The Anticipated Second Coming of Christ.—State of the World in the Tenth Century.—Enduring Architecture.—Power of the Papacy.—Vitality of the Christian Religion.—The Pope and the Patriarch.—Intolerance of Hildebrand.—Humiliation of the Emperor Henry IV.—Farewell Letter of Monomaque.—The Crusades.—Vladimir of Russia.—His Introduction of Christianity to his Realms.—Marriage with the Christian Princess Anne.—Extirpation of Paganism.—The Baptism.—The Spiritual Conversion of Vladimir.
HERE had gradually arisen an almost universal impression in the Church, that, in just a thousand years after the advent of Christ, the world was to come to an end. Notwithstanding the emphatic declaration of Jesus, that not even the angels in heaven know the period of his second coming, through all the ages of the Church individuals have been appearing who have fixed upon a particular year when Christ was to come in clouds of glory.
The year of our Lord 999 was one of very solemn import. There was a deep-seated impression throughout all Christendom that it was to be the last year of time; and, indeed, all the signs in the heavens above and on the earth beneath indicated that event. There was almost universal anarchy,—no law, no government, no safety, anywhere. There were wars, and rumors of wars. Sin abounded. There were awful famines, followed by the fearful train of pestilence and death. The land was left untilled. There was no motive to plant when the harvest could never be gathered. The houses were left to fall into decay.Why make improvements, when in one short month they might be swallowed up in a general conflagration?
It is an almost inexplicable peculiarity of human wickedness, that danger and death are often the most intense incentives to reckless sin. While Christians were watching and praying for the coming of the Saviour to bring to a triumphal close this fearful tragedy of earth and time, the godless surrendered themselves to all excesses, and shouted, “Let us eat and drink; for to-morrow we die!”
The condition of society became quite unendurable. Robbers frequented every wood: in strong bands they ravaged villages, and even walled towns. As all were consuming, and few were producing, provisions soon disappeared. Despair gave loose to every passion. In many places the famine was so severe, that, when even rats and mice could no longer be procured, human flesh was sold in the markets: women and children were actually killed and roasted.
But, while many were thus stimulated to awful depravity, others, inspired by Christian principle, were impelled to prayer, and to every exercise of devotion which those dark days taught them could be acceptable to God. Kings, in several cases, laid aside their crowns, and, as humble monks, entered the monasteries, performing all the most onerous and humiliating duties of midnight vigils, fastings, penances, and prayers.
Henry, the Emperor of Germany, entered the Abbey of St. Vanne as a monk. The holy father in charge, who was truly a good man, enlightened and conscientious, received the emperor reluctantly. After much remonstrance, he, however, administered the oath by which the monarch vowed implicit obedience to the authority of his spiritual superior.
“Sire,” said this good monk to the emperor, “you are now under my orders: you have taken a solemn oath to obey me. I command you to retire immediately from the convent, and to resume the sceptre. Fulfil the duties of the kingly state to which God has called you. Go forth a monk of the Abbey of St. Vanne; but resume your responsibilities as Emperor of Germany.”
The emperor obeyed with simplicity of trust, and nobility of character, which have commanded the respect of all subsequent ages.