CRISTO RAUL. READING HALL THE DOORS OF WISDOM

THE HISTORY OF THE POPES

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF POPE GREGORY I THE GREAT. A.D. 540 – 604

BOOK II.

CHAPTER VII.

GREGORY’S RELATIONS WITH THE FRANKS

In 561 King Chlotochar I, sole ruler of the Franks, died. His career had been signalized by a succession of wars and murders, which culminated in the execution of his own son Chramnus, who was burnt alive along with his wife and children. A year after this, the abominable old savage was seized with a fever and expired, exclaiming with his last breath, “Oh how great must be the King of Heaven, if He can kill' so mighty a king as I!” He was buried with great parade at Soissons, and his kingdom was divided among his four sons—Charibert, Chilperic, Sigibert, and Guntram.

To Charibert, the eldest, fell the province of Aquitaine—roughly the territory between the Loire and the Pyrenees— together with the city of Paris. But Charibert dying without male issue in 567, his lands were divided among the three surviving brothers. A convention was made with regard to Paris, that it should belong to the three' in common, but that no one of them should enter its walls without the consent of the other two.

From 567, then, Gaul, as in the days of Caesar, was divided into three parts—Neustria, Austrasia, and Burgundy. The boundaries of these kingdoms cannot be exactly traced, as almost from year to year they were continually shifting. They may, however, very roughly be defined as follows.

(1)     If an irregular line were drawn from the mouth of the Schelde to the neighbourhood of Langres, near the source of the Saône, the part west- of that line might be taken to represent the kingdom of Neustria. It lay between the Loire and the Meuse, comprising the Netherlands, Picardy, Normandy, Maine, part of Champagne and Brittany—though it seems that the Celts of Brittany were virtually independent of the Neustrian kings. The capital of the kingdom was Soissons; the king who inherited it was Chilperic, a remarkable person­age, typical alike of the vice, the savagery, and the pseudo­culture of the period. Gregory of Tours calls him “the Nero and Herod of our time.” He caused the death of his wife and of two of his sons, and his favourite punishment was blinding. He endeavoured to imitate the despotism of the Boman Emperors, and imposed upon his subjects a system of stringent taxation, levying, says Gregory, an amphora of wine for every half-acre,” together with other exactions. He added four new letters to the alphabet, and built amphitheatres in Soissons and Paris, where he exhibited spectacles. He had no love for churchmen, whom he would often abuse and turn into ridicule. Of their wealth he was particularly jealous. “Behold!” he would say, “our treasury remains poor. Behold! our riches are transferred to the churches. None reign at all save only the bishops. Our dignity is lost and carried over to the bishops of the cities.” And with such unpleasant remarks he would again and again quash wills that had been drawn in favour of churches. No wonder that the bishops used to say that to pass from the rule of Guntram to that of Chilperic was like passing out of Paradise into Hell! Yet Chilperic was very superstitious, and even religious after a fashion. He persecuted the Jews with edifying zeal. He composed prayers, and wrote two books of sacred verses after the manner of Sedulius, though with an utter disregard of all the rules of metre. He also wrote a rationalistic treatise on the doctrine of the Trinity, which he wished to force upon the Church; but the book was so heretical that a bishop to whom it was shown was overcome with horror, and would have torn it in pieces. Chilperic’s character presents a very singular combination of Teutonic barbarism and Roman culture. He was the most hated of all the Merovingian kings.

(2)     East of our imaginary line was the kingdom of Austrasia, extending from the Meuse (though it also included territory in Champagne, west of the Meuse) to beyond the Rhine, embracing parts of Germany and Switzerland. Its capital was Metz, its king was Sigibert, an orthodox, well-intentioned but rather weak man, of whom I shall say more immediately.

(3)     Lastly, there was the kingdom of Burgundy, the kingdom of the Rhone, extending roughly from the Vosges to the Durance, and from the Alps to the Loire, and comprising the provinces of Burgundy, Franche Comté, Dauphiné, Nivernois, Lyonnais, part of Languedoc, and part of Switzerland. Orleans was the nominal capital of Burgundy, though the court was usually settled at Chalon. It was ruled by “the good King Guntram,” who for some inscrutable reason has obtained from the Roman Church the honours of canonization. He was a stupid, lecherous, good-natured man, whose chief desire was to be left to the quiet enjoyment of his coarse pleasures, without being compelled to go to war with his neighbours. He had many mistresses. When his last favourite, Austrechildis, was on her death-bed, she begged that her two physicians might be killed as soon as she breathed her last, and Guntram faithfully executed her wishes, though the doctors had not been to blame in their treatment of their patient. Certainly “the good king” could be treacherous on occasion. After the death of his brother Charibert, one of his concubines named Theudichildis, made proposals of marriage to the King of Burgundy. “Let her come to me without delay, and bring her treasures with her,” replied Guntram. But when she arrived, he shut up the woman in a nunnery at Arles, and appropriated her wealth to his own use. In spite of his eccentricities, however, Guntram was not without redeeming qualities. He was good-humoured, and even benevolent when let alone. He befriended the widowed Queen of Neustria in her hour of need, and dealt honestly and generously with his nephews, for whom he seems to have had a real affection. He was, moreover, a staunch supporter of the Church, and was invariably polite and deferential to the bishops. “ You would have thought him a priest of God as well as a king,” exclaims Gregory of Tours, in admira­tion. “With priests he showed himself like a priest,” says Fredegarius. Thanks to the good opinion of the clergy, Guntram early acquired a reputation for sanctity. Even in his life­time he was believed to have worked miracles, and a woman is said to have cured her son of a quartan fever by making him drink some water in which had been soaked a portion of the fringe of “the good king’s” mantle. His people adored their stupid, genial prince. Yet Guntram was ever haunted by the fear of assassination. One Sunday, at a church in Paris, when the deacon had called for silence for the mass, Guntram addressed the congregation, saying,“I beseech you, men and women here present, do not break your faith with me, but forbear to kill me as you killed my brothers. At least let me live three years, that I may rear up my nephews whom I have adopted, lest mayhap—which God forbid!—you perish together with those little ones when I am dead, and there be no strong man of our race to defend you.” This royal saint died in 593, and, in accordance with the terms of the Treaty of Andelot, the King of Austrasia inherited his kingdom.

A slight sketch of the history of the three kingdoms during the period between 567 and 593 will best make clear the political condition of the Franks at the time of Gregory’s pontificate.

Sigibert king of Austrasia, the worthiest of the sons of Chlotochar, disgusted with the conduct of his brothers, who took their own maidservants for concubines, contracted a marriage with Brunichildis, the daughter of Athanagild, the Visigothic king of Spain. The princess, who was destined to play so conspicuous a part in the history of the Franks, was at this time a beautiful and brilliant woman, high-spirited and ambitious, with a remarkable talent for affairs, and a leaning towards Roman culture. Had her fortune been happier, she might, perhaps, have been a second Theudelinda, the good genius of her kingdom, and have left behind her memories no less gracious. But her lot was cast in cruel places. Suffering warped her character and hardened her. Encircled by treachery, without a single friend whom she could thoroughly trust, she was driven to meet plot with plot and crime with crime. All her great talents were devoted to the gratification of her ambition and her passion for revenge. She made a magnificent struggle against overwhelming odds, and almost triumphed; but she was vanquished at the last, and her end was horrible. These things, however, were not yet. Brunichildis, young, beautiful, and witty, arrived at Metz, and was married to Sigibert under the most favourable auspices. Soon afterwards, through the preach­ing of the bishops and the exhortations of the king himself, she abjured the Arianism in which she had been educated and became a Catholic. Her husband was deeply in love with her, and she appears to have returned his affection. For a while she was happy.

Meanwhile Chilperic of Neustria, seeing the prosperous issue of his brother’s marriage, grew dissatisfied with his concubines, and sent in his turn to Athanagild, to ask for the hand of Galswintha, elder sister of Brunichildis, promising that if she were given to him, the concubines should be dismissed. The princess herself disliked the marriage, but obeyed the wishes of her father. She was received with all honour by Chilperic, by whom she was greatly loved, “for,” says Gregory of Tours, cynically, “she had brought with her great treasures.” On the day after her wedding she received from her husband, as her “morning-gift,” the five Aquitanian cities of Bordeaux, Limoges, Gahors, Lescar, and Tarbes. After a while, however, Chilperic’s affection began to cool. One of his former mistresses, the beautiful and atrocious Fredegundis, regained her influence over him, and Galswintha soon found her position intolerable. Smarting under the insults to which she was subjected, the queen complained bitterly to Chilperic, and implored him to permit her to return to her own country, even though he kept her treasures. The king dissimulated for the moment, and soothed his wife with soft words; but shortly afterwards he caused her to be strangled as she lay in bed. A few days later he married Fredegundis. These events occurred in 567.

Furious at her sister’s murder, Brunichildis now stirred up Sigibert to declare war; good-natured Guntram, who was himself rather shocked, was persuaded to help; and the united forces of Austrasia and Burgundy marched against Neustria. But before long a settlement was agreed upon, in accordance with which the five Aquitanian cities given to poor Galswintha as a “morning-gift,” were handed over by way of compensation to Brunichildis. In 573, however, war again broke out between the rival kingdoms, and Chilperic spread such ruin in Sigibert’s territory, particularly in the neighbourhood of Tours and Poitiers, that Gregory says that the sufferings of those days were worse than at the time of Diocletian’s persecution. A peace was made in 574, but it was not respected by the king of Neustria. So, in 575, Sigibert prepared for a great invasion of his brother’s realm. Procuring the assistance of some of the German tribes beyond the Rhine, he marched to Paris, then to Rouen. Chilperic, with Fredegundis and Chlotochar his son, immediately shut himself up in Tournay. Thereupon a large number of Neustrian nobles, disgusted at such cowardice, deserted to Sigibert, and offered to proclaim him their king. Sigibert was, of course, delighted, and sent orders to press the siege of Tournay, announcing that he himself was coming thither with all speed. Then Germanus bishop of Paris pre­sented himself to the conqueror, saying, “ If thou wilt go and renounce the thought of killing thy brother, then thou shalt return alive and victorious; but if thou hast another thought, thou shalt die.” But Sigibert paid no attention to the bishop. All the arrangements were made for proclaiming him king of Neustria. At Vitry, near Arras, the whole army was assembled. Sigibert was raised on a shield, and all the assembled host acknowledged him lord of the Franks of Neustria and of Austrasia. But at the very moment of his triumph two pages darted up, and struck him on either side with strong knives called “scramasaxes.” The king cried out and fell, and shortly afterwards expired, leaving behind him a young son, Childebert, only five years of age.

Brunichildis was at Paris when the news arrived of the tragedy of Vitry. Her position now was one of extreme peril. Her husband was dead, the Austrasian army was without a leader, and she herself was in the power of her bitterest enemy. One cause of anxiety was removed, however, when a loyal Austrasian noble, named Gundobald, secretly carried off the little Childebert, and had him proclaimed king at Metz. Brunichildis herself, unable to escape, was seized by Chilperic, despoiled of all her treasures, and sent into banishment at Rouen. But. the beautiful young widow had not resided there long before Merovech, son of King Chilperic, visited the place, and fell a victim to her fascination. Without much difficulty he persuaded her to marry him, and both then fled for refuge to the Church of St. Martin at Tours. Even Chilperic, who dared most things, shrank from violating the most revered sanctuary in the whole of Gaul. After some negotiation, however, he persuaded the pair to leave it, promising on oath that he would not attempt to separate them, “if such was the will of God.” He received them graciously, kissed them, and invited them to a banquet; but a few days afterwards he invented a pretext for carrying off Merovech to Soissons. Here, a rebellion arising, the young prince was again arrested, shorn of his long locks, and shut up in a monastery. The end of his story may be told in a few words. By some means he effected his escape from his prison, and fled again to the sanctuary of Tours, whence he proceeded to Austrasia and joined Brunichildis. The queen, however, who apparently had married him less for love than to provide for her own safety, finding her husband no longer of any use, received him coldly, and the great “leudes” of Austrasia were openly hostile. Merovech, therefore, became once more a fugitive. In the neighbourhood of Rheims he was treacherously taken prisoner, and his captors sent word to Chilperic to came and fetch his son. Then the prince, knowing his father’s cruel and implacable disposition, and fearing lest he should be put to torture, said to his servant Gailen, “You and I have hitherto had but one mind and one purpose. I pray you let me not be delivered into the hand of my enemies, but take the sword and fall upon me.” So the squire killed him. But there were some who said that Fredegundis had him secretly murdered by her own servants, and that this story was invented to conceal the deed.

Fredegundis was at this time supreme in Neustria and com­pletely mistress of the king. In her strange seductiveness and abnormal wickedness, this woman reminds us of the brilliantly evil heroines of the Renaissance. She had a wonderful genius for fascinating men. She “bewitched” them, says Gregory of Tours—intoxicated them with her cunning charm and with inflammatory potions, until they were willing to run any risk or commit any crime for her sake. From slave-boys up to the king himself, she persuaded them all to do whatever she willed. Destitute alike of conscience or of pity, she hesitated at no crime, however monstrous, and never shrank from employing the most abominable means to gain her ends. With her, the art of getting rid of enemies had been brought to perfection. She contrived the murder of her rival Galswintha, of Sigibert, and probably of Merovech. Another son of the king, named Chlodovech, she caused to be killed at Noisy, and gave his concubine to the hangman. On the life of Brunichildis, of Childebert, and even of Guntram, she made more than one attempt. Her own daughter, Rigunthis, she endeavoured to strangle with her own hands, in a manner peculiarly horrible.* The list of less important persons assassinated by her orders is far too long to quote here. King Guntram once called her “an enemy of God and man,” and she is, perhaps, all things considered, one of the most unredeemedly evil characters in history. Nevertheless, by the sheer audacity of her crimes, she managed, not only to maintain herself, but even to preserve the kingdom of Neustria at a time when it was in danger of being extinguished by its powerful neighbours. Her unfailing resource—poison and the dagger—carried her through, and she died finally in an hour of victory.

King Chilperic met his end in 584. He was staying at his country house at Chelles, near Paris. One day he had been hunting, and, returning home at nightfall, was about to dismount from his horse, and had already put one hand on his groom’s shoulder, when some one ran up and stabbed him with a knife, first in the arm-pit and then in the belly. The blood poured from his wounds and from his mouth, and he expired. His people at once dispersed, and the body was left disregarded where it lay, until at last a bishop, out of charity, performed for it the last necessary offices. The motive and the author of the murder were never discovered. Some suspected that Fredegundis herself had instigated the crime, through fear of her husband, who had found out her adulterous intercourse with Landeric. But this charge, at any rate, can scarcely be true. No one lost so much by the king’s death as the king’s widow.

So soon as she heard of the assassination, Fredegundis fled to Paris, carrying with her all her treasures and her little three-year-old son, Chlotochar. Thence, after taking counsel with her advisers, she sent a message to Guntram of Burgundy: “Let my Lord come and take the kingdom of his brother. I have a little child that I desire to place in his arms. And, for myself, I submit to his rule.” Good-natured Guntram responded to her appeal, and undertook the regency of Neustria. He gave his protection to Fredegundis and Chlotochar, and refused to surrender the former to the vengeance of Childebert Fredegundis, for her part, soon took the measure of her champion, and bad no scruple in playing on his sim­plicity. A curious instance of this is related by Gregory of Tours. “Guntram protected Fredegundis, and often invited her to banquets, promising that he would be her sure defence. One day when they were together, the queen rose from table and said farewell to the king, who would have detained her, saying, Take something more? But she said, Excuse me, I entreat you, my Lord, for it happens to me, according to the manner of women, that I must rise to be delivered of a child.’ Whereat Guntram was stupefied, for he knew that it was but four months since she had brought a son into the world. Nevertheless, he allowed her to retire.” After a time, however, Guntram seems to have suspected that he was being cajoled, for he dismissed Fredegundis from court, and compelled her to reside at a country estate at Rueil.

In 593 King Guntram died, leaving Childebert, whom he had adopted, heir to his kingdom. Childebert thus became ruler both of Austrasia and of Burgundy. He was at this time twenty-three years of age, and his late uncle had spoken highly of him as “ a wise and useful man, pre-eminently distinguished for caution and vigour.” But he seems to have done little to merit this panegyric. His negotiations with the Empire and his expeditions against the Lombards have already been noticed, and it is certain that these did not greatly redound to his honour or glory. From Gregory of Tours we get the impression that he was a somewhat feeble prince, whose virtues and whose vices were equally inconspicuous. The real power in Austrasia undoubtedly rested with the great lords and with Brunichildis. The nobles, occupying vast domains, and surrounded by throngs of retainers and men-at-arms, had acquired considerable independence during the long minority of their king, and were bent on pushing still further their encroachments on the royal prerogatives. They were still, how­ever, kept partially in check by the intrigues and counter-plots of the clever queen, whose design was to build up a strong monarchy after the model of the Roman Empire, and to convert the humbled “leudes” into submissive servants of the Crown. King Childebert appears to have shared his mother's Roman ideas, but he was altogether too insignificant a person to carry them into effect.

In Neustria, likewise, the king Chlotochar II was a mere cypher, being only twelve years of age. Here again the real power was in the hands of the nobles, and to a lesser extent in those of the queen-mother, Fredegundis. In Neustria, however, the nobles were less insubordinate than in Austrasia, and the powerful Mayor of the Palace usually sided with the king. We should remark that about the year 593 this kingdom had become much shrunken, embracing little more than the Frisian, Flemish, and Norman coast-lands, the country in the extreme north-west. After Childebert’s death, however, the power of Neustria revived.

The society which is depicted for us in the pages of Gregory of Tours is a strange chaos. On the one hand, we have the long-haired kings, aping the Roman Emperors in their titles, their administrative methods, and the rights which they claimed; on the other hand, there are the powerful “leudes,” living with great retinues on country estates, and constantly in revolt against the royal authority. The towns were isolated fortresses, administered by Frankish counts and by the bishops. The remains of the Gallo-Roman population had either flocked to the cities or were living as tributary serfs on the domains of the nobles. Much of the land was uncultivated; the roads were unsafe; the communication between the different cities was almost destroyed; trade and agriculture languished. The old assemblies were rarely held, and the administration of justice was wretchedly inefficient. The most frightful crimes were of common occurrence. A king burns alive his rebellious son, his daughter-in-law, and their child; a queen drowns her daughter, lest her beauty should excite the passions of her husband; another queen tries to strangle her daughter with her own hands; a noble buries alive two of his slaves because they married without his permission; a bishop’s wife amuses herself by applying red-hot plates to the bodies of her attendants. Criminals, or supposed criminals, were punished with most shocking barbarity. The grossest superstition pre­vailed everywhere, and downright paganism was not uncommon. It was said, “If a man has to pass between pagan altars and God’s church, there is no harm in his paying respect to both.”

The Church was degenerate and full of abuses. The clergy were mostly of servile origin (for it was forbidden to ordain a freeman without the king’s permission), and they had the peculiar vices of slaves—greed, sensuality, undue subserviency to the temporal rulers. All intellectual movement was at a standstill Simony was rife, bishoprics were given away by court favour, and laymen were ordained to wealthy sees. The bishops had become landed lords and courtiers. They meddled in politics, and are found mixed up in all manner of discreditable intrigues, and even bloodshed. They oppressed their parochial clergy, who, in return, resisted their authority to the utmost and formed conspiracies against them. Owing principally to the jealousies and dissensions of the rival kingdoms, the power of the metropolitans had declined. Hence the bishops had, to a great extent, emancipated themselves from all control, and rarely met in synod. In the sixth century, only fifty-four councils were held in Gaul; in the seventh, only twenty. The bishops allied themselves closely with the kings, of whom they became the counsellors and advisers, and whom, in return for certain concessions, they permitted to encroach upon the privileges of the Church. Thus in all that concerned its relation to the State, the Church had lost independence.

The excesses of the clergy, recorded by Gregory of Tours, are astounding. We read of one bishop who was so addicted to wine that he had frequently to be carried by four men from the table, and who was so avaricious that he made no scruple of annexing the estates of his neighbours. When one of his presbyters refused to give up to him some private property, he had him buried alive in a tomb already occupied by a putrefied corpse. He was utterly ignorant of all literature, and paid great court to the Jews. Another prelate used to become so bestially intoxicated that he was unable to stand; a third, on suspicion of fraud, violently assaulted his archdeacon in church on Christmas Day; a fourth set himself to persecute to the death all the friends of his holy predecessor; a fifth used to beat his enemies with his own hands, exclaiming, “ Because I have taken Orders, am I therefore to forego my revenge?” An abbat, mixed up in many robberies, assassinations, and other crimes, compelled a poor man to leave his house in order that he might commit adultery with his wife, and was killed by the outraged husband. A cleric, who was a schoolmaster, endeavoured to corrupt the mother of one of his pupils, and afterwards, on being forgiven by his bishop, conspired with an archdeacon to murder his benefactor. Two bishops rode armed to battle, and killed many with their own hands. They attacked, with armed force, one of their brethren while he was celebrating the anniversary of his consecration, tore his vestments, killed his attendants, and robbed him of all his plate. Many persons in their own dioceses they murdered. Queen Fredegundis deputed two clerics to assassinate Childebert, giving them knives with hollow grooves in the blades, filled with poison; another cleric she sent to make away with Brunichildis. A bishop and an archdeacon were accomplices in the murder of Bishop Praetextatus in Rouen cathedral, while he was “leaning on a form to rest himself” during the Easter service. Though the victim shrieked for help, none of the clergy standing by went to his assistance. Gregory says that he suppresses some episcopal misdeeds that he knows of, lest he should be thought to speak evil of his brethren. But he tells us quite enough to enable us to gauge the character of the clergy of the Frankish Church. Certainly we meet with some instances of noble and self-denying men, such as Nicetius of Lyons, Germanus of Paris, and good Bishop Salvius, who, “when constrained to accept money, at once made it over to the poor.” But, as a whole, the Gallican clergy, both high and low, were as brutal and degraded as the abandoned princes and nobles among whom they lived. The Merovingian society was utterly and abominably corrupt, and the history of Gaul in this period presents a record of horrors and crimes unequalled in the annals of any Western nation.

Such, then, was the people and such the Church with which Pope Gregory was now brought into contact.

It was not until the year 595 that Gregory began to concern himself with the affairs of the Church in Gaul. It is true that* before this date he had sent two letters to that country, but they were occasioned by special circumstances. In the first, written in June 591, the Pope had thanked two bishops, Virgilius of Arles and Theodore of Marseilles, for their congratulations upon his accession, and had given them some advice about their conduct towards the Jews. Of this I shall say more in another place. The second letter was directed to the Patrician Dinamius, the Frank governor of the province of Marseilles, who had undertaken the administration of the Papal estates in that neighbourhood. Although Dinamius was by no means an unblemished character, he seems to have acted honestly in regard to the patrimony, and in 593 had forwarded to Rome a sum of money amounting to 400 Gallic solidi. Gregory wrote him a letter of acknowledgment, and sent him as a present a cross containing some particles of the chains of St Peter and of St. Lawrence’s gridiron. Shortly afterwards Dinamius was removed from his government by King Childebert; but the new Patrician, Arigius, consented to manage the Papal estates until a rector should arrive from Rome. This was Candidus the presbyter, whom, in 595, Gregory directed to spend the revenues of the Gallican Patrimony in buying clothing for the poor, and English slave-boys, seventeen or eighteen years of age, who were to be sent to Rome and placed in monasteries. A presbyter was to accompany them on their journey to Italy, to baptize any who should fall sick and be likely to die on the way.

In the year 595 Gregory was given an opportunity of drawing into closer touch with the Church in Gaul. Childebert, now king of Austrasia, Burgundy, and Aquitaine, and lord of all the southern bishops, desired Virgilius, the bishop of Arles, to apply to the Pope for the pallium and the Apostolic Vicariate in Gaul, and even wrote himself to Rome in support of the petition. Gregory was by no means loth to grant the favour. He realized that, by the appointment of a Vicar, his connexion with the Gallican Church would be greatly strengthened, and that he would be able to exercise a much more definite authority than had hitherto been possible. Also he hoped that, by conciliating the friendship of the king and the queen-mother, he might be able to induce them to put an end to some of the scandals by which the Church in these parts was disgraced. Moreover, the request of the king was in strict conformity with precedent The pallium had been granted to Caesarius of Arles by Pope Symmachus, to Auxanius and Aurelianus by Pope Vigilius, and to Sapaudus by Pelagius the First; and, as early as 417, Pope Zosimus had made Patroclus of Arles his Vicar. For these reasons, then, in August 595, Gregory sent the pallium to Virgilius, and conferred on him the Vicariate throughout the kingdoms of Austrasia, Burgundy, and Aquitaine, empowering him to settle minor questions by his own authority, and questions of greater difficulty in a synod of twelve bishops. Only matters of supreme importance were to be referred to Rome. The bishops of Childebert’s dominions were ordered to obey the new Vicar and to assemble in synod when summoned by him to do so; they were also forbidden to travel away from their dioceses without first asking and receiving his permission.

In his letters to Virgilius and to King Childebert, Gregory took occasion to denounce in strong terms two abuses which were particularly prevalent in the Gallican Church—simony and the ordination of laymen to the episcopate. “ I have been informed,” he wrote, “that in the parts of Gaul and Germany no one receives Holy Orders without payment of money.” If this was true, he declared, the whole clergy must be through and through corrupted, and must speedily perish. The seats of those who sold the Holy Ghost would certainly be overthrown. “ Further, we are informed that, on the decease of bishops, mere laymen are sometimes tonsured, and at one step mount up to the episcopate. And thus one who was never a pupil himself is suddenly, through his rash ambition, made a master to others, though he has never learnt what be has to teach. But such a one is only in name a priest: in speech and actions he is a layman still. For how can he intercede for the sins of others, when he has never bewailed his own? A shepherd he may be, but he does not defend his flock; he deceives it.” Even common sense, Gregory argued, might have taught men the danger and absurdity of such a practice. “We know that freshly built walls are not burdened with heavy beams until their moisture is dried up, and they have had time to settle, else the weight will cause the whole fabric to collapse; and timber for building is dried and seasoned before a weight is put upon it, lest, if used prematurely while it is still new, it bend and break. Why, then, is this law, which we all observe in the matter of stocks and stones, not likewise observed in the case of human beings?” The Pope implored the king and the archbishop to put an end to this scandal. In the royal armies, he pleaded, only tried men were made generals; then, in the spiritual host, let not the leadership be given to those “ who have not seen even the beginnings of religious warfare.”

The presentation of the pallium to Virgilius opened out for Gregory many opportunities for extending his influence among the Franks, and all such occasions he was assiduous to improve. In the September of 595 he wrote to Queen Brunichildis (whose “praiseworthy and God-pleasing goodness” he lauds in fulsome terms), congratulating her on the admirable way in which she had educated her son, and praying her, for the sake of St. Peter, “whom we know that you love with your whole heart,” to extend her protection to the presbyter Candidus, who had been sent to take charge of the patrimony. A similar request was made to King Childebert, whose sound Catholic faith was warmly commended. “To be a king” wrote Gregory, “is nothing extraordinary, since there are other kings beside you; but to be a Catholic, which others are not counted worthy to become—this is great indeed.” Unfortunately for Gregory’s hopes, this Catholic prince ended his short and stormy life early in the following year, leaving behind him two illegitimate sons, Theudebert and Theodoric, aged respectively ten and nine years. The whole of Gaul was thus under the nominal rule of three children. Chlotochar II was king of Neustria; Theudebert inherited Austrasia; while Burgundy fell to Theodoric. Brunichildis had now to face a yet fiercer struggle with the powerful nobles, who year by year became more independent and difficult to restrain. Even if Childebert had lived, it is doubtful whether the queen would have been able for long to hold her own against them. But the death of the young king, and the long minority of his sons, sealed the fate of the Merovingian dynasty.

The untimely death of Childebert was much regretted at Home, for this king, with his Imperial ideas and ambitions, was inclined to court Gregory’s friendship, while the great chiefs, striving to regain their old German independence, cared nothing for the frowns or favours of the Roman bishop. Gregory, however, did not permit the event to disturb his relations with Gaul. On the contrary, in this year 596 he made the journey of the missionaries to England an excuse for corresponding with a large number of influential prelates, as well as with the two child-kings and the queen-mother. The English mission itself will be discussed in the following chapter. Here I refer to it only on account of the commendatory letters distributed by Gregory in the districts through which Augustine and his monks were intending to travel It is noticeable, how­ever, that no letter of commendation was sent to the King of Neustria or to Queen Fredegundis. The omission was probably due to the Pope’s fear of offending Brunichildis, who would doubtless have taken it ill had Gregory asked a favour of her deadliest enemies, and might possibly have vented her spleen on the unprotected missionaries.

In 597 Queen Brunichildis requested Gregory to bestow the pallium on her trusted friend and adviser, Syagrius bishop of Autun. Of this personage our authorities on the whole speak favourably; but he seems to have been distinguished more for his political shrewdness than for any sanctity of life. He was an ambitious man, who bad formerly won the good graces of King Guntram, and was at present high in favour with Brunichildis, who was anxious to reward his services by procuring him the coveted distinction of the pallium. On the Apostolic See, however, Syagrius had no claim. He was not even a metropolitan, and the Archbishop of Lyons, whose suffragan he was, might not unreasonably complain if a dignity, which it seems was denied to himself, was conferred without cause on one of his subordinates.

Still, the Bishop of Autun was one of the most influential prelates in Gaul; it was highly expedient to attach him to the Boman interest; and in any case, it was well-nigh impossible to refuse the request of Brunichildis. The Pope, therefore, put the best face he could on the matter, and, after asking and receiving the permission of the Emperor, wrote to the queen, expressing his willingness to grant the desired favour. Before the pallium could be sent, however, some technical difficulties had to be overcome. In the first place, the messenger whom Brunichildis had sent to receive the gift was found to be implicated in the schism of the Three Chapters; then again the queen had desired that the honour should appear to be conferred spontaneously by Gregory, and not in consequence of her petition; moreover, Syagrius himself had omitted to ask for it, although, in accordance with ancient custom, it was bestowed only when a formal request had been made. Nevertheless, that the queen might not fancy that he was inventing excuses to avoid complying with her wishes, Gregory promised that the pallium should be sent to Candidus, rector of the patri­mony in Gaul, who was to deliver it to Syagrius, provided that the latter presented a petition, signed by some of the bishops of the province, praying that the use of it might be granted to him. This provision was certainly clever. It contained nothing to which the queen or Syagrius could decently object, and yet the spectacle of the proudest and most powerful of the Gallican bishops, presenting his humble petition to the Papal representative, and receiving at his hands the coveted honour, could scarcely fail to increase the prestige of the Apostolic See.

In return for his complaisance in the matter of the pallium, Gregory pressed the queen to institute some reforms in the Church in her dominions. He implored her to crush out simony, to put down the practice of consecrating laymen to the episcopate, and to recall to the unity of the Faith such of her subjects as were entangled in the schism of the Three Chapters —the sole object of whom, says Gregory, was to escape ecclesiastical discipline. He further demanded the suppression of the prevailing idolatrous worship of trees and the heads of animals.

The conversion of the Franks to Christianity was evidently still very incomplete. Many openly remained heathens, others were baptized without ceasing to practise their pagan rites. Men who were nominally Christians and frequented the services of the Church, still worshipped trees and stones and fountains, and offered the heads of animals in sacrifice to their ancient deities. In the country districts of Austrasia and in Northern Neustria paganism was predominant. The bishops and clergy of the towns made little headway against it. If they were Romans, they were separated in sentiment and language from the people whom they endeavoured to convert. If they were Franks, they were generally persons appointed by court favour, who did not interest themselves in the conversion of rude soldiers and rustics. Hence the fight against paganism was generally sustained, not by the bishops, but by monks and hermits like Wulfilaich of Trier, who found that even in their solitudes there was work for them to do. The story of Wul­filaich, in this connexion, will be found instructive. This Lombard monk, who had been induced by his reverence for St. Martin to visit Tours, and afterwards founded a monastery in the district of Trier, was persuaded by Gregory of Tours to relate his history. “I went,” he said, “ into the territory of Trier and constructed on this mountain the dwelling which you see. I found here an image of Diana”—some statue, perhaps, which had once adorned the pleasure-grounds of some Gallo-Roman millionaire, and chance had preserved intact amid the ruins—“which the people, still unbelievers, worshipped as a deity. Here I erected a column, on which I stood barefoot, suffering greatly. When winter came I was crippled with the icy cold, so that my toe-nails often dropped off, and the icicles hung down from my beard like candles. My food was a little bread, a few vegetables, and a little water. But when the people from the neighbouring villages began to flock to me, I preached to them continually that Diana was nothing, that the idols were nothing, that the worship paid to them was nothing, and I told them that the songs they sang while drinking and feasting were unworthy of the Deity. Their duty, I said, was to offer the sacrifice of praise to the Almighty God, who made the heaven and the earth. And often I prayed that the Lord would deign to destroy the idol and to deliver the people from their errors. After a while the Lord of His mercy turned the hearts of the rustics, and inclined their ears to the words of my mouth, that they should forsake their idols and follow God. Then I called some of them together, that with their help I might throw down this enormous idol, which I could not destroy unaided; for I had already with my own hands broken in pieces the other images which were easily destroyed. Many persons, therefore, assembled where the statue of Diana stood, and they put ropes round it and began to pull, but their efforts were unavailing. Then, hastening to the church, I flung myself upon the ground, and with tears implored the mercy of God, that where human efforts failed, He might put forth His divine power to destroy. When my prayer was ended, I left the church and joined the workmen: we seized the rope, and at the very first pull the idol crashed to the ground. It was then broken in pieces with iron mallets and reduced to powder.” There were, however, many other idols and many other pagans lingering in different parts of Gaul, and to these Pope Gregory now directed the queen’s attention. But neither royal man­date nor the authority of the Church had power to extirpate paganism, deep-rooted as it was in the heart and soul of the people. So far, indeed, was Frankish heathenism from being crushed out by Christianity, that in the end the Church was compelled to recognize it under Christian forms, and to give it a place within the pale of Christianity itself, The gods were conquered; but, despite the efforts of monks and Popes, they did not die.

Gregory was determined to get as much advantage as he could out of his forced gift to Syagrius. For more than a year he delayed sending the pallium. At last, however, he for­warded it to Gaul by the abbat Cyriacus, together with a cordial letter, in which he gave Syagrius permission to wear the vestment, and ordered that in future Autun should take rank next after the metropolitan see of Lyons. But—and in this lies the point of it all—Syagrius was not actually to receive the pallium until he had given a solemn promise to summon a synod for the correction of abuses. At this council it was Gregory’s desire that Syagrius should preside, and Cyriacus take part. The assembled bishops were to pass laws against simony, against the elevation of laymen to high places in the church, and against the residence of females in the houses of clerics. Arrangements were also to be made for holding a council at least once a year. A full report of the proceedings was to be forwarded to Borne by Syagrius, and also by Aregius bishop of Gap.

Since 595 Gregory had become well acquainted with the state of the Gallican Church. The reports of Augustine, of a certain John “the Regionary” who had been sent into Gaul on some business, and particularly of Candidas, the rector of the patrimony, had enabled him to estimate pretty accurately the depths of the degradation into which the clergy among the Franks had sunk. Now he exerted all his influence to strike a blow at the corruption. The abbat Cyriacus was sent to superintend the work of reformation, Syagrius was bribed by the pallium to support it, and the metropolitans of Gaul were asked to use their influence to bring about the desired result. A circular letter was addressed to the archbishops of Lyons, Arles, and Vienne, as well as to Syagrius, exhorting them in earnest terms to do their utmost to promote the synod for the suppression of the abuses. On the subject of simony Gregory was particularly emphatic. “We are deeply grieved,” he writes, “that money should have any influence on the bestowal of ecclesiastical offices, and that the things which are sacred should thus be made secular. He who seeks to purchase the office with money is anxious in his folly to be a priest, not in reality, but in name only. And what is the result? Is it not this, that there is no examination of his conduct, no anxiety felt about his character, no scrutiny into his past life? He only is considered deserving who has the means to pay. Yet if the matter be weighed in the true balance, he who out of a desire for vain-glory seeks to obtain what ought to be a post of usefulness, is the more unworthy of the honour from the very fact that he seeks it.” Some men, Gregory continued, endeavoured to excuse the practice on the ground that the money so obtained was expended on deserving objects—in giving alms to the poor, building hospitals or monasteries, and the like. But this is mere sophism. “It is no charity to give to the poor the produce of unlawful gains. The only charity which is acceptable to our Redeemer is that which is bestowed from property which is lawfully ours and righteously acquired. It is one thing to give alms because we have sinned, it is another thing to commit sin in order to give alms.”

Besides the metropolitans, Queen Brunichildis and the two young kings were appealed to by the Pope. He begged them to help him, partly for the good of their own souls, since they were responsible to God for the evils which they allowed to flourish in their dominions, and partly for the sake of their country, since bad bishops, by their intercession, only drew down the wrath of God upon the people. He pointed out that, when simony prevailed, poor men of blameless life were contemptuously rejected, and Holy Orders were conferred on those whose sins were rendered acceptable by their wealth.

What could be expected from a man who bought with a price the honour of so great a sacrament? What could be the effect upon society but inevitable corruption? and who could shield the people from the assaults of evil when their leader had so fatally exposed himself? Then, passing to the subject of the consecration of laymen, the Pope went on to show that if men who were unfit and unprepared were raised to the episcopal dignity, they could not be expected to do good to those committed to their charge. How could they guide others, who needed a guide themselves ? how could they teach, when they had never themselves been taught? or how could they act as generals, when they had never served in the rank-and-file? Surely they must be ashamed to issue orders to others which they were utterly unable themselves to carry out. “ Therefore strive earnestly, I pray you, to expel these detestable evils from your land. Listen to no excuses, accept no suggestions, which will be to the injury of your own souls. For without doubt he who does not correct a crime which he has the power of correcting, incurs the same guilt as he who perpetrates the evil deed. Wherefore, that you may be able to offer a great gift to Almighty God, issue your orders for the assembling of a synod, at which, in the presence of our beloved son, the abbat Cyriacus, a decree may be passed and confirmed by an anathema, that no one shall give or receive a price for any office in the Church, and that no one shall pass without preparation from the ranks of the laity to the priesthood. So will our Redeemer, whose priests you save from perishing from the inward assaults of the enemy, reward you for your good deed, both in this life and in that which is to come.” These letters were written in July 599.

Gregory’s proposal was met with determined opposition. The court had no intention of curtailing its own privileges and emoluments; the bishops were, many of them, simoniacal themselves, and were also offended with Gregory on account of the distinction conferred on Syagrius. The metropolitans would do nothing. Virgilius of Arles was a weak person, on whom no dependence could be placed; Aetherius of Lyons was jealous of the see of Autun; Desiderius of Vienne was alienated because Gregory had refused him the privilege conceded to Syagrius. Syagrius himself was much too good a courtier to press any measure which was distasteful to the queen. Moreover, both Syagrius and Cyriacus, on whom Gregory principally relied, shortly afterwards died. Hence the great reformation was put off with plausible excuses, and throughout the year 600 nothing was done to remedy the evils.

Though greatly disheartened by the failure of his project, Gregory did not yet give up all hope. In 601 he made another effort. Once more he tried to procure the interest of Queen Brunichildis. “How many good gifts have been bestowed on you by the bounty of God,” he wrote, “and how completely the goodness of heavenly grace has filled your heart, is clearly shown to all men by your many meritorious deeds, and also by the fact that you rule the savage hearts of the Gentiles with skill and prudence, and—what is still more to your praise—that you add to royal power the ornament of wisdom. I have, there­fore, great confidence that you will correct abuses. Do God’s work, and He will do yours. Order a synod to be summoned, and among other things put down by conciliar decree the sin of simony in your kingdom. Believe me, I have learnt by long experience that money which has been sinfully acquired is never profitably spent. If, then, you do not wish to be deprived of anything unjustly, be very careful to acquire nothing unjustly. If you wish to prevail over hostile nations, if you are eager to conquer them by God’s help, receive with reverential awe the precepts of Almighty God, that He may deign to fight for you against your adversaries, according as He has promised in His Holy Scripture, The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.” A similar appeal was addressed to the kings Theodoric and Theudebert, to Virgilius of Arles, Aetherius of Lyons, and Aregius of Gap. To Virgilius, who professed to be free of the taint of simony, Gregory dwelt with force upon the evil effects of avarice which “the Scripture calls idolatry.” “The fierce lust for gain enslaves the heart, it prescribes what is evil and persuades us it is good, with one and the same sword it slays both the giver and the receiver. What place henceforth will be safe from avarice, when evil priests admit it even into the Church of God ? For shame! The hand is polluted by unlawful gain, and the priest fancies that he can elevate others by his benediction, when he is himself laid low by his own iniquity, and enslaved by his own self-seeking. Even now at last, my brother, do what you can to repair the mischief you have caused by not correcting offenders, keep all whom you can from this wickedness, exert yourself to secure the assembling of a synod utterly to root out this heresy, so that you yourself may be rewarded by God, and all men may refrain from that which, by God’s grace, shall have been condemned by common consent.”

On this occasion, Gregory, for the first time, sent a letter to Chlotochar, king of Neustria, thanking him for his kindness to Augustine, recommending Mellitus, and urging him to convene a synod for the suppression of simony. Gregory’s motive in writing to Chlotochar at this juncture is not quite clear. Possibly he thought that it was a good opportunity for establishing relations with the Neustrian court, since Chlotochar, having been grievously defeated by Theodoric and Theudebert at Dormelles on the Orvane, had been compelled to patch up a peace with the neighbouring kingdoms. Possibly also he realized that the power of Brunichildis was on the wane—she had been expelled from Austrasia in 599, and obliged to take refuge in Burgundy—and therefore he was less careful of offending her by communicating with her enemy. Possibly he was beginning to despair of effecting anything with the bishops of the east and south, and hoped to find the bishops of Neustria more amenable. At any rate, the Pope made overtures of friendship to King Chlotochar. I may add that this last exhortation about the synod seems to have met with some slight response. A council was held in 601 to remedy the abuses complained of, and another in 603 or 604. But the synods do not appear to have been of much importance.

There can be no doubt that Gregory failed in his efforts to bring about a reformation of abuses. The country was not yet ready for anything of that sort. Political confusion had bred moral disorder, and amid the general disorganization Gregory's attempts to enforce the observance of law were inevitably futile. It took nearly two hundred years for the Gallican Church to recover from the effects of the invasion of the Franks. Nevertheless, Gregory’s work in Gaul was not in vain. He succeeded in establishing a regular intercourse between himself and the Church of Gaul, especially in the cities of the east and south; he fixed a tradition of friendship between the Apostolic See and the Frank princes; he held up an ideal of Christianity before a savage and half-pagan people; and he caused the name of bishop to be once more reverenced in a land where it had grown to be almost synonymous with avarice, lawlessness, and corrupt ambition. If Gregory did no more than this, he accomplished enough. Though his work was not rich in definite results at the moment, yet afterwards, in the age of Charlemagne, its effects became manifest.

It should be observed that Gregory endeavoured to bring about the ecclesiastical changes he desired by allying himself closely with the Frank kings, and fortifying himself with their authority. In Gaul the Church and State were most intimately connected, and Gregory made no attempt to sever the bond. He did nothing which can be in any way construed into an attempt to establish a Boman or Papal party in opposition to the court. On the contrary, he recognized to the full the royal prerogatives in regard to the Church, e.g. the right of convening synods, approving decrees, suppressing ecclesiastical abuses, and the like. Only against the usurped privilege of nominating lay courtiers to wealthy bishoprics did he protest, and even then in his denunciations he laid the emphasis almost entirely on the lay condition of the nominee, passing over in silence the illegality of the nomination itself. Gregory, in short, was prepared, as far as possible, to recognize the existing state of things. He frankly accepted the standing relations between the Frank kings and the Church, and only endeavoured, by admonition, by flattery, by every means he could think of, to turn the royal authority to the best account, and through it to influence the bishops in the right direction.

Gregory’s aim, then, was to use the court as an instrument for the reformation of the Church. It is necessary to keep this aim in view, if we are to pass a fair criticism on the tone of the Pope’s letters to Brunichildis. The flattery which Gregory offers to this terrible woman, surpassed only by Fredegundis of her contemporaries in the number and monstrosity of her crimes, has not unreasonably been objected to. But the difficulty of explaining the tone of this correspondence is much less serious than in the case of the famous letters to Phocas, to which I shall refer hereafter. It has been justly pointed out that the worst crimes of Brunichildis—even supposing, what is by no means certain, that she has not been maligned by historians—were committed after the death of Gregory. Further, though her private character left much to be desired, there can be no doubt that Brunichildis was a great queen, with whose enlightened and far-reaching aims the Roman Pope would necessarily have been in sympathy. An admirer of Roman culture, a patroness of the arts, a builder of churches, a maker of roads, a restorer of monuments, one who devoted her life to the attempt to impose on a half-savage nation the form and government of the Roman Empire,—Brunichildis may well have appeared the hope and mainstay of Frankish civilization and religion. It must, moreover, be remembered that the queen was a good Catholic, and in her way even pious. She patronized bishops, and was not unwilling to reform her clergy, when she could do so without endangering the royal prerogatives; at Autun she built a nunnery and hospital, and the Church of St. Martin; and she had laid Gregory himself under an obligation by the assistance she had afforded to the English mission. The good deeds of Brunichildis would be more likely to come under Gregory’s notice than the evil, and doubtless the Pope, gratified by her continued support of religion and orthodoxy, was unwilling to lend an ear to tales of her political delinquencies, or of the moral shortcomings of her private life. Besides all this, we must take into account the custom of the period, in accordance with which people of rank were commonly addressed in language of exaggerated compliment, which somewhat grates upon our modern ears.

While giving full weight to these considerations, however, I cannot but think that such explanations are scarcely sufficient by themselves to account for the tone of Gregory’s correspond­ence. It is almost incredible that he was entirely ignorant of the queen’s crimes ant} vices, or that he really believed her character to be as admirable as that, say, of his favourite Theudelinda. He seems rather to have thought that this was a case in which flattery would be politic; that a few judicious compliments would be well laid out if they won for the Church in Gaul such a powerful friend and defender. The letters to Phocas show that Gregory was capable of honouring with eulogistic phrases persons far less deserving of respect than Brunichildis; and, as has been pointed out by a recent biographer, his “whole conduct furnishes proof enough that he invariably acted on the principle enunciated by St. Francis of Sales when he said that more flies were caught by a spoonful of honey than by a whole barrel of vinegar.” It appears to me, then, that Gregory in this case purposely shut his eyes to the faults of his royal friend, and purposely made the most of her good qualities, for the sake of gaining her support in the prosecution of his projects for the Church in Gaul. Doubtless the means employed were the best adapted for achieving what he wished. The means themselves may cause us a little disgust. But when we remember the condition of the Frankish Church and kingdoms, and recollect the enormous influence for good and evil wielded by Brunichildis, we should perhaps be hypercritical if we blamed the Pope’s diplomacy too harshly.

Finally, in Gregory’s dealings with the princes of the Franks we look in vain for any trace of a political motive. He seems to have had no desire to make use of them either against the Lombards or against the Empire. There is nothing whatever in his correspondence to justify the idea that his relations with the court were determined by any political design. Not a single action of his can be reasonably pointed out as giving colour to such an hypothesis. Gregory was no schemer. His sole object in all his negotiations was the reformation of the Church in Gaul and the establishment of the rule of righteousness. His motive throughout was that of the Christian bishop and not that of the temporal prince. It was the Church, and not the Court, that he cared about. To attribute to him any deep-laid projects of a political character is to misinterpret utterly the principles and the character of the man.

I have thus far given some account of Gregory’s endeavours to reform and purify the Gallican Church as a whole. It may be well to supplement this with a short notice of his dealings with individual bishops. First, then, Desiderius, the learned and virtuous bishop of Vienne—whose literary studies, condemned by Gregory, have been referred to in an earlier chapter of this work—applied to the Pope for the pallium, pleading the ancient privileges of his Church. Gregory, however, who had made no difficulty about conferring the distinction on the influential courtier Syagrius, shrank from thus honouring Desiderius, who was bitterly hated by Queen Brunichildis. For the Bishop of Vienne had played towards the queen the part of John the Baptist, and boldly denounced her incestuous marriage with Merovech; for which cause he was persecuted by her with implacable resentment. Hence the request of this worthy but unpopular man placed Gregory in an awkward position. He did not like to refuse outright, and yet he dared not, by complying, risk the loss of the queen’s good will. He got out of the difficulty by professing a desire to confer the pallium on Desiderius, if only a precedent for the proceeding could be produced. He alleged, however, that no record of such a favour could be discovered among the documents in the Papal archives. Desiderius was accordingly told to institute a more thorough search among the records of his Church, and if he found any documents relating to this privilege, he was to forward them to Rome. Obviously this was only a polite way of refusing the bishop’s petition. Desiderius, excellent man though he was, was not one whom it was expedient to honour.

A similar refusal was sent to Aetherius, archbishop of Lyons, who pressed Gregory to renew certain ancient privileges of his Church. “We have caused a search to be made in our archives,” wrote the Pope, “but nothing has been found. Send us, therefore, the documents which you say that you possess, that we may learn what we ought to grant you.” Aetherius was more influential than Desiderius, and Gregory did his utmost to soften his refusal by lavish praise of the bishop’s “venerable gravity,” his “great love of ecclesiastical order,” his “delight in discipline,” his “zeal in the observance of righteous ordinances,” and his “promptitude in amending the lives of his clergy.” But he remained firm on the main point. He was determined that these privileges should not become too common. They were to be the exception, not the rule; and they were to be conferred with a view to some substantial advantage to be derived therefrom. Doubtless, from a worldly point of view, Gregory’s policy was right. Nevertheless, one cannot help regretting that worthy men like Desiderius and Aetherius should have been rejected, while courtiers of the type of Virgilius and Syagrius were loaded with honour.

Gregory, however, did not always refuse petitions. Aregius, bishop of Gap, visited the Pope in Rome, and seems to have succeeded in winning his regard. To him and his archdeacon was granted the privilege of using dalmatics.

To Serenus, bishop of Marseilles, Gregory wrote a memorable letter, concerning the religious use and significance of images or pictures in churches. It seems that Serenus, scandalized at the superstitious honour accorded to these pictures by the people of his diocese, had caused them to be destroyed. This act of iconoclasm horrified the Pope, who sent the bishop a reproof, pointing out that pictures were “the books of the unlearned.”  Serenus, however, believed, or affected to believe, that the Pope’s letter was a forgery, and continued the work of destruction. Then Gregory wrote a second time, blaming him severely, and setting forth at considerable length his own views about the matter.

“We have been informed that, inflamed with inconsiderate zeal, you have broken the images of the saints, alleging as your excuse that they ought not to be adored. And, indeed, we praise yon heartily for forbidding men to adore them, but we blame you for breaking them. It is one thing to adore a picture, it is another thing to learn through a picture, as through a narrative, what ought to be adored. For what the written book conveys to those who read it, that also the painting conveys to the uninstructed folk who contemplate it. Through it the ignorant learn what they ought to do, through it they read, though they have never learned their letters. Therefore painting, especially with the Gentiles, takes the place of reading. And you, who live among the Gentiles, ought to bear this carefully in mind, and not to scandalize and anger them by your unwise zeal. You had no right to break the pictures in the churches. They were placed there, not to be adored, but only to instruct the minds of the ignorant. It is with good reason that antiquity has permitted the histories of the saints to be painted in holy places; and if your zeal had been seasoned with discretion, you would undoubtedly have gained the good at which you aimed, and, instead of scattering a united flock, you would have brought the scattered flock together, and so would have deserved pre­eminently the name of shepherd, and would not have been reproached as a divider. But, as it is, we are informed that, by recklessly following your own impulses in this matter, you have so scandalized your people that the majority of them have withdrawn from your communion. And how will you bring the stray sheep to Christ’s fold, when you cannot keep within it those whom you already have? I therefore exhort you, strive even now to be careful, refrain from all presumption, endeavour with all your strength and all your zeal to win back by fatherly kindness the hearts you have alienated. Call together the scattered children of your Church, and prove to them, by the testimony of Holy Writ, that nothing made with hands ought to be adored, for it is written: Thou shaft worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shaft thou serve. Then tell them that the reason why you ordered the destruction of the pictures was that you were angered at seeing that adoration was offered to them, whereas they were intended for the edification of the unlearned, that those who could not read might learn from the paintings events that had happened. Say to them, ‘If you wish to have pictures in the church to give the instruction which from ancient times they have been designed to give, I am perfectly willing to have them made and placed in the church.’ Make it clear to them that you were not offended by the sight of the pictured story, but by the adoration which was wrongfully offered to the picture itself. Soothe them with these words, and so win back their affection. And if any one wishes to make pictures, do not forbid it, but in every way forbid the adoration of the pictures. Exhort your people earnestly to acquire the fervour of compunction by gazing on these pictured scenes of history, while they humbly bow in adoration before the Holy and Almighty Trinity, and That alone.”

An appeal was made by Gregory to the Frank court on behalf of the Bishop of Turin. In consequence of the war between the Franks and Lombards, some territory had been detached from the diocese of Turin and formed under Guntram into the new see of Maurienne, subject to the Franks. Gregory was anxious that the new bishopric should be abolished, and that the Frank territory should continue as before under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Turin. But such an arrangement was clearly impracticable. At a time when the secular power of bishops was so great, and when civil and ecclesiastical arrangements were so closely connected, the Frank kings could scarcely be expected to agree that their own people should be committed to a bishop who was a subject of the Lombards. They might reasonably anticipate that districts placed under the authority of the Bishop of Turin in ecclesiastical matters, would in time be claimed by the Duke of Turin as part of his own dominions. Gregory’s remonstrance, accordingly, was productive of no effect, and the diocese of Maurienne continued to be a thorn in the side of the Lombard prelate.

Gregory’s influence on the development of monasticism will be fully dealt with in a subsequent chapter. In the present place, however, it is convenient to speak briefly of the state of the monastic institutions in Gaul at this time, and of Gregory’s relation to them. A word must also be said on the work of Gregory’s contemporary Columban and his letter to the Pope.

It seems that in the sixth century the enthusiasm for the monastic life had to some extent died down in Gaul. The beginnings of that movement had been brilliant enough. Great men, fired with the zeal for asceticism, had carried the people along with them, and planted congregations of monks throughout the length and breadth of the country. St. Martin of Tours founded, half a league from his episcopal town, the celebrated house of Marmoutier; Germanus of Auxerre founded a monastery bearing his name; John Cassian established at Marseilles, over the burying-place of a martyred Roman legionary, the famous Abbey of St. Victor; in the east, on the hills of Jura, Romanus founded Condat, which with its daughter-houses became at once renowned for its austerities, and later took rank as one of the greatest schools in Gaul; in the south, Honoratus took possession of the island of Lerins, once “a hideous desert swarming with serpents,” and converted it by the labours of his monks into “a paradise, rich in streams, covered with flowers, and sweet with odours.” Other founders, more or less distinguished, had planted other settlements, and by the sixth century Gaul had become full of monasteries. But the life of the monks them­selves had grown stagnant. The great coenobites had passed away, and none to be compared with them came to take their place.

For the decadence of Gallic monasticism several causes may be assigned. In the first place, the system lacked unity and solidarity. The monasteries were independent of one another, each constituting a little world in itself, and in consequence the greatest diversity in life and discipline prevailed. Almost every house was governed by a different Rule. Cassian, Caesarius and others drew up regulations for particular monasteries; elsewhere the Rule of Basil was adopted; sometimes a constitution was patched together from these and other Eastern Rules which bore the names of Anthony, Macarius, and Pachomius; sometimes there was no written Rule at all, but the conventual discipline was determined solely by the will of the abbat Hence, in the absence of any final and universal authority, monastic life in Gaul tended to be confused, ill-regulated, and unstable. Again, the monasticism which had been imported into Gaul from the East had not yet become adapted to the conditions of Western life. It was not yet acclimatized, and had not learnt how to accommodate itself to its environment. The austerities of Eastern monachism, though mitigated in some cases, were imitated as closely as circumstances would permit, and the asceticism of the saints of the Thebaid was the goal of the strivings of Western devotees. The extreme rigour characteristic of the East was certainly practised with success by a few self-torturing fanatics, with whom we are made acquainted by Gregory of Tours. For instance, Julian, a presbyter in the monastery of Randan, in Auvergne, maintained continually an upright position until his feet became diseased; Caluppa, an anchoret in the same district, led a solitary exis­tence in a cave on the top of an isolated rock, permitting no one to approach him; Senoch, near Tours, remained for many years in a tiny cell, loaded with chains, and barefoot even in winter; Hospitius of Provence was likewise chained; Lupicinus carried continually on his shoulders a huge stone which two men could scarcely lift, and would not permit himself to sleep; Portian tortured himself by chewing salt on hot summer days, denying himself water; Wulfilaich on his pillar in Trier gave Gaul a Western counterpart of St. Simeon of Antioch. But though a few monks and anchorets lived up to the Eastern standard of asceticism, the majority of religious found the ideal too high for them, and, in despair of attaining to it, became careless and lax. Monachism in Gaul was not yet harmonized with the character and genius of the people; it was still a foreign growth, alien to the soil into which it had been transplanted, and as such necessarily sickly. Once more, during the early part of the sixth century much jealousy and rivalry had been engendered between the monks and the bishops. While the monks aimed at emancipating themselves from episcopal control, the bishops were determined to abate nothing of their authority. Many councils passed decrees in favour of the bishops against the monks. It was enacted, for instance, that no new monasteries might be founded without the bishop’s consent; that the abbats should be subject to their diocesan bishop, and should meet him when convoked at least once a year; that no abbat should travel any distance from his monastery without the bishop’s permission; that the discipline of the monks should be under the supervision of the bishop; that no monk should retire to a hermitage without the bishop’s leave. It is true that the Frank kings were inclined to favour the convents which they founded, and took pains to protect them from wrongful encroachments. But for the most part the monasteries were subjected to the tyranny of the bishops, whose interests were generally antagonistic to their own. And this was inevitably a source of weakness. Lastly, the lawlessness of the age, which had infected every class of society in Gaul, had penetrated within the cloister. Discipline had decayed, and many a monastery had become little better than a hot-bed of vice and crime. For the accomplishment of the work which monasticism had to do in the land of the Franks— the revival of learning, the conversion of the heathen, the protection of the weak, the reproof of wickedness and violence— there was needed a new organization and a fresh and vigorous impulse.

With the older foundations in Gaul Gregory had but little communication. To the monastery of Lerins, however, he sent two friendly letters. This celebrated school of learning, which had once been the seminary of Gaulish bishops, and was still haunted by the memories of many famous men of the preceding century, had declined alike in power and reputation. Discipline was lax, and the abbat Stephen was reported to be remiss. Augustine, however, who visited the abbey on his way to England, had sent to Gregory a favourable account of Stephen and his monks; and the abbat himself had strengthened the good impression thus produced by making the Pope a present of some spoons and plates. In return Gregory sent a short letter of acknowledgment, praising Stephen’s “vigilance,” and ex­horting him to be yet more earnest in his care of the souls committed to his charge. Later, however, Gregory changed his opinion of Stephen, as we learn from a letter of admonition written to his successor, Conon. The epistle may be quoted as a fair specimen of the advice which Gregory gave in such cases, and as an illustration of Gregory’s view of the qualities which ought to be looked for in a good abbat.

“How skilful you are in governing the brethren, and how zealous in watching over them, we have learnt from our brother and fellow-bishop Mennas. As we were often grieved by hearing of your predecessor’s unwise remissness, so we are now rejoiced by your carefulness and foresight; for we are sure that your zealous watchfulness will conduce to your own reward, and will also serve as a useful example to others. But since our adversary, when he sees that every side is well guarded against him, tries to break in by some secret entrance, and endeavours to crush his opponents by craft, let your vigilance be kindled with a care that is ever more fervent; let every spot be completely defended by God’s help, that the fierce wolf prowling round may find no means of entering the sheepfold of the Lord. Let it be your earnest endeavour, with the help of the Redeemer, to restrain and thoroughly guard those who are entrusted to your care from gluttony, from pride, from avarice, from vain talking and from all impurity; that, in proportion as your subjects have, through your vigilance, been victorious over the adversary, you may win the greater reward for the govern­ment committed to you. Let the good feel that you are kind, the evil that you know how to apply correction. And, in cor­recting them, be careful to observe the rule of loving the men themselves even while you are severe upon their faults. If you disregard this, the correction will be cruelty, and you will destroy those whom you wish to improve. You ought to cut away what is diseased without ulcerating the sound part of the limb, for by pressing too hard upon the knife, you only injure the person whom you are anxious to benefit. Your kindness, then, must be marked by caution, not by laxity; your punishments must be inspired, not by severity, but by love. Let the one quality be so seasoned by the other, that the good monks, while they love you, may have something to fear, and the evil, while they fear you, may have something to love. Attend carefully to these precepts, my beloved son, observe them zealously; let your mode of government be such that you may render back to God in safety those who have been entrusted to you, and that you may be deemed worthy in the day of the eternal recompense to hear Him say, Well done, thou good and faithful servant; thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things. Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

Although monastic discipline had deteriorated, there was no falling off in the number of monasteries founded, or in the liberality with which they were endowed. A letter of Gregory’s supplies us with an instance in point. Dinamius the Patrician, who had once administered the Papal estates at Marseilles, after he had been removed from his governorship by Childebert, retired into private life with his sister Aureliana, devoting himself to the study of Scripture and to the discharge of religious duties. Among other good works, the brother and sister built, or at least enlarged, a nunnery at Marseilles, named after St. Cassian, and they petitioned Gregory to grant it certain privileges, with a view to defining the relations of the nuns to the bishop of the diocese. With this request the Pope gladly complied, and drew up for the benefit of the nunnery the following regulations? When the abbess died, no stranger, Le. no one not a member of the congregation, might be appointed her successor; the nuns were to choose one of their own number, who, if considered fit for the office, was to be constituted by the bishop. Neither the bishop nor any of his clergy were to meddle at all with the property, or the administration of the monastery, which was committed wholly to the abbess. The bishop was to celebrate mass in the nunnery twice a year—on the anniversary of its dedication and on the festival of St. Cassian. On these occasions—and on these only—his chair, the symbol of epis­copal authority and jurisdiction, might be placed in the oratory, though it was to be removed so soon as the celebration was over. At other times mass was to be said by a priest nomi­nated by the bishop. But though the powers of the bishop were thus limited, Gregory directed that he should still, “in the fear of God,” exercise a watchful supervision over both the nuns and the abbess, so that, if any faults were committed, he might correct them with canonical discipline.

It is noticeable that in this case, as always, Gregory took the side of the religious against the bishops, and aimed at depriving the latter of all authority within the monasteries, except so much as was involved in the right to exercise canonical discipline against offenders. This was also the usual policy of the kings. When they founded monasteries, they often endeavoured to protect them by granting them charters of privilege, which were sent to Rome to be confirmed and approved by the Pope. Thus, for example, about the year 550, King Childebert the First, “for the good of his soul,” founded a monastery at Arles, and, to secure the maintenance of the arrangements he had made for it, he wrote to Pope Vigilius, requesting that these regulations might be confirmed by the Apostolic authority, “knowing,” so Gregory tells us, “that such great reverence is paid by the faithful to the Apostolic See, that what has been established by its decree can never be disturbed by any unlawful usurpation.” It seems, however, that in this instance the rights secured to the monastery were not respected by the Archbishop of Arles, and the monks sent to Rome to com­plain of the aggression. Hence, “although what has once been enacted by the authority of the Apostolic See needs no further confirmation,” yet Gregory consented to ratify the decrees of Vigilius by his own authority, and to send a copy of them to the archbishop, directing him in future to protect the monks from all molestation.

Particularly remarkable are three charters issued by Gregory at the request of Queen Brunichildis in 602. These documents have been held by many to be forgeries, or, at any rate, interpolated  but the MS. authority is strongly in favour of their genuineness, and on this ground Mabillon, Hartmann, and other critics believe them to be of Gregorian authorship. The contents of the letters are almost identical, and refer to three foundations of Brunichildis in the city of Autun—a hospital, a church attached to a monastery, and a nunnery. Over each of the first two institutions an abbat presided; over the last, an abbess. It seems that Brunichildis, like Childebert, desired to protect her foundations by charters. She made known her wishes in this respect to Gregory, and the Pope, in accordance with her instructions, had the three documents drawn up, which, for their greater security, he requested might be deposited in the public archives. In these charters he ordained that no king, bishop, or other dignitary should abstract or divert any of the property belonging to the above-mentioned institutions; that, on the death of the abbat or abbess, a successor should be appointed by the king, with the consent of the monks, nuns, or clerics resident in the institution; that no king, bishop, or other, whether in person or by proxy, should accept money for the ordination of the abbat or abbess so appointed; that no abbat or abbess should be deprived or deposed, unless convicted of crime before the bishop of Autun sitting with six episcopal assessors. In the charter of the hospital two further provisions were added, viz. that no abbat should undertake the office of a bishop (unless he first resigned his abbey), and that no monk should be promoted to any ecclesiastical office without the consent of the abbat. All the three charters conclude as follows: “All these provisions of our precept and decree we ordain to be observed in perpetuity for thee and all who succeed thee in the same rank and place, and for all others concerned. But if any one, whether king, priest, judge, or secular person, being aware of this our written constitution, should attempt to contravene it, let him be deprived of the dignity of his power and station, and know that he is guilty before the judgment-seat of God for the wrong which he has done. And unless he restores what he has wickedly abstracted, or does suitable penance for his unlawful acts, let him be cut off from the most sacred Body and Blood of our God and Lord, the Redeemer Jesus Christ, and be subjected to severe punishment in the eternal judgment. But the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be on all who observe what is right in respect of this place; may they receive here the fruit of their well-doing, and find the rewards of eternal peace at the hands of the severe Judge.”

The freedom with which Gregory here issued decrees which were binding upon kings, is certainly surprising. But this ceases to be a difficulty if we recollect that he was acting on the instructions of Brunichildis, who would have no hesitation in tying down her successors. Doubtless the queen forwarded to Rome a rough draft of the charter, which the Pope did little more than put into correct form. The concluding imprecation, which some have thought to be a later addition, was doubtless suggested by the queen's anxiety to bind those who came after her. But it is going too far to say, as Montalembert does, that in these charters “the direct subordination of temporal power to spiritual” was already “clearly set forth and recognized.” We know from Gregory’s dealings with the Emperor and other princes, and from the tone and contents of his letters to such, that this was by no means the case.

While Gregory was thus giving charters to monasteries to protect them from enemies without, the great Irishman Columban was busily carrying forward a reformation movement from within. A Leinster man, born about 543, and educated first in the school of St. Sinell, on one of the islands of Lough Erne, and afterwards at the great monastery of Bangor on Belfast Lough, Columban had been seized with an over­mastering impulse to go forth from his native land and preach the gospel. Accompanied by twelve companions, he crossed over to Britain, whence, after a short stay, he passed into Gaul, and arrived at the court of King Sigibert of Austrasia at some date before the year 575. He was then in the prime of life, handsome, eloquent, and learned in both classical and theological literature. Coming from a land of monks and scholars, he was inferior to none in his devotion to asceticism and in his love of learning. It is no wonder that he made a deep impression on the barbarous Frank. “Do not leave us,” said the king to him, “to visit other nations. Remain, and we will provide you with everything you wish.” “I desire no riches,” Columban replied. “I only wish to follow, so far as human frailty will permit, the injunction of my Lord : If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me! Then the king said, “If your wish is to bear the cross of Christ and to follow Him, seek out the solitude of a hermitage, but leave not our dominions. Go not to another nation, but stay here and win for yourself a higher reward, while you aid us in securing our salvation.”

In what was then “the vast wilderness” of the Vosges, Columban founded his first monastery among the ruins of the Roman village of Anagratis. Like most of the monastic founders, he and his companions led for a time a life of extreme privation. Before the land could be brought into cultivation, and when the offerings of the country people failed them, they had often nothing to eat save the leaves and bark of trees, grass, wild herbs, and bilberries. Soon, however, the fame of the saint spread through the surrounding district, and disciples gathered round him in such numbers that it became necessary to seek a place where a larger monastery might be built. About eight miles from Anagratis, within the dominions of Guntram of Burgundy, stood the ruins of another Roman town, Luxovium or Luxeuil. The land here, once populous and well cultivated, was now overgrown with dense woods, the haunt of bears and wolves. Some traces of the old civilization, however, yet remained. Among the tangled mass of scrub and forest trees there were fragments of walls, ruins of the baths, with their hot springs still flowing, and many a statue of forgotten gods and goddesses, which, to the fancy of the monks, suggested the wicked presence of unseen demons, lurking within that gloomy wilderness. Here, then, by the desolate baths which had once been the glory of the Roman town, Columban laid the foundation of the celebrated monastery of Luxeuil. In a little while a third community was settled close by at Fontaines.

The discipline in these monasteries was exceedingly severe. “ You must fast every day,” said Columban to his neophytes, “you must pray every day, work every day, read every day.” “A monk,” he continued, “must live under the rule of one Father and in the society of many brethren, that he may learn humility from one, patience from another, silence from a third, gentleness from a fourth. He is not to do what he likes. He is to eat what he is told to eat, he is to have only what is given him, he must do the work which is set him, he must be subject to those whom he dislikes. He must go to bed so tired that he will fall asleep on the way, and he must rise before he has had as much sleep as he wants. When he is ill-treated he must be silent. He must fear the prior of his monastery as a master, and yet love him as a father; he must believe that whatever orders he gives him are good. He must not discuss the decisions of his superiors, for it is his duty to obey.” The punishments for even the slightest offences were drastic, and usually took the form of stripes. Thus, for example, six stripes were inflicted on a monk who coughed when beginning a Psalm, on a priest who neglected to pare his nails before celebrating mass, on a deacon who omitted to trim his beard, or who smiled during the service, or who struck his teeth against the Communion chalice. Twelve stripes fell on the back of the monk who forgot to say a prayer when he began or ended any work, or who ate without asking a blessing, or who ran or jumped unnecessarily. Thirty stripes were his penalty if he did not say Amen at the end of the prayers; fifty, if he came into the monastery with his head covered, or if he told a falsehood unintentionally, or if he was late for prayers; a hundred, if he ventured to do anything without the authority of his superiors, or if he engaged in a dispute; two hundred, if he spoke familiarly and alone with any woman. These punishments seem to us extraordinarily severe, but it appears that a beating more or less was thought little of in the days of Columban. This much, at least, we gather from the fact that the recitation of fifteen Psalms—an exercise which could have lasted less than an hour—was considered a penalty equivalent to thirty stripes, and two days’ diet on bread and water might be substituted for two hundred stripes. Evidently the monks were accustomed to the lash, and preferred to be flogged rather than have their scanty allowance of food cut down.

In spite of the severity of the Bule, the community of Columban rapidly increased both in reputation and in numbers. It was not merely the weak and poor and oppressed who flocked to Luxeuil to escape the hardships of their lot. The sons of the great Frank and Burgundian nobles were eager candidates for admission. They shore off their long locks, fared like serfs on bread, vegetables, and water, toiled at menial work, felling the trees, ploughing the fields, and reaping the corn, and carried out with implicit obedience the despotic commands of a foreigner. The sixth century, whatever its faults, was not an age of compromise. When men were once convinced of the expediency of adopting a religious life, they flung themselves into their new profession with the same vehemence and something, at least, of the same hardness by which the secular life was characterized.

Columban himself had occupation enough in the government of his monks. He did not, however, neglect his studies. His delight in classical literature, particularly the poets, was unquenchable, and he did not disdain himself, in his spare moments, to trifle in verse. He composed also sermons and instructions in a prose which, though somewhat grandiose and florid, was nevertheless grammatically correct, and bore evidence of an intimate acquaintance with the classical models. On Sundays and holydays, when his ordinary labours were suspended, he liked to wander from the precincts of the monastery into the depths of the surrounding forest, and there in solitude give himself to prayer and contemplation. The love of nature and of animals, characteristic of another great Irish saint, Columba, was strong in Columban, and it was said that, when he approached, even the wild things of the woods would lay aside their fear of man and recognize him as their friend. The birds flew down at his call to be caressed, the squirrels dropped from the boughs upon his shoulders and nestled in his scapular, even bears abandoned their ferocity and did his bidding. Once when he was wandering in the woods, meditating whether it were worse to fall a prey to wild beasts or to evil men, he suddenly found himself surrounded by a dozen wolves. He stood still and cried aloud, “O Lord! make haste to help me!” The savage creatures came close and snuffed at his garments, but did him no harm. As he returned to the monastery he fancied that he heard the voices of Suevic robbers, calling to one another in the forest, but he saw no one, and could not tell whether the sounds were real or a device of the devil to prove his constancy.

The popularity of Columban among the people had its drawbacks, for it brought upon him the bitter enmity of the clergy. The ignorant, simoniacal priests of Gaul were violently jealous of one who, both intellectually and morally, was incomparably their superior. They determined to crush the intruder. Had his work in Gaul turned out a failure, they might, perhaps, have borne with him, but to stand by calmly and witness his triumphs was more than they could do. Un­fortunately, that miserable question about the correct time for celebrating the Easter festival furnished them with a handle against him. When the fourteenth day of the Paschal moon happened to be a Sunday, Columban, in accordance with the Celtic custom, kept it as Easter, while the clergy of Gaul, following the usage of Rome and Alexandria, put off the celebration of that festival until the 21st Thus, in the year 593, and again in 597, the neighbouring clergy learnt with indignation that, while they were fasting in preparation for the solemn observance of the Saviour’s Passion and Death, the foreign monk was keeping festival, as though Christ were already risen. Even had there been no jealousy or unfriendliness between the bishops and Columban, such a divergence of custom could scarcely have failed to produce discord. In the sixth century, when every point of ritual was held to be symbolical of some religious truth, an exaggerated importance was attached even to the minutest details, and men were prone to imagine that unorthodox customs were scarcely less heinous than unorthodox beliefs. Hence the practice of Columban aroused the greatest resentment in Gaul, and the bishops were furnished with a specious pretext for molesting their rival. Unused though they were to assembling in councils, they held a synod in 603, probably at Châlon-sur-Saône, to discuss the schismatical observance at LuxeuiL Columban did not attend in person to defend himself. However, he sent to the bishops a characteristic letter, in which, while vindicating at some length the usage of the “ Churches of the whole West,” he pleaded that at all events each party should be permitted to retain the customs they had inherited from their fathers. “I am not,” he wrote, “the author of this difference. I came to these lands a poor stranger, for the love of Christ the Saviour, our common Lord and God. And by that same Lord I pray you to suffer me to dwell in the silence of these woods, at peace and in charity with you all; let me live near the bones of my seventeen departed brethren, where I have been allowed to dwell among you these twelve years, that I may continue to pray for you, even as I have ever done and ought to do. I implore you to let us dwell together here on earth, since we shall dwell together in heaven, if we be found worthy to enter there. I do not venture to appear before you in person, lest perchance I should be provoked to disobey the Apostle's injunction: Contend not in words. And I would not that there should be strife betwixt us, lest our enemies, the Jews and heretics and pagan Gentiles, should triumph in our discords. But if it be God’s will that you should drive me from this desert place to which I came from beyond the seas for the love of my Lord Christ Jesus, it will be mine to say with the Prophet Jonah: If for my sake this great tempest is upon you, take me up and cast me forth into the sea, so shall the sea be calm unto you. Yet it will be your duty first to follow the example of those heathen sailors, who strove to save the prophet from destruction and to bring the ship to land. Finally, my fathers, pray for me, even as I, though unworthy, pray for you. Think not of me as a stranger. For, whether we are Gauls, or Britons, or Irish, or of any other nation, we are all members of the same Body. Therefore let us all rejoice together in the unity of the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God, let us all strive alike to come unto the perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ. In Him let us love one another, let us praise one another, let us do good to one another, let us visit one another, let us pray for one another, that with Him we may reign and rejoice with one another. I pray you, my most patient and holy fathers and brothers, pardon the garrulity and presumption of one whose task is beyond his powers.”

Several years before this, at some date between 595 and 600, Columban had written a letter on the Paschal question to Pope Gregory. The Irish monk had read with delight Gregory’s Pastoral Care, and knew how anxious the Pope was to put down the simony and immorality so rampant in Gaul. Finding in Gregory’s views so much with which he could heartily sympathize, he ventured to lay before him a statement of his own opinions on the Easter question, in the hope, if not of converting the Pope, of proving to him that the Celtic usage was not without solid justification. The dedication of his long and rather tedious letter is remarkable.

“To the holy Lord and Father in Christ, the Roman, the fairest ornament of the Church, the most august flower, so to speak, of the whole of this withering Europe, the noble overseer, to him who possesses the gift of speculating on Divine causality, I, Bar-Jonah, a poor dove in Christ, send greeting.”

The arguments which Columban put forward as the most important were two. First, there was the authority of Anatolius, whose calculations had been adopted by the Irish, and whose learning had been praised by Jerome. If the Pope rejected the authority of Anatolius, he must also reject that of Jerome. “And I tell you candidly,” wrote the monk, “that whoever denies the authority of Jerome will be accounted a heretic and contemptuously rejected by the Churches of the West, for in everything that regards the Scriptures they believe implicitly in Jerome.” Secondly, Easter, being the festival of light, should be celebrated on a night during the greater part of which the moon is shining. But if the celebration was deferred till the twenty-first or twenty-second day, when the moon entered upon her last quarter, darkness would preponderate over light, and the victory of Satan over Christ rather than of Christ over Satan would be symbolized. “They who say that Easter can be celebrated at that age of the moon cannot confirm their assertion by the authority of Scripture; nay, they are incurring the charge of sacrilege, of contumacy, they are endangering their own souls.”

After a long discussion, in the course of which he indignantly repelled the charge of judaizing, Columban commended his arguments to Gregory’s serious consideration, and then proceeded to ask his advice respecting the manner in which he ought to deal with the simoniacal and adulterous bishops of Gaul, and with monks who, from the desire of the more perfect life, quit their monasteries and retire to hermitages against the will of their abbat. He expressed his regret that bodily weakness and the care of his brethren prevented his visiting Rome, as he often longed to do, and he begged the Pope to send him the lectures on Ezekiel, which he had heard highly praised, and the concluding part of his exposition of the Song of Solomon. He also urged him to explain the hidden meaning of Zechariah, and thereby earn the gratitude of “Western blindness.” Finally, returning to the Easter question, he concluded his letter with these words: "Your holy son Candidus tells me that you will probably reply to me that what has been confirmed by ancient usage cannot be changed. Well, error is manifestly ancient, but truth which reproves it is ever more ancient still.”

The Pope never replied to this letter.¹ Possibly it never reached him; possibly he was offended at its independent tone. For though Columban was profuse in his compliments and expressions of deference, he showed very clearly that he had no intention of accepting any Papal decision as a final settlement of the question, unless, indeed, it happened to coincide with the opinions he had formed himself. He told Gregory plainly that if he set aside the authority of St. Jerome, he would be regarded as heretical, and at the same time he urged him not to follow blindly the decisions of previous Popes, and particularly of St. Leo. “ A living dog is better than a dead Lion,” he quoted, playing upon Leo’s name. “A living saint may correct the omissions of one who went before him.” Certainly Columban knew nothing of the doctrine of Papal Infallibility.

But to return to Columban’s controversy with the bishops. It appears that the Irishman’s appeal was not made wholly in vain. The rivalry and discord between him and the Gallican prelates did not certainly disappear; but for some years longer he was left in his beloved solitude of the Vosges, to pray by the tombs of his brethren that were dead, and to stimulate the activities of the living. Columban, however, was not made, like Benedict, for a life of complete seclusion. His sphere was action. He often wandered away from his monastery, and wherever he went he denounced in scathing words whatever he deemed to be wrong, even in the life of persons of the highest rank. He was as one of the Old Testament prophets, impelled by an irresistible force within him to declare the judgments of God against unrighteousness. His reproofs were vigorous, inspired by a noble indignation against sin, but his vehemence was too often unseasoned with discretion. “Would it not be better,” said a Frank noble to him once, “to give men milk to drink instead of wormwood?” Thus, while many admired his fervour, and believed in his mission, some were offended, and murmured against the foreign upstart with his exacting demands and his entire want of reverence for sinners in high place.

They would have murmured in vain, however, had not Columban had the worldly imprudence to give mortal offence to Brunichildis. The old queen, who resided at the court of her grandson Theodoric of Burgundy, fearing a rival, did all she could to discourage the young king from contracting a lawful marriage, and kept him amused with a succession of attractive concubines. Columban earnestly endeavoured to counteract the queen’s influence in this matter, and often reproved Theodoric for his immorality, urging him to take a lawful wife. On one occasion, when he was paying a visit to the royal villa of Bourcheresse, Brunichildis had the audacity to lead into his presence some of the natural children of the king. “What would these children with me?” asked the monk. “They are the king’s sons,” Brunichildis answered. “Strengthen them with your blessing.” “Nay,” said Columban, “they shall never sit upon the throne, for they are the offspring of sin.” Brunichildis was awed for the moment, but she did not forgive the insult, and from that time the bishops and nobles who hated Columban could count on her support. Theodoric, indeed, who, with all his faults, was good-natured enough and had a genuine respect for his saintly monitor, refused for a time to be a party to any persecution of him. But at last assiduous slander prejudiced even the king, and Columban was compelled to quit Luxeuil, and retire in custody to Besançon.

The saint was now under arrest, but the vigilance of his guards was lax. One Sunday, finding no one at hand to hinder, he quietly walked away from Besancon and returned to Luxeuil. But this flagrant defiance of the king’s authority sealed his fate. A band of soldiers was immediately sent to expel him from the kingdom. They found him in the chapel, chanting the service in the midst of his monks. “Man of God,” said they, “we pray you to obey the mandate of the king, and return whence you came.” But the saint refused. “I left my country,” he replied, “for the service of Jesus Christ, and I cannot believe that my Creator wills me to return.” At last, however, he suffered himself to be persuaded by his monks, and, taking with him his Irish companions, he followed the soldiers to Nevers, whence he was conveyed down the Loire to Nantes. Here he was put aboard a merchant vessel bound for Ireland. But Columban was not destined ever to see his native land again. The ship on which he had embarked, after putting out to sea, was driven back to the mouth of the Loire, and the captain, believing that his misadventure was occasioned by the presence of the saint, put him ashore with his companions, and sailed away upon his voyage.

The subsequent adventures of Columban—how he visited Chlotochar and was kindly received; how he travelled up the Rhine to Bregenz; how after lingering awhile on the shores of Lake Constance, he painfully crossed the Gotthard and presented himself at the court of the Lombard Agilulf; how he disputed against the Arians; how he founded the monastery of Bobbio, where through centuries of barbarism the ancient learning was kept alive and the classical masterpieces were cherished; how at the last the brave old man, finding the discipline of his monastery insufficiently austere, retired to: a solitary cave beyond the Trebbia, where he spent in prayer and fasting the remaining days of his life, until he was called away on the 218t of November 615;—all this cannot be recounted here. My concern is only with Columban’s monastic work in Gaul. This continued long after the saint himself had been driven from the country. Not only in Burgundy, but throughout the whole of Gaul, Luxeuil come to be regarded as the metropolis of Gallican monasticism, the most eminent as well as the most severe of all the religious houses in the country. “Numbers come from all quarters,” says a writer of the seventh century, “fathers with their sons, eager for instruction, longing above all things to be found worthy of admission to the congregation, after a long and patient endurance of severities designed for their probation. And now what place, what city, does not rejoice in having for its ruler a bishop or an abbat trained in the discipline of that holy man Columban? For it is certain that, by the virtue of his authority, almost the whole of the land of the Franks has been for the first time properly furnished with regular institutions.” Before many years had passed a multitude of new monasteries had been founded in Burgundy, Austrasia, and Neustria, some directly as colonies from Luxeuil, some by men who had either been trained themselves in the discipline of Columban, or who believed in that discipline as a training for others. And from these new institutions a reforming influence spread among the older monasteries, calling back to life the old enthusiasm and zeal, till, as another seventh­century writer says, “there were, by the blessing of God, innumerable monasteries of both sexes throughout the whole of France and Gaul flourishing under a regular discipline.” Yet, though the spirit of Columban worked so strongly in the land, it was not his Rule which was destined to give to the monasteries the organization they required. That was to come to them from another quarter—from Italy and from Benedict.

Of Gregory’s work in Gaul no more need be said. The relations which he succeeded in establishing with her kings were not sustained after his death. For more than a century there appears to have been no intercourse between the Popes and the Frank rulers; at any rate, till the time of Gregory the Second no documents exist which can be quoted in proof of any intercommunication. Rome left the Merovingian princes to their fate. Yet, though communications between Gaul and Pome practically ceased with Gregory, the work of the great Pope was not thrown away. Gregory had given an ideal to a Church which was rapidly degenerating into lawlessness and heathenism. He had brought Christian influences to bear on a people whose ferocious crimes had made them a by-word throughout Europe. He had made both bishops and princes feel the moral power of Pome. And finally, he had defended the monks against the tyranny of the bishops, and “made the Papal curse their bulwark against royal oppression”. In this last respect, at any rate, his influence was perpetuated through the century of silence that followed his death. It was the monasteries chiefly that undertook the work of christianizing and civilizing the barbarian Franks; and the monasteries had been strengthened for their task by the protection of Pope Gregory. He shaped the instrument which was to destroy the remains of paganism in Gaul.

BOOK II. CHAPTER VIII.

GREGIRY'S MISSIONARY LABOURS