CHAPTER V

THE MORALISTS

As a contrast to the romancers let us turn to the moralists. They are of considerable importance in the fifteenth century, though few in point of number. And first, to what century shall we assign the "Imitation of Christ," and who was its author? Some hold it was written by Jean Gersen, an Italian; others, by Gerson, a Frenchman; others, by Thomas à Kempis, a German. Some assign it to the thirteenth century, others to the fourteenth, others to the fifteenth. Others, and I am inclined to agree with them, consider it to be a work by several hands at different periods, and attribute one part to the thirteenth century, another part to the fourteenth, and another part to the fifteenth, maintaining that the form in which we now read it in Latin belongs to the fifteenth century. The book was translated into French as early as the sixteenth century, and retranslated and commented upon indefinitely since that time.

This book we shall not hesitate to repeat once more a sentence from Fontenelle, since it is a true criticism-this book-"the most beautiful book that man has written, for the Gospels are not of human origin "-is in the first place a manual of meditation for the use of solitaries and monks. It is evident that it was conceived and written in the monastery, and that it was intended for those leading the monastic life. But though we may mix freely with our fellow-men, each of us is yet essentially a solitary, and the "Imitation of Christ" is so deep, so human, and consequently so general in its application, that it meets the needs of all, and may be for

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all a guide, a consolation, and a friend. It is the finest work of psychological meditation that exists, superior in this respect even to the Gospels, which are didactic, and teach rather than analyse. The misery of man in all his emotions, in all his thoughts, in all his actions, in the very root of his nature, is shown in all its nakedness with a clearness, an accuracy, a delicacy, a sweet and gentle insistency, which is quite admirable. It is the book of humility, and therefore it fulfils its title and is veritably a Christian manual. But, at the same time as it abases man by giving him self-knowledge, it-I will not say raises him, for of this it has no thought -consoles him, caresses him, comforts him. It does not dash him at the foot of the Cross with the imperious roughness of Pascal, but leads him there softened, contrite, confident. It is pre-eminently the "livre de direction," and we may well wonder that it was followed by a whole series of manuals written for spiritual directors, since the "Imitation" contains all that is necessary to supply their requirements. It is easy to understand the disdain in which the Middle Ages were held at a time when nothing was known about them. But can this disdain, which has lasted to the present day, in spite of accurate knowledge, be persisted in with regard to an age which has produced such a book-a book which, with all deductions made, is at once the summary and the testament of its age?

With the exception of this incomparable book, which, perhaps, does not belong to the fifteenth century, philosophy and ethics are hardly represented from 1400 to 1500. It is in this respect that the fifteenth century is an age of transition. Rightly considered, centuries in which nothing happens can only rightly be called centuries of transition. Centuries in which one school is replaced by another, or one state of mind by a very different state of mind, cannot be called centuries of transition, but of revolution-that is to say, the most productive of all the centuries. We may call centuries of transition those in which men live under an old form of thought without holding to it, and are approached by a new form of thought without grasping it-colourless centuries,

practically non-existent. From a philosophical point of view the fifteenth century, if the preceding definitions are correct, is a century of transition. The philosophy of the Middle Ages is dead, and that of the Renaissance not yet born. The Christian teaching still holds sway, but we must not hesitate to say that it has become weakened. It has not yet received the vital stimulus that the Reformation will bring it, which will purify and strengthen the moral conceptions not only of those who remain Catholic, but of those who cease to continue so. Between these two epochs, that of traditional and still profound faith, and that of faith renewed, the fifteenth century marks a time of arrested life, a period of waiting, and an epoch of depression.

It is probable that out of this very depression the religious movement at the beginning of the following century had its birth-a movement so powerful that it stirred the spiritual world to its depths and overwhelmed at the same time the material world. The religious animal, that is, man, can perhaps cease to be religious; but when he has ceased to be so, his need for religion, or at least the moral ideal (and up to the present the latter has always included the former) revives with an intensity fostered by lack of material to feed upon, and immediately the need creates the means of satisfaction it requires. This is perhaps not true in natural history, but it is strictly true in moral history.

CHAPTER VI

ORATORY

We have many monuments and memorial fragments of oratory in the fifteenth century. Both religious and civic oratory shone with a good deal of brilliance at that time. It was the period of popular religious orators-men like Menot, Maillart, and others. Menot, a Franciscan friar, who was born about 1440 and died in 1518, preached from about 1470 to 1500. He was called the "Golden Tongue," a title given to John Chrysostom. But in the bearers of the title there was a difference, though at the same time they had this in common: they were both a sort of popular tribune; they both had the ear of the people, and knew how to exercise a powerful influence over large assemblies. Menot had that lack of refinement which was necessary in his time, as perhaps in every time, for the purpose of making an appeal to a vast miscellaneous audience. Jests, drolleries, coarse jokes, abrupt apostrophes, personal anecdotes, dialogue interrupting the address, dramatic scenes introduced in the middle of an illustration, and then bursts of true eloquence-passionate, burning, full of virtuous indignation-such were the characteristics of Menot's oratory. Between two whimsicalities or puns he would cry: "To-day the officers of the law wear long robes, and their wives are clad like princesses. But if their clothes were put beneath the wine-press, the blood of the poor would ooze out."

Maillart, also a Franciscan friar, was a native of Brittany. Professor of Theology at the Sorbonne, preacher to Louis XI., and much beloved by that democratic King; he exceeded even

Menot in the vehemence of his satire, in the brilliance of his mockery, and in his lofty scorn after the manner of the ancient prophets. He spoke in mingled Latin and French, in such a way that if his Latin made an attack on the uprightness of people, his French did not come far behind it in vigour. It was he who pronounced the famous apostrophe which breathes the spirit of the Bible, and has the very accent of the Old Testament: cc Are you on God's side, you who listen to me? Prince and Princess, are you? Bow your heads! Knights of the Order, are you? Bow your heads! And you, noblemen, are you? Bow your heads! . . .'

These men had found, without seeking, real eloquence, which is never to be found less than when sought for. They put their whole being into what they were saying. So did the Christian orators of the first century, and so, we shall find, did the Christian orators of the seventeenth century. Only it is to be observed that to the profound conviction and the palpitating emotion of the Middle Ages the earlier and the later orators added refinement, science, and art, traits which are not necessarily incompatible.

We must give a brief account of Jean Raulin, who preached a great deal in Paris about 1470. He was an orator differing in most respects from the two preceding ones, less vehement than they, more methodical, drier, but with plenty of wit. He was given to anecdote, fable, ingenious allegory. He is the author of the "Animaux Malades de la Peste," and we must assign to him such old tales as lingered on into the times of Rabelais and of Molière-the widow asking the pastor if she should marry again, and receiving the alternative replies, "Marry by all means," and "Certainly do not marry." When, on the advice of the pastor, she listened to the church bells, they chimed for the marriage-day, as we might have guessed "Take him by all means! take him by all means," and later on, "Do not take him! do not take him!" There are better things than this in pulpit utterances, but Raulin said them gracefully, and he did not confine himself to this class of subject.

Civic eloquence was not unworthy of ecclesiastical eloquence.