It was during the period of about one hundred fifty years, extending from the middle of the twelfth to the close of the thirteenth century, that the features of our modern civilization began to assume a recognizable form. The age was characterized by the decline of feudalism, and by the growth of all the new influences which combined to create a new state of society.
With the decay of the great lords came the rise of the great cities, the increased power and importance of the middle classes, the burghers or "citizens," who dominate the world to-day. In opposition to these there came also an unforeseen accession of strength to kings. The boundaries of modern states grew more clearly defined; modern nationalities were distinctly established; Europe assumed something of the outline, something of the social character, which she still retains.
The period includes not only the culmination and close of the crusading fervor, but also, coincident with this, the culmination of both the religious and the temporal powers of the popes, and the scarce recognized beginning of their decline. Universities, vaguely existent before, now increase rapidly in numbers and importance, receive definite outlines and foundations, and exert a mighty influence. In fact it has been not inaptly said that the rule of mediæval Europe was divided amid three powers—the emperor, the pope, and the University of Paris. Books, from which we can trace the history of the time, become as numerous as before they had been scant and vague and misleading. Thought reveals itself struggling everywhere for expression, displayed at times in the sunshine of song and rhyme and merry laughter, at times in the storms of philosophic dispute and religious persecution.
In short, this was an age of strife between old ways and new. It saw the granting of Magna Charta, but it saw also the establishment of the Inquisition, and the creation of the two great monastic orders, whose opposing methods, the Dominicans ruling by fear and the Franciscans by love, are typical of the contrasting spirits of the time. It was the age which in the next century under Dante's influence was to burst into blossom as the Renaissance.
FREDERICK BARBAROSSA
Not often has one man proven influential enough to dominate and alter the direction of his epoch; but very frequently we see one taking advantage of its tendencies and so managing these, so directing them, that he seems almost to create his surroundings, and becomes to all men the expression and example of his times. Such a leader was the emperor Frederick Barbarossa (1152-1190), and we may follow his fortunes in tracing the early part of this era.
The First Crusade had depleted Europe of half a million fighting men. Then came a pause of fifty years, after which it was learned that Jerusalem was again in danger of falling into the hands of the Mahometans. So, in 1147, another vast crusading army set out to the rescue. Barbarossa himself went with this Second Crusade, as a young German noble. He was one of the few who escaped death in the Asian deserts, one of the very few who from the colossal failure of the expedition returned to Europe with added honor and reputation. He was elected Emperor. The crusade had been as deadly as the first, though less successful, and when this nominal leadership of Western Europe was thus conferred on the gallant Frederick, he found the Teutonic races weakened by the loss of a million of their most valiant warriors—that is, of the feudal lords and their retainers.
Here we find at once one of the great causes of the decay of Feudalism. Many of the old families had become wholly extinct; and under the feudal system their estates lapsed to their overlords, the kings. Other families were represented only by heiresses; and the marrying of these ladies became a recognized move in the game for power, in which the kings, and especially the emperor Frederick, now took a foremost part.
Previous emperors had been figureheads; Frederick became the real ruler of Europe. The kings of Denmark and Poland fully acknowledged themselves his vassals. So also, though less definitely, did the King of England. For a moment the imperial unity of Europe seemed reviving. Only one of the Emperor's great dukes, Henry the Lion, of Saxony, dared stand against him; and Henry was ultimately crushed. The war-cries of the two opponents, however, became eternalized as factional names in the struggle of Frederick's successors against other foes. For generations whoever upheld the empire was a Waibling, and whoever would attack it, on whatsoever plea, a Welf. Frederick, having established his power in Germany, attempted to assert it in Italy as well; and so the strife passed over the Alps and became that of Ghibelline against Guelf, in Italian phrase, of emperor against pope, of monarchy against democracy.
It was this fatal insistence upon Italian authority that brought disaster upon Frederick and all his house, and ultimately upon the empire as well, and on the entire German race. The Italians had been quite content to call themselves subjects of a Holy Roman Empire which extended but vaguely over Europe, and whose chief took his title from their ancient city and only came among them to be crowned. They looked at the matter in a wholly different light when Frederick regarded his position seriously, and interfered in their affairs with the strong hand, crushing their feuds and exacting money tribute. Rebellion was promptly kindled, and for twenty years one German army after another dwindled away in the passage of the Alps, wasted under the fevers of Italian marshes, or was crushed in desperate battle. By the treaty of Constance, in 1183, Frederick confessed the one defeat of his career. He acknowledged the practical independence of the Italian cities.[1]