was now more powerful than ever at the court, and seemed to invite the danger which was hanging over her, in the belief that no harm could touch her head. But her calculations went astray, as Balzo appeared one morning at the palace gate, produced evidence incriminating her and her intimates, and dragged them off to prison, where they were put to death in the most approved Neapolitan fashion—with lingering torments and tortures. From that day the character of the young queen underwent a most decided change. Hitherto she had been gay, frank, and confiding, now she became serious and reserved. She had always been gracious and compassionate, and rather the equal than the queen of those about her,—according to Boccaccio's description,—but treachery had come so near to her, and her trusted Philippa had proved so vile a character, that she never after gave her entire confidence to any person, man or woman.
Some two years after the death of Andreas, for reasons of state, she married her second cousin, Louis of Taranto, a brave and handsome prince of whom she had long been fond. But she was not to be allowed to enjoy her newly found happiness in peace, as her domains were soon invaded by Louis, the elder brother of Andreas, who had recently ascended his father's throne as King of Hungary, and who now came to avenge his brother's death and seize Naples by way of indemnity. Joanna, deserted by many of her nobles in these dire straits, and not knowing what to do,—as her husband seems to have played no part in this emergency,—decided upon flight as the only means of safety, and, embarking with her entire household in three galleys, she set sail for Provence, where loyal hearts awaited her coming. There she went at once to Avignon, where Pope Clement VI. was holding his court with the utmost splendor; and in the presence of the pope and all the cardinals, she made answer in her own behalf to the charges which had been made against her by the Hungarian king. Her address, which she had previously composed in Latin, has been called the "most powerful specimen of female oratory" ever recorded in history; and the Hungarian ambassadors, who had been sent to plead against her, were so confounded by her eloquence that they attempted no reply to her defence.
In the meantime, Naples, in the hands of the invaders, had been stained with blood, and then ravaged by the great plague of which Boccaccio has given us a picture. Revolting at length under the harsh measures of the Hungarian governor who had been left in charge by Louis, the Neapolitans expelled him and his followers from the city, and sent an urgent invitation to Joanna to return to her former home. Right gladly was the summons answered, and with a goodly retinue of brave knights who had sworn to die in her service she returned to her people, who welcomed her homecoming with unbounded enthusiasm. Now the court resumed its gayety and animation, and again it became, as in the days of King Robert, a far-famed school of courtesy. Alphonse Daudet gives us a hint of all this in his exquisite short story entitledLa Mule du Pape, where he tells of the young page Tistet Vedene,qui descendait le Rhône en chantant sur une galère papale et s'en allait à la cour de Naples avec la troupe de jeunes nobles que la ville envoyait tous les ans près de la reine Jeanne pour s'exercer à la diplomatie et aux belles manières[who descended the Rhône, singing, upon a papal galley, and went away to the court of Naples with the company of young nobles whom the city (of Avignon) sent every year to Queen Joanna for training in diplomacy and fine manners]. There was further war with the Hungarians, it is true, but peace was established, Sicily was added to Joanna's domain, and there was general tranquillity.
Twice again did Joanna marry, urged to this course by her ministers, but death removed her consort each time, and in the end she was put into captivity by her relative and adopted child, Charles of Durazzo, who had forsaken her to follow the fortunes of the King of Hungary, and who had invaded Naples and put forth a claim to the throne, basing it upon some scheming papal grant which was without legality. Charles had her taken to the castle of Muro, a lonely fortress in the Apennines, some sixty miles from Naples, and there, her spirit of defiance unsubdued, she was murdered by four common soldiers in the latter part of May, 1382, after a reign of thirty-nine years. So came to an end this brilliant queen, the most accomplished woman of her generation, and with her downfall the lamp of learning was dimmed for a time in southern Italy, where the din of arms and the discord of civic strife gave no tranquillity to those who loved the arts of peace.
Near the close of the first half of the fourteenth century, after the terrible ravages of the great plague had abated, the people were prostrate with fear and terrorized by the merciless words of the priests, who had not been slow to declare the pestilence as a mark of the wrath of God and who were utilizing the peculiar possibilities of this psychological moment for the advancement of the interests of the Church. In the churches—the wondrous mediæval structures which were newly built at that time—songs of spasmodic grief like theStabat Mater, or of tragic terror such as theDies iræ, were echoing under the high-vaulted arches, and the fear of God was upon the people. In a great movement of this kind it is but to be expected that women played no little part; their more sensitive natures caused them to be more easily affected than were the men by the threats of everlasting torment which were constantly being made by the priests for the benefit of all those who refused to renounce worldly things and come within the priestly fold. There was a most remarkable show of contrition and penitence at this time, and thousands of persons, men and women of all classes, were so deeply moved that they went about in companies, beating themselves and each other for the glory of God, and singing vociferously their melancholy dirges. These were the Flagellants, and there were crowds of them all over Europe, the number in France alone at this time being estimated at eight hundred thousand. One of the direct results of this state of religious excitement was an increased interest, on the part of women, in religious service, and a renewed desire to devote themselves to a religious life.
The conditions of conjugal life had been such throughout the feudal period that for many years there had been a slowly growing sentiment that marriage was but a manner of self-abandonment to the world, the flesh, and the devil, and many women from time to time were influenced to put away worldly things and seek peace in the protection of some religious order. Tertullian had long before condemned marriage, and Saint Jerome was most bitter against it. The various abuses of the marriage relation were such that those of pure hearts and minds could but pause and ask themselves whether or not this was an ideal arrangement of human life; and, all in all, there was still much to be done by means of educational processes before men and women could lead a life together which might be of mutual advantage to all parties concerned. Still, it must not be supposed that this tendency on the part of women to affiliate themselves with conventual orders was a movement of recent origin.
Since the earliest days of Christianity women had been especially active in the work of the Church, and there were countless martyrs among them even as far back as the time of the Roman persecutions. In the old days of pagan worship they had been allowed their part in religious ceremonies, and with the development of the religious institutions of Christendom this active participation had steadily increased. But, more than this, when it became necessary to withdraw from the corrupt atmosphere of everyday affairs in order to lead a good life, it came to pass that near the dwellings of the first monks and hermits who had sought the desert and solitude for their lives of meditation were to be found shelters for their wives and sisters and daughters who had followed them to their retreats to share in their holy lives.
Slowly, as in the case of the men, the conventual orders for women were formed in these communities and regulated by such rules as seemed best suited to their needs. At the outset it may be stated that celibacy as a prerequisite to admission to such orders was required of women before it was of men; and so in one way the profession of a nun antedates the corresponding profession of a monk, as the idea of an unmarried life had already made much progress in the Christian Church among women before it came into vogue among the men. It may be that the women of that time were inclined to take literally that chapter in Paul's first Epistle to the Corinthians wherein it is said: "There is this difference, also, between a wife and a virgin: the unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit; but she that is married careth for the things of the world, how she may please her husband;" but, however that may be, these orders of unmarried women soon became numerous, and severe were the penalties imposed upon all those who broke the vow of chastity when once it had been made. The consecration of a nun was a most solemn occasion, and the rites had to be administered by a bishop, or by one acting under episcopal authority. The favorite times for the celebration of this ceremony were the great Church festival days in honor of the Apostles, and at Epiphany and Easter. When the nuns were consecrated, a fillet was placed in their hair—a purple ribbon or a slender band of gold—to represent a crown of victory, and the tresses, which were gathered up and tied together, showed the difference between this bride of Christ and a bride of earth, with her hair falling loose about her shoulders after the Roman fashion. Then over all was placed the long, flowing veil, as a sign that the nun belonged to Christ alone.
The ordinary rules of conduct which were prescribed for the inmates of the nunneries resemble in many ways those which were laid down for the men; and those first followed are ascribed to Scholastica, a sister of the great Saint Benedict, who established the order of Benedictines at Monte Cassino about 529; according to popular tradition, this holy woman was esteemed as the foundress of nunneries in Europe. For the regulation of the women's orders Saint Augustine formulated twenty-four rules, which he prescribed should be read every week, and later Saint Benedict revised them and extended them so that there were finally seventy-two rules in addition to the Ten Commandments. The nuns were to obey their superior implicitly, silence and humility were enjoined upon them, head and eyes were to be kept lowered at all times, the hours for going to bed and for rising were fixed, and there were minute regulations regarding prayers, watches, and devotions. Furthermore, they were rarely allowed to go out of their convents, they were to possess nothing of their own, mirrors were not tolerated, being conducive to personal vanity, and the luxury of a bath was granted only in case of sickness.
As with the ordinary rules of conduct, so the ordinary routine of daily life in a nunnery corresponded to that of a monastery. Hour by hour, there was the same periodical rotation of work and religious service, with short intervals at fixed times for rest or food. The usual occupation in the earliest times had to do with the carding and spinning of wool, and Saint Jerome, with his characteristic earnestness, advises the nuns to have the wool ever in their hands. Saint Augustine gives us the picture of a party of nuns standing at the door of their convent and handing out the woollen garments which they have made for the old monks who are standing there waiting to receive them, with food to give to the nuns in exchange. The simplicity of this scene recalls the epitaph which is said to have been written in honor of a Roman housewife who lived in the simple days of the Republic: "She stayed at home and spun wool!" Somewhat later the nuns were called upon to furnish the elegantly embroidered altar cloths which were used in the churches, and, still later, in some places girls' schools were established in the convents.
In the eleventh century, the successful struggle which had been made by Gregory VII., with the aid of the Countess Matilda, for the principle of papal supremacy exerted a marked influence upon the religious life of the time and gave an undoubted impetus to the idea of conventual life for women, as during this period many new cloisters were established. It will be readily understood that the deeds of the illustrious Tuscan countess had been held up more than once to the gaze of the people of Italy as worthy of their emulation, and many women were unquestionably induced in this way to give their lives to the Church. In the Cistercian order alone there were more than six thousand cloisters for women by the middle of the twelfth century.
It was during this same eleventh century, when a woman had helped to strengthen the power of the Church, that the influence of the Madonna—of Mary, the mother of Christ—began to make a profound impression upon the form of worship. A multitude of Latin hymns may be found which were written in honor of the Virgin as far back as the fifth century, and in the mediæval romances of chivalry, which were so often tinged with religious mysticism, she often appears as the Empress and Queen of Heaven. All through the mediæval period, in fact, there was a constant endeavor to prove that the Old Testament contained allusions to Mary, and, with this in view, Albertus Magnus put together aMarienbibelin the twelfth century, and Bonaventura edited aMarienpsalter. Therein, the gates of Paradise, Noah's ark, Jacob's ladder, the ark of the Covenant, Aaron's rod, Solomon's throne, and many other things, were held up as examples and foreshadowings of the coming of the Blessed Virgin; and in the sermons, commentaries, and homilies of the time the same ideas were continually emphasized. A collection of the Latin appellations which were bestowed upon the Madonna during this time contains the following terms, which reveal the fervor and temper of the age:Dei genitrix,virgo virginum,mater Christi,mater divinæ gratiæ,mater potens,speculum justitiæ,vas spirituale,rosa mystica,turris davidica,domus aurea,janua cœli,regina peccatorum,regina apostolorum,consolatrix afflictorum, andregina sanctorum omnium.
The Benedictines had consecrated themselves to the service of Mary since the time of the Crusades, and, beginning with the eleventh century, many religious orders and brotherhoods were organized in honor of Mary. The Order of the Knights of the Star was founded in 1022, and the Knights of the Lily were organized in 1048. About the middle of the twelfth century the Order of the Holy Maid of Evora and that of the Knights of Alcantara were established, and others followed. In 1149 Pope Celestine III. chartered the Order of the Holy Virgin, for the service of a hospital in Siena; in 1218, after a revelation from on high, the Order of the Holy Mary of Mercy was founded by Peter Nolascus—Raymond von Pennaforte—for the express purpose of giving aid and freedom to captives. In 1233 seven noble Florentines founded the Order of the Servants of Mercy, adopting Saint Augustine's rules of conduct, and they dwelt in the convent of the Annunziata, in Florence. In 1285 Philip Benizio founded a similar order for women, and, soon after, the pious Juliana Falconeri instituted for women a second order of the same kind. There was a constant multiplication of these orders vowed to the service of the Madonna as the centuries passed, and the idea of Madonna worship became more firmly fixed.
No account of Madonna worship can be considered complete, however, without some reference to the influence which it exerted upon the art of the time. Madonna pictures first appeared in the East, where the worship of such images had gained a firm foothold as early as the ninth century, but long before that time pictures of the Mother of God were known and many of them had become quite famous. Saint Luke the Evangelist is generally considered as the first of the religious painters, and the Vladimir Church at Moscow is in possession of a Madonna which is supposed to be the work of his hand. The Eastern Church was the first to feel the effect of this outburst of religious art, and it is but natural to find some of its earliest examples in various other Russian cities, such as Kieff, Kazan, and Novgorod. Bronze reliefs of the Virgin were also common, and in many a crude form and fashion this newly aroused sentiment of Christian art sought to find adequate expression. The Western Church soon followed this movement in every detail, and then by slow degrees upon Italian soil began that evolution in artistic conception and artistic technique which was to culminate in the effulgent glory of Raphael's Sistine Madonna. It was the Emperor Justinian's conquest of Italy which "sowed the new art seed in a fertile field," to use Miss Hurl's expression; but inasmuch as artistic endeavor shows that same lack of originality which was characteristic of all other forms of intellectual activity at this time, the germ took root but slowly, and for a number of centuries servile imitations of the highly decorated and decidedly soulless Byzantine Virgins were very common. One of these paintings may be found in almost every church throughout the length and breadth of Italy; but when you have seen one you have seen them all, for they all have the same expression. The eyes are generally large and ill shaped, the nose is long, the face is wan and meagre, and there is a peevish and almost saturnine expression in the wooden features which shows but slight affection for the Christ-child, and which could have afforded but scant comfort to any who sought to find there a gleam of tender pity. These pictures were generally half-length, against a background of gold leaf, which was at first laid on solidly, but which at a later period was adorned with tiny cherub figures. The folds of the drapery were stiff and heavy, and the whole effect was dull and lifeless. But no matter how inadequate such a picture may seem to us to-day, and no matter how much it seems to lack the depth and sincerity of reality, it possessed for the people of the Middle Ages a mystic charm which had its influence. These pictures were often supposed to have miraculous power, and there are many legends and wonderful tales concerning them.
The first really great master among Italian painters, however, was Giovanni Cimabue, who lived in Florence during the last part of the thirteenth century; he infused into his work a certain vigor and animation which were even more than a portent of the revival which was to come. Other Italian painters there had been before him, it is true, and particularly Guido of Siena and Giunta of Pisa, but they fail to show in their work that spirit of originality and that breadth of conception which were so characteristic of their successors. Throughout the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries there is an evident effort after an artistic expression of the deeper things of life which shall in some way correspond to the spiritual realities. The yearning human heart which was being solaced by the beautiful story of Christ and the mother Mary, and which was filled with religious enthusiasm at the thought of this Virgin enthroned in the heavens, was growing weary of the set features and stolid look of the Madonna of Byzantine art, and dreaming mystic dreams of the beauty of the Christ mother as she must have been in real life. She became the centre of thought and speculation, prayers and supplications were addressed to her, and more than once did she appear in beatific vision to some illumined worshipper. It was in the midst of this glow of feeling that Cimabue painted his colossal and wondrousMadonna and Child with the Angels, the largest altar piece which had been produced up to that time. Cimabue was then living in the Borgo Allegri, one of the suburbs of Florence, and there in his studio this great painting slowly came into existence. As soon as it assumed some definite shape its fame was noised abroad, and many were the curious ones who came to watch the master at his task. The mere fact that this painting was upon a larger scale than any other picture of the kind which had before been attempted in Italy was enough to arrest the attention of the most indifferent; and as the figure warmed into life and the face of the Madonna became as that of a holy woman, human and yet divine in its pity, and with a tender and melancholy expression, the popular acclaim with which the picture was hailed was unprecedented, and Cimabue became at once the acknowledged master of his time. So great was the joy and appreciation with which this Madonna was received, that a beautiful story is told to the effect that it was only after its completion that the name Allegri [joyous] was given to the locality in which the work was done; but, unfortunately, the facts do not bear out the tale—Baedeker and other eminent authorities to the contrary notwithstanding. Before this picture was taken to the beautiful chapel of the Rucellai in the Chiesa Santa Maria Novella in Florence, where it can be seen to-day, the French nobleman Charles of Anjou went to inspect it, and with him went a stately company of lords and ladies. Later, when it was removed to the church, a solemn religious procession was organized for the occasion. Preceded by trumpeters, under a rain of flowers, and followed by the whole populace, it went from the Borgo Allegri to the church, and there it was installed with proper ceremony.
The list of holy women who, by means of their good lives and their deeds, helped on the cause of the Church during this early time is a long one; in almost every community there was a local saint of great renown and wonderful powers. Ignorance, superstition, and credulity had, perhaps, much to do with the miraculous power which these saints possessed, but there can be no doubt that most, if not all, of the legends which concern them had some good foundation in fact. The holy Rosalia of Palermo is one of the best known of these mediæval saints, and even to-day there is a yearly festival in her honor. For many years she had lived in a grotto near the city; there, by her godly life and many kind deeds, she had inspired the love and reverence of the whole community. When the pest came in 1150—that awful black death which killed the people by hundreds—they turned to her in their despair and begged her to intercede with them and take away this curse of God, as it was believed to be. Through an entire night, within her grotto, the good Rosalia prayed that the plague might be taken away and the people forgiven, and the story has it that her prayers were answered at once. At her death she was made the patron saint of Palermo, and the lonely grotto became a sacred spot which was carefully preserved, and which may be seen to-day by all who go to visit it on Monte Pellegrino.
In the first part of the thirteenth century two new orders for women grew up in connection with the recently founded orders of the Franciscans and Dominicans; the story of the foundation of the former sisterhood in particular is one of striking interest. This organization originated in 1212 and its members were called Les Clarisses, after Clara, the daughter of Favorino Seisso, a knight of Assisi. Clara, though rich and accustomed to a life of indolence and pleasure, was so moved by the preaching of Saint Francis, that she sent for this holy man and conversed with him at great length upon religious topics. Finally, after a short but natural hesitation, she made up her mind to take the veil and establish an order for women which should embody many of the ideas for which the Franciscan order stood. The Franciscans, in addition to the usual vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience, laid special stress upon preaching and ministry to the soul and body. After the conversion was complete, she was taken by Saint Francis and his brother, each one bearing a lighted taper, to the nearest convent, and there, in the dimly lighted chapel, the glittering garments of her high estate were laid upon the altar as she put on the sombre Franciscan garb and cut her beautiful hair.
In the fourteenth century the interest taken by women in the conventual life increased, and one of the most powerful influences in the religious life of the time was Catherine of Siena, a creature of light in the midst of the dark turmoil and strife which characterize this portion of Italian history. Catherine was the beautiful and high-minded daughter of a rich merchant of Siena, and at a very early age showed a decided inclination for the religious life. At the age of twelve she began to have visions and declared herself the bride of Christ; and through her firmness she overcame the opposition of her parents and the scorn of her friends, and made definite preparations for withdrawal from worldly things. A small cell was arranged for her use in her father's house, and there she would retire for prayer and meditation. At Siena, in 1365, at the age of eighteen, she entered a Dominican sisterhood of the third order, where she vowed to care for the poor, the sick, and for those in prison.
In 1374 she went out in the midst of the plague, not only nursing the sick, but preaching to the crowds in the street, giving them words of cheer and comfort, and to such effect—according to the testimony of a contemporary writer—that thousands were seen clustered about her, intent upon what she was saying. So great had her wisdom become that she was called upon to settle disputes, and invitations came for her to preach in many neighboring cities. Furthermore, on one occasion she was sent on the pope's business to Arezzo and Lucca.
At this time the popes were established in Avignon, in southern France, and thither she went on a visit in 1376. On her departure, the chief magistrate of Florence besought her influence with the pope, who had put him under the ban of the Church. At Avignon she was received with greatest consideration by the College of Cardinals, as well as by the pope, for all had confidence in her good sense and judgment. The story is told, however, that some of the prelates at the papal court, envious on account of her influence with the pope, and wishing to put her learning to the test, engaged her in a religious discussion, hoping to trip her in some matters of doctrine or Church history. But she reasoned with the best of them so calmly and with such evident knowledge, that they were compelled to acknowledge her great wisdom. In the fall of that same year, as the result of her arguments and representations, Pope Gregory XI. was induced to go back to Rome, the ancient seat of the Church. Catherine left Avignon before the time fixed for the pope's departure; but before returning to Siena, she went to Genoa, where several of her followers were very sick and in need of her care. There in Genoa, Gregory, on his way to Rome, stopped to visit her, being in need of further counsel. Such an act on the part of the pope is ample proof of her unusual ability and her influential position.
The pope once in Rome, she entreated him to bring peace to Italy. At his request, she went to Florence to restore order there. In that city, however, she found a populace hostile to the papal party, and her protests and entreaties were of little avail. Upon one occasion, the crowd demanded her life by fire or sword, and so fierce did their opposition become that even the pope's friends were afraid to give her shelter; it was only through her great calmness and fearlessness that her life was spared. Gregory's death followed soon after, and with his demise Catherine ceased to occupy so conspicuous a place in the public affairs of her time. Gregory's successor, Urban VI., was clever enough to summon Catherine to Rome again, that she might speak in his behalf and overcome the outspoken opposition and hostility of some of the cardinals, who had declared in favor of Clement VII. in his stead, and had even gone so far as to declare him elected. Catherine was not able to effect a conciliation, however, and here began the papal schism, as the discontented cardinals continued their opposition with renewed vigor and maintained Clement VII. as anti-pope. She was more successful in another affair, as, immediately after her trip to Rome, in 1378 she induced the rebellious Florentines to come to terms of peace with Urban.
The remaining two years of her life were spent in labors for her Dominican order, and she visited several cities in its behalf. At the time of her death, it was commonly reported that her body worked a number of miracles. The authenticity of these supernatural events, however, was ever somewhat in doubt, as the Franciscans always stoutly denied the claims that were made by the Dominicans in regard to this affair. Catherine was canonized in 1461, and April 30th is the special day in each year devoted to her memory. Among the other celebrated nuns and saints of the fourteenth century may be mentioned the Blessed Marina, who founded the cloister of Saint Matthew at Spoleta; the Blessed Cantuccia, a Benedictine abbess; and the Holy Humilitas, abbess of the Order of Vallombrosa at Florence; but none of them compare in pious works or in worldly reputation with the wise and hard-working Catherine of Siena.
In the fifteenth century there was a still further increase of the religious orders for both men and women, which came with the continual extension of the field of religious activity; for the mother Church was no laggard at this time, and never ceased to advance her own interests. In this general period there were three nuns in Italy, each bearing the name of Catherine, who by their saintly lives did much for the uplifting of those about them. The first of this trio was Catherine, daughter of Giovanni Vigeo. Though born in Ferrara, she was always spoken of as Catherine of Bologna, as it was in the latter city that she spent the greater part of her long and useful life. There she was for many years at the head of a prosperous convent belonging to the nuns of the Order of Clarissa, and there it was that she had her wonderful visions and dreamed the wonderful dreams, which she carefully wrote down with her own hand in the year 1438. For more than threescore years after this period of illumination she continued in her position, where she was ever an example of godliness and piety. Her death came on March 9, 1463; and although her great services to the cause of religion were recognized at this time, and openly commended by the pope, it was not until May 22, 1712, that she was finally canonized by Clement IX.
The second Catherine was Catherine of Pallanza, which is a little town near Novara in Piedmont, some thirty miles west of Milan. During the year of the great pest, her immediate family was completely wiped away, and she was left homeless and with few friends to guide her with words of counsel. Her nearest relatives were in Milan, and to them she went at first, until the first bitterness of her great grief had passed away. Then, acting upon a decision which had long been made, and in spite of the determined opposition of her friends, she took the veil. It was not her intention, however, to enter one of the convents of Milan and live the religious life in close contact with others of the same inclination, for she was a recluse by disposition and desired, for at least a time, to be left alone in her meditations. So she went outside the city walls and established herself there upon a hillside, in a lonely place, sheltered by a rude hut constructed in part by her own hands. Living in this hermit fashion, she was soon an object of comment, and, moved by her obvious goodness, many went to consult her from time to time in regard to their affairs. She soon developed a gift of divination and prophecy which was remarkable even for that time of easy credulity in such matters, and was soon able to work wonders which, if the traditions be true, were little short of miracles. As an illustration of her wonderful power, it may be stated that it was commonly believed that by means of her prayers children might be born in families where hitherto a marriage had been without fruit. Also, she was able by means of her persuasions to compel thieves to return stolen goods. In spite of the seclusion of her life, the fame of Catherine of Pallanza was soon so great that other women came to live about her; eventually these were banded together in one congregation, governed according to the rules of Saint Augustine. Catherine died in 1478, at the age of forty-one, and somewhat later she was given a place among the saints of the Church, April 6th being the special day devoted to her honor.
There can be little doubt that Saint Catherine of Pallanza, in her comparatively short life, really did more for the cause of true religion than did the pious Saint Catherine of Bologna, who lived almost twice as long within the walls of her quiet and tranquil convent. The one, though a recluse at the beginning of her career, came more into actual contact with people and things than did the smooth-faced, white-handed mother superior in all the course of her calm and unruffled existence. Catherine of Bologna was a model nun, a paragon of humility, devotion, and holiness, but she was something quite apart from the stirring life of the time. Her visions and trances were considered as closer ties between herself and the hosts of heaven, and she was looked upon with awe and wonderment. Catherine of Pallanza, by word and by precept, and by means of the wonderful power which she possessed, exerted a far wider influence for the good of men and women.
Catherine of Genoa, the third of this series, and a member of the old and distinguished Fieschi family, was born in 1447. Notwithstanding her decided wish to enter a convent, and in spite of her repeated protestations, she was compelled to marry, at the age of seventeen, Julio Adorno, a man of tastes uncongenial to her. On account of her slender figure and her delicate health, her parents had felt warranted in their refusal to allow her to become a nun, but the husband of their choice proved a greater trial to her strength and temper than the cloister would have been. After ten years of suffering and brutal neglect, Catherine became the mistress of her own fortunes, for at this time her husband had the good grace to die. With an ample fortune at her command, she was not slow to put it to some public good; and she at once devoted her time and energies to the great hospital at Genoa, which was sadly in need of such aid. In those days before the advent of the trained nurse, the presence of such a woman in such a place was unquestionably a source of great aid and comfort, both directly and indirectly. Nor did she confine her favors to the inmates of this great hospital, for she went about in the poorer quarters of the city, caring for the sick wherever they were to be found. When alone, she was much given to mystic contemplations, which took shape as dialogues between the body and soul and which were later published with a treatise on theTheology of Loveand a complete life of this noble woman. She died at the age of sixty-three, on September 14, 1510.
The careers of these three women illustrate in a very satisfactory way the various channels through which the religious life of the time found its expression. The life of Catherine of Bologna was practically apart from the real life of her time; Catherine of Pallanza was sought out by people who were in need of her help, and she was able to give them wise counsel; Catherine of Genoa, representing the more practical side of the Christian spirit, went among the poor, the sick, and the needy, doing good on every hand. Membership in these women's orders was looked upon as a special and sacred office whereby the nun became the mystic bride of the Church, and it was no uncommon thing for the sisters, when racked and tortured by the temptations of the world, to fall into these ecstatic contemplative moods wherein they became possessed with powers beyond those of earth. In that age of quite universal ignorance, it is not to be wondered at that the emotional spirit was too strongly developed in all religious observances, and, as we have seen, it characterized, equally, the convent nun, the priestess of the mountain side, and the sister of mercy. The hysterical element, however, was often too strongly accentuated, and the nuns were often too intent upon their own salvation to give heed to the needs of those about them. But the sum total of their influence was for the best, and the examples of moderation, self-control, and self-sacrifice which they afforded played no little part in softening the crudities of mediæval life and paved the way for that day when religion was to become a rule of action as well as an article of faith.
It must have been part of the plan of the universe that the sunny southern provinces of France should have given to the world a gay, happy, and intellectual society wherein was seen for the first time a concrete beginning in matters of social evolution. There the sky is bright, the heavens are deep, the sun is warm, mountainous hills lend a purple haze to the horizon, and the air is filled with the sweet perfume of thyme and lavender; and there came to its maturity that brilliant life of the Midi which has been so often told in song and story, and which furnished inspiration for that wonderful poetry which has come down to us from the troubadours. During the twelfth and thirteenth centuries in particular, Provence was filled with rich and populous cities, brilliant feudal courts abounded, and noble lords and ladies not only encouraged song and poetry, but strove to become proficient in thegay science, as it was called, for their own diversion.
Under such conditions, it is not surprising to find that women occupy no unimportant place in society and that their influence is far-reaching. Love and its pursuit were the chief concern of the upper classes; and it was but natural, when the intellectual condition of the time and its many limitations are taken into consideration. What was there to consume the leisure hours in that far-away time? There were no books, there were no newspapers, as there are now, accurate knowledge was impossible in scientific study, there was no theatre or opera—in short, there were none of the things which form the usual means of relaxation and amusement to-day; and so, as a matter of course, yielding to a most human instinct, the tender passion became an all-absorbing topic, and served without exception as the inspiration for poetic endeavor. Love they could know and feel, and of it could they sing with understanding, because they felt it to be real and personal, and subjectively true at least. Of the great external world, however, their knowledge was exceedingly crude; and the facts in nature had become so strangely distorted, through centuries of ignorance and superstition, that the solemnly pronounced verities of the time were but a burlesque upon the truth. Belief in the existence of the antipodes was considered by ecclesiastical authority as a sure proof of heresy, the philosopher's stone had been found, astrology was an infallible science, and the air was filled with demons who were ever waiting for an opportunity to steal away man's immortal soul. Geography did not exist except in fancy; history could be summed up in the three magic words, Troy, Greece, and Rome; and the general notions current regarding the world and its formation were fantastic in the extreme. In the realm of natural history wondrous facts had come to light, and it was averred that a stag lived to an age of nine hundred years; that a dove contemplated herself with her right eye and God with her left; that the cockatrice kills animals by breathing upon them; that a viper fears to gaze upon a naked man; that the nature of the wolf is such that if the man sees him first, the wolf is deprived of force and vigor, but if the wolf first sees the man, his power of speech will vanish in the twinkling of an eye. Furthermore, there were curious ideas current concerning the mystic power of precious stones, and many were the lapidaries which were written for the edification of the credulous world. The diamond was held in somewhat doubtful esteem, inasmuch as the French worddiamant, minus its first syllable, signified a "lover"; the beryl, of uncertain hue, made sure the love of man and wife; and Marbodus is authority for the statement that "the emerald is found only in a dry and uninhabitable country, so bitterly cold that nothing can live there but the griffins and the one-eyed arimasps that fight with them."
But the men and women of Provence could not forever stand with mouths agape in eager wonder and expectation; these were tales of interest, no doubt, and their truth was not seriously questioned, but this was not life, and they knew it. There was red blood in their veins, the heartbeat was quick and strong, and love had charmed them all. It must not be supposed, however, that this was a weakly and effeminate age, that all were carpet knights, and that strong and virile men no longer could be found, for such was not the case. All was movement and action, the interests of life were many, and warfare was the masculine vocation, but in the very midst of all this turmoil and confusion there sprang up a courtly ideal of love and a reverence for women which is almost without parallel. The sanctity of the marriage tie had not been respected during the feudal days, the union for life between men and women had, generally, other causes than any mutual love which might exist between the two, and the right of divorce was shamefully misused. While in other parts of Europe women sought relief from this intolerable condition of affairs by giving their love to Christ and by becoming His bride in mystic marriage through the Church, in bright Provence, aided by the order of chivalry, they were able to do something for the ideals of love in a more definite way and to bring back to earth that all-absorbing passion which women had been bestowing upon the Lord of Heaven. Inasmuch as the real marriage of the time was but amariage de convenance, which gave the wife to the husband without regard for her own inclinations, and without consideration for the finer things of sense and sentiment which should find a perfect harmony in such relationship, it came to be a well-recognized fact that love and marriage were two things quite distinct and different. A wife was expected to show a material fidelity to her lord, keep her honor unstained, and devote herself to his service; and this done, she was allowed to bestow upon a lover her soul and better spirit.
A quaint story with regard to the Chevalier de Bayard, though of somewhat later date, will serve to illustrate this condition of affairs. The brave knight had been brought up during his youth in the palace of the Duke of Savoy, and there, mingling with the other young people of the house, he had seen and soon loved a beautiful young girl who was in the service of the duchess. This love was returned, and they would soon have married in spite of their poverty if a cruel fate had not parted them. Bayard was sent as a page to the court of Charles VIII., and during his absence his ladylove, by the duke's order, was married to the Lord of Fluxas. This Bayard found out to his bitter sorrow when he returned some years later, but the lady, as a virtuous woman, wishing to show him that her honest affection for him was still alive, overwhelmed him with so many courteous acts that more would have been impossible. "Monseigneur de Bayard, my friend," she said, "this is the home of your youth, and it would be but sorry treatment if you should fail to show us here your knightly skill, reports of which have come from Italy and France." The poor gentleman could but reply: "What is your wish, madame?" Whereat she said: "It seems to me, Monseigneur de Bayard, that you would do well to give a splendid tourney in the city." "Madame," he said, "it shall be done. You are the lady in this world who first conquered my heart to her service, but now I well know that I can naught expect except your kiss of welcome and the touch of your soft hand. Death would I prefer to your dishonor, and that I do not seek; but give me, I pray you, your muff." The next morning heralds proclaimed that the lists would be opened in Carignan, and that the Chevalier de Bayard would joust with all who might appear, the prize to be his lady's muff, from which now hung a precious ruby worth a hundred ducats. The lists were run, and after the last blare of trumpet and clatter of charger's hoof, the two judges, one of them being the Lord of Fluxas, came to Bayard with the prize. He, blushing, refused this great honor, saying he had done nothing worthy of it, but that in all truth it belonged to Madame de Fluxas, who had lent him the muff and who had been his inspiration. The Lord of Fluxas, knowing the chivalry of this great knight, felt no pang of jealousy whatever, and went straightway to his lady, bearing the prize and the courtly words of the champion. Madame de Fluxas, with secret joy but outward calm, replied: "Monseigneur de Bayard has honored me with his fair speech and highbred courtesy, and this muff will I ever keep in honor of him." That night there was feasting and dancing in the halls, next day, departure. The knight went to take leave of his lady, with heavy heart, and many bitter tears they shed. This honest love endured until death parted them, and no year passed that presents were not exchanged between them.
So there was a social life at this time and place which was filled with refinement and courtesy, and it centred about the ladies of the courts. Each troubadour, and many of them were brave knights as well, sought to sing the praises of his lady, devote himself to her service, and do her bidding in all things great and small. There was a proverb in Provence, it is true, which declared that "A man's shadow is worth a hundred women," and another saying, "Water spoils wine, carts spoil roads, and women spoil men"; but, in spite of all this, devotion to women was developed to a most unusual degree, and there was even an attempt made to fix the nature of such soft bondage by rule and regulation. Southern natures were so impetuous that some checks upon the practice of this chivalric love seemed to be imperative, as thinking people felt that love should not go unbridled. Justin H. Smith, who has written so entertainingly of theTroubadours at Home, says that it was their expedient to make love a "science and an art. Rules were devised, and passion was to be bound with a rigid etiquette like that of chivalry or social intercourse. It was to be mainly an affair of sentiment and honor, not wholly Platonic to be sure, but thoroughly desensualized. Four stages were marked off in the lover's progress: first, he adored for a season without venturing to confess it; secondly, he adored as a mere suppliant; thirdly, he adored as one who knew that the lady was not indifferent; and finally, he became the accepted lover, that is to say, the chosen servitor and vassal of his lady, her special knight."
To the coarse and somewhat stupid barons of the time infidelity was an act of absolute self-abandonment, and they felt in no way jealous of these fine knights who were more in sympathy with their wives than they could ever hope to be. So the lover became an accepted person who had rights which the wife did not conceal and which the husband did not deny. The husband literally owned the body of his wife, it is true, but the lover had her soul, for the feudal customs gave to the woman no moral power over her husband, while the code of love, on the other hand, made of woman the guide and associate of man. It was all a play world, of course; the troubadour knight and lover would discuss by means of thetenso, which was a dialogue in song, all sorts of questions with his lady, or with another of his kind, while the slow, thick-headed husbands dozed in their chairs, dreaming of sudden alarums and the din of battle. Here, however, was afforded opportunity for a quick display of wit, and here was shown much nimbleness of mind, and, all in all, woman profited by the intercourse and became, as has been said, more than the "link between generations," which was all she had been before. It was in the great hall, about the wide hearth, after the evening meal, that the harp was sounded and thetensowas begun which was of such interest to the singer and his fair chatelaine; and among the questions of serious import which they then discussed, the following will serve by way of illustration: "Which is better, to have wisdom, or success with the ladies?" "Which is better, to win a lady by skill or by boldness?" "Which are greater, the joys or the sorrows of love?" "Which brings the greater renown, Yes or No?" "Can true love exist between married persons?" Futile and ridiculous as all this may seem to us to-day, the very fact that women were here put upon the same footing as the men, even upon a superior footing, as great deference was shown them by their knightly lovers, all this was but an indication of the fact that woman's place in society was surely advancing. Thus, outside of marriage and even opposed to it, was realized that which constitutes its true essence, the fusion of soul and mutual improvement; and since that time love and marriage have more often been found together, and the notion has been growing with the ages that the one is the complement of the other. Marriage, as has been said, was but an imperfect institution at this time, and in many cases it appears that the code of love, as it may be called, was quite superior to the civil code. For example, the feudal law allowed a man to beat his wife moderately, as occasion required, but respect was one of the fundamental laws imposed by the code of love. Again, the civil law said that a woman whose husband had been absent for ten years, and whose whereabouts was unknown, had the right to marry again, but the code of love decreed that the absence of a lover, no matter how prolonged, was not sufficient cause for giving up the attachment. In short, in this world of gallantry the ideals of love were higher than they were in the world of lawful wedlock, and the reason was not far to seek.
It cannot be said, however, that these lofty ideals of Platonic affection which so strongly characterize this brilliant and courtly society were always carried out to the letter, and it must be admitted with regret that there are many cases on record where the restraints and formalities of etiquette were insufficient to check the fateful passion when once its fires were burning. Every forbidden intrigue was fraught with danger; indeed, the injured husband is sometimes alluded to asMonsieur Danger, but here, as elsewhere, stolen sweets were sweetest, and the risk was taken. Vengeance, however, followed discovery, and swift was the retribution which overtook the troubadour when guilty of faithless conduct. The tragic story of Guillem de Cabestaing, who came from that district of Roussillon which is said to be famous for its red wine and its black sheep, will serve to show how love could not be bound by laws of honor and how quick punishment came to pay the score. Guillem, the son of a poor knight, came at the age of twelve to enter the service of my lord Raimon of Roussillon, who was also his father's lord, and there in the castle he began his education. An esquire he became, and he followed his master in peace and in warfare, perfected himself in the gentler arts of song and music, and paid no small attention to his own person, which was fair and comely. On an evil day, however, my lord Raimon transferred young Guillem to the service of his wife, the Lady Margarida, a young and sweet-faced girl who was famed for her beauty, and then began the love between them. Raimon was soon jealous and then suspicious, but false words from false lips allayed suspicion for a time. Then Guillem, in a song composed at his lady's command, revealed the love which united them, though all unconsciously, and then the end was near. One day, Guillem was summoned from the palace into the dark wood by his master, but when Raimon returned Guillem did not come with him; in his stead was a servant, who carried something concealed beneath his cloak. After the dinner, which had been attended with constant jest and laughter, Raimon informed his wife that she had just eaten the heart of the luckless troubadour! Summoning her words with a quick self-control, the Lady Margarida vowed that never after would she taste of meat, whereat Raimon grew red with rage and sought to take her life. But she fled quickly to a high tower and threw herself down to death. That is the tragedy, but this fidelity in death received its reward; for when the king heard the tale, and who did not, as it was soon spread abroad, Raimon was stripped of all his possessions and thrown into a dungeon, while lover and lady were buried together at the church door at Perpignan, and a yearly festival was ordained in their honor.
For many hundreds of years after the decay of all this brilliant life in southern France, the statement was repeated that courts of love had been organized in gay Provence, which were described as assemblies of beautiful women, sitting in judgment on guilty lovers and deciding amorous questions, but the relentless search of the modern scholar has proved beyond a doubt that no such courts ever existed. A certain code of love there was most certainly, of which the troubadours sang, and whose regulations were matters of general conduct as inspired by the spirit of courtesy and gallantry which was current at the time, and very often were questions relating to the tender passion discussedin extensoby the fairest ladies of the south, but more than that cannot be said with truth. The fiction is a pretty one, and among those who are said to have presided at these amorous tribunals are Queen Eleanor, the Countess of Narbonne, and the Countess of Champagne, and Richard Cœur de Lion has even been mentioned in this capacity. The courts were held at Pierrefeu, Digne, and Avignon according to tradition, women alone could act as judges, and appeals might be made from one court to another. This tradition but goes to show that after the decay of the Provençal civilization, its various ideas and ideals were drawn up into formal documents, that the spirit of the age might be preserved, and they in turn were taken by following generations in good faith as coexistent with the things which they describe.
It was but natural that in a state of society like the one mentioned, women should long to show themselves possessed of poetic gifts as well as men. It must not be supposed that the wife of a great baron occupied an easy position, however, and had many leisure hours, as her wifely duties took no little time and energy, and it was her place to hold in check the rude speech and manners of the warlike nobles who thronged the castle halls, as well as to put some limit to the bold words and glances of the troubadours, who were often hard to repress. Her previous education had been bestowed with care, however, the advantages of a formal and punctilious etiquette had been preached more than once, and she was even advised that the enemy of all her friends should find her civil-spoken; so, my lady managed her difficult affairs with tact and skill, and contrived in many cases to acquire such fame for her moderation and her wisdom that many poets sang her praises. It was her pleasure also to harbor these troubadours who sang her praises, and learn from them the secrets of their art; and in this pleasant intercourse it often chanced that she was inspired by the god of song, and vied with them in poesy. The names of eighteen such women have come down to us, and fragments from most of them are extant, though the Countess of Dia seems the most important of them all, as five of her short poems are now known to exist. The Lady Castelloza must be named soon after, for her wit and her accomplishments. She once reminded a thoughtless lover that if he should allow her to pine away and die for love of him, he would be committing a monstrous crime "before God and men." Clara of Anduse must not be forgotten in this list, and she it was who conquered the cold indifference of the brilliant troubadour Uc de Saint-Cyr; still, however numerous her contributions to poetry may have been, but one song remains to us, and that is contained in a manuscript of the fourteenth century. It should be said that the reason for the small amount of poetry which these women have left behind them is easily explained. Talents they may have possessed and poetical ability in abundance, but there was no great incentive to work, inasmuch as poetry offered them no career such as it opened up to the men. A troubadour sang at the command of his noble patron, but with the women poetry was not an employment, but a necessity for self-expression. It is altogether probable that their efforts were for the most part the result of a sudden inspiration, their mirth or their grief was poured forth, and then they relapsed into silence. Other than in this way the voice of the woman was rarely heard in song, unless she took part in thetenso, or song of contention, and then her words were uttered as they came, without premeditation, and were lost as soon as sung.
The city of Toulouse was a centre for much of the literary life of the time, and it was during the reign of Count Raimon VI., who was a poet of no small merit, that the art of the troubadours reached its culmination. For half a generation, it is said, his court was crowded with these poets, and he dwelt with them and they with him in brotherly affection. With the terrible Albigensian Crusade, the voice of the singer was no longer heard in the land, and the poetic fire, which had burned with so fierce a blaze at times, smouldered for long years, until in the beginning of the fourteenth century the flames burst forth anew. At that time a company of poets, and they were of bourgeois origin and not of the nobility, determined to take vigorous measures to restore the art of the troubadour to its former high position, and to this end they founded the Collège du Gay Sçavoir, which was to support and maintain annually in Toulouse a poetic tournament called Les Jeux Floraux, wherein the prizes were to consist of flowers of gold and silver. With the definite establishment of these Floral Games the name of a woman has been intertwined in most curious fashion; and although many facts are recorded of her life and deeds, there are those who deny that she ever lived. This remarkable woman was called Clémence Isaure, and the story has grown up that some years after the founding of the Jeux Floraux she left a sum of money in trust which was to serve as a permanent endowment for this most illustrious institution of her native city. Then it was that the Collège du Gay Sçavoir became a thing of permanence, and brilliant were the fêtes which were celebrated under its auspices. First, a golden violet was bestowed upon the victor in these poetic contests, and the winner was decreed a Bachelor of Poetry; then, two other flowers were added, the eglantine and the marigold, and he who won two prizes was given the degree of Master; while he who won all three became forthwith a Doctor.
To prove that Clémence Isaure really did exist in Toulouse a tomb was shown which seemed to bear her name; and so strongly rooted is this belief, that her statue is held in reverence, and every year in May, even to this day, when the date for the Jeux Floraux arrives, the first thing on the programme for that solemn occasion is a formal eulogy in honor of this distinguished patroness. More than that, in the garden of the Luxembourg Palace in Paris, in that semicircle of twenty marble statues grouped about the parterre and representing some of the most illustrious women of France, Clémence Isaure has an honored place, and her counterfeit presentment by the sculptor Préault is considered one of the finest of the number.
In support of the claim that such a woman never existed, and in explanation of the tradition itself, the learned ones inform us that with the definite establishment of these Floral Games the good citizens of Toulouse thought it best to follow in the footsteps of their bold and plain-spoken troubadour ancestors in a somewhat timid manner, and the poems which were then written were not addressed to some fair lady in real life, but to the Holy Virgin, who was frequently addressed as Clemenza [pity], and from this word the story took its rise. After a certain lapse of time, Clemenza, personified so often in their impassioned strains, became a real person to their southern imaginations, and a tomb was conveniently found which seemed to settle the matter without question. It is even asserted that the city of Toulouse is enjoying to-day other bequests which were made to it by Clémence Isaure, and that there is no more reason for doubting her existence than for doubting the existence of any other historical character of long ago. In any event, the Floral Games are still held yearly, the seven poets have become forty in number, and they compose a dignified Academy, which has some ten thousand francs a year to bestow in prizes. And the number of the prizes has been increased, as now five different flowers of gold and five of silver are bestowed each for poetry of a certain kind, and in addition there is a gold jasmine which is awarded to the most excellent prose article, and a silver pink which is a sort of prize at large, and which may be given for a composition of any character.
This belief in the actual existence of Clémence Isaure is still held by many, and, in fact, the legend seems stronger than the facts adduced against it; but whatever the truth may be, the story symbolizes in a most beautiful and fitting way the part which woman has played in this Provençal country in the encouragement given to song and poetry. It was the women who gave the real encouragement to the troubadours and inspired them to their greatest efforts, and it seems but poetic justice, at least, that in Toulouse the only existing institution representative of those old troubadour days should claim a woman as its greatest patron.