“Beware of idleness,” said this noble Christian man, “as the great enemy of the soul. No person is more usefully employed than when working with his hands, or following the plough.”

This was the origin essentially of many of the monasteries of Europe: they were noble institutions in their design, and thousands of Christians breathing the spirit of Christ found within their enclosures peaceful and useful lives when the billows of anarchy were surging over nearly all other portions of the globe. But that innate proneness to wickedness, which seems everywhere to reign, gradually perverted those once holy and industrious communities into institutions of indolence and sin. Wherever the monastery arose, there originally waved around it fields of grain, and fat cattle grazed in the meadows. Prayer and labor, faith and works, were combined, as they ever should be. The ruins of these monastic edifices still occupythe most enchanting spots in Europe: they were usually reared upon some eminence which commanded an extensive prospect; or in some sheltered nook, by the banks of a beautiful stream. The eye of taste is invariably charmed in visiting these localities. The pristine monks were a noble set of men; and, for ages, learning and piety were sheltered in the cloisters which their diligent hands had reared.

The modern tourist, witnessing the worldly wisdom evidenced in their whole plan, and conscious that there is no longer occasion for such institutions, forgets the necessities of the rude days in which they were constructed, and is too apt sneeringly to exclaim,—

“Ah! those shrewd old monks had a keen eye to creature-comforts. They loved the banks of the well-filled stream sparkling with salmon and trout: they sought out luxuriant meadows, where their herds could roll in fatness amidst the exuberant verdure; or the wooded hills, where the red deer could bound through the glade, and snowy flocks could graze, and yellow harvests, sheltered from the northern winds, could ripen in the sun.”

Indeed they did. This was all right,—Christian in the highest degree. “Godliness is profitable unto all things.” “The hand of the diligent maketh rich.” The prior of the monastery was not a despot revelling in the toil of others: he was the father of the household; he was the head workman, accompanying his brethren to the field of honest toil and remunerative industry.

Benedict, usually called St. Benedict, early in the sixth century established a monastery, which subsequently attained great celebrity, upon the side of Mount Cassano, near Naples. None were admitted to it but men of pure lives, and who had established a reputation for such amiability of character as would insure their living harmoniously with the other brethren. It became the home of piety, industry, and temperance: the persecuted sought refuge there; scholars sought a retreat there; missionaries went out from it into the wastes which war and vice had desolated.

The cloistered convent may with some propriety be called a divine institution: it was the creation of necessity. But, in the lapse of ages, royal gifts and the legacies of the dying endowed many of them with great wealth. Opulence induced indolence, till these cradles of piety became the strong fortresses of iniquity; and modern Christianity has been compelled to frown them down.

From the commencement of these institutions, during a period of five hundred years, until the tenth century, many of these monasteries exerted a beneficent and noble influence. Christianity had begun to break the fetters of the slave; these freedmen, the emancipated slaves, were placed under the protection of the clergy; and they often found shelter from oppression within sacred walls which secular violence did not dare to profane. These convents were for ages the only post-offices in the country. Few could read but the higher clergy. It is said even of the Emperor Charlemagne, that he could not write, and that his signature to any document consisted of his dipping his hand in a bowl of red ink, and then impressing the broad palm upon the parchment. There were but few letters passed, save those conveying some important state intelligence. These documents were rapidly transferred by the brethren from one convent to another. For many centuries, the monks were better informed than almost any other persons of what was transpiring throughout Europe and Asia.

The warriors were men of muscle only, not of cultivated mind. Intelligence is always a power: hence the Church rapidly gained ascendency over the State, and the mitred bishop took the precedence of the helmed warrior. The bishops, or pastors, of the large churches in the metropolitan cities, had then, as now, distinction above the rural clergy. Constantinople, outstripping decaying Rome, had become the chief city of the world in population and splendor. Rome, proud of her ancient renown, regarded her young rival very much as an old, aristocratic, decaying family regards some successful adventurer of lowly birth who has newly become rich.

There was strong rivalry between the bishops of these tworenowned cities, each struggling for the pre-eminence. The Bishop of Rome gradually assumed the title of Papa, or Pope. Indeed, in the first century, all the bishops in the East were entitled Pope, or Father. Subsequently, in the fifth century, the Bishop of Constantinople took the title of Patriarch. The strife eventuated in a division between the Greek and Roman churches. The Pope at Rome took the Western churches, and the Patriarch at Constantinople the Eastern. Swaying the sceptre of spiritual power, both of these ecclesiastics gradually grasped temporal power also. Christianity was virtually banished from the Church, though there were here and there devoted pastors; and thousands of Christians, some of them even in the highest walks of life, were, with prayers and tears, struggling, through the almost universal corruption, in the path to heaven. Both the Grecian and the Roman hierarchies became mainly but ambitious political organizations, ministering to pride and luxury and splendor. There were some good popes, as there have been good kings; and many bad popes, as there have been bad kings.