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  He was now (444) the most powerful man in Europe. Theodosius II of the Eastern Empire, and Valentinian of the Western, both paid him tribute as a bribe to peace, disguising it among their peoples as payments for services rendered by a client king. Able to put into the field an army of 500,000 men, Attila saw no reason why he should not make himself master of all Europe and the Near East. In 441 his generals and troops crossed the Danube, captured Sirmium, Singidunum (Belgrade), Naissus (Nish) and Sardica (Sofia), and threatened Constantinople itself. Theodosius II sent an army against them; it was defeated; and the Eastern Empire won peace only by raising its yearly tribute from 700 to 2100 pounds of gold. In 447 the Huns entered Thrace, Thessaly, and Scythia (southern Russia), sacked seventy towns, and took thousands into slavery. The captured women were added to the wives of the captors, and so began generations of blood mixture that left traces of Mongol features as far west as Bavaria. These Hun raids ruined the Balkans for four centuries. The Danube ceased for a long time to be a main avenue of commerce between East and West, and the cities on its banks decayed.

  Having bled the East to his heart’s content, Attila turned to the West and found an unusual excuse for war. Honoria, sister of Valentinian III, having been seduced by one of her chamberlains, had been banished to Constantinople. Snatching at any plan for escape, she sent her ring to Attila with an appeal for aid. The subtle King, who had his own brand of humor, chose to interpret the ring as a proposal of marriage; he forthwith laid claim to Honoria and to half the Western Empire as her dowry. Valentinian’s ministers protested, and Attila declared war. His real reason was that Marcian, the new Emperor of the East, had refused to continue payment of tribute, and Valentinian had followed his example.

  In 451 Attila and half a million men marched to the Rhine, sacked and burned Trier and Metz, and massacred their inhabitants. All Gaul was terrified; here was no civilized warrior like Caesar, no Christian—however Arian—invader like Alaric and Gaiseric; this was the awful and hideous Hun, the flagellum dei come to punish Christian and pagan alike for the enormous distance between their professions and their lives. In this crisis Theodoric I, aged King of the Visigoths, came to the rescue of the Empire; he joined the Romans under Aëtius, and the enormous armies met on the Catalaunian Fields, near Troyes, in one of the bloodiest battles of history: 162,000 men are said to have died there, including the heroic Gothic King. The victory of the West was indecisive; Attila retreated in good order, and the victors were too exhausted, or too divided in policy, to pursue him. In the following year he invaded Italy.

  The first city to fall in his path was Aquileia; the Huns destroyed it so completely that it never rose again. Verona and Vicenza were more leniently treated; Pavia and Milan bought off the conqueror by surrendering their movable wealth. The road to Rome was now open to Attila; Aëtius had too small an army to offer substantial resistance; but Attila tarried at the Po. Valentinian III fled to Rome, and thence sent to the Hun King a delegation composed of Pope Leo I and two senators. No one knows what happened at the ensuing conference. Leo was an imposing figure, and received most credit for the bloodless victory. History only records that Attila now retreated. Plague had broken out in his army, food was running short, and Marcian was sending reinforcements from the East (452).

  Attila marched his horde back over the Alps to his Hungarian capital, threatening to return to Italy in the next spring unless Honoria should be sent him as his bride. Meanwhile he consoled himself by adding to his harem a young lady named Ildico, the frail historic basis of the Nibelungenlied’s Kriemhild. He celebrated the wedding with an unusual indulgence in food and drink. On the morrow he was found dead in bed beside his young wife; he had burst a blood vessel, and the blood in his throat had choked him to death (453).47 His realm was divided among his sons, who proved incompetent to preserve it. Jealousies broke out among them; the subject tribes refused their allegiance to a disordered leadership; and within a few years the empire that had threatened to subdue the Greeks and the Romans, the Germans and the Gauls, and to put the stamp of Asia upon the face and soul of Europe, had broken to pieces and melted away.

  V. THE FALL OF ROME

  Placidia having died in 450, Valentinian III was free to err in the first person. As Olympius had persuaded Honorius to kill Stilicho who had stopped Alaric at Pollentia, so now Petronius Maximus persuaded Valentinian to kill Aëtius who had stopped Attila at Troyes Valentinian had no son, and resented the desire of Aëtius to espouse his son to Valentinian’s daughter Eudocia. In a mad seizure of alarm the Emperor sent for Aëtius and slew him with his own hand (454). “Sire,” said a member of his court, “you have cut off your right hand with your left.” A few months later Petronius induced two of Aëtius’ followers to kill Valentinian. No one bothered to punish the assassins; murder had long since become the accepted substitute for election. Petronius elected himself to the throne, compelled Eudoxia, Valentinian’s widow, to marry him, and forced Eudocia to take as her husband his son Palladius. If we may believe Procopius,48 Eudoxia appealed to Gaiseric as Honoria had appealed to Attila. Gaiseric had reasons for responding: Rome was rich again despite Alaric, and the Roman army was in no condition to defend Italy. The Vandal King set sail with an invincible armada (455). Only an unarmed Pope, accompanied by his local clergy, barred his way between Ostia and Rome. Leo was not able this time to dissuade the conqueror, but he secured a pledge against massacre, torture, and fire. For four days the city was surrendered to pillage; Christian churches were spared, but all the surviving treasures of the temples were taken to the Vandal galleys; the gold tables, seven-branched candlesticks, and other sacred vessels of Solomon’s Temple, brought to Rome by Titus four centuries before, were included in these spoils. All precious metals, ornaments, and furniture in the imperial palace were removed, and whatever remained of value in the homes of the rich. Thousands of captives were enslaved; husbands were separated from wives, parents from children. Gaiseric took the Empress Eudoxia and her two daughters with him to Carthage, married Eudocia to his son Huneric, and sent the Empress and Placidia (the younger) to Constantinople at the request of the Emperor Leo I. All in all, this sack of Rome was no indiscriminate vandalism, but quite in accord with the ancient laws of war. Carthage had leniently revenged the Roman ruthlessness of 146 B.C.

  Chaos in Italy was now complete. A half century of invasion, famine, and pestilence had left thousands of farms ruined, thousands of acres untilled, not through exhaustion of the soil but through the exhaustion of man. St. Ambrose (c. 420) mourned the devastation and depopulation of Bologna, Modena, Piacenza; Pope Gelasius (c. 480) described great regions of northern Italy as almost denuded of the human species; Rome itself had shrunk from 1,500,000 souls to some 300,000 in one century;49 all the great cities of the Empire were now in the East. The Campagna around Rome, once rich in villas and fertile farms, had been abandoned for the security of walled towns; the towns themselves had been contracted to some forty acres as a means of economically walling them for defense; and in many cases the walls were improvised from the debris of theaters, basilicas, and temples that had once adorned the municipal splendor of Italy. In Rome some wealth still remained even after Gaiseric, and Rome and other Italian cities would recover under Theodoric and the Lombards; but in 470 a general impoverishment of fields and cities, of senators and proletarians, depressed the spirits of a once great race to an epicurean cynicism that doubted all gods but Priapus, a timid childlessness that shunned the responsibilities of life, and an angry cowardice that denounced every surrender and shirked every martial task. Through all this economic and biological decline ran political decay: aristocrats who could administer but could not rule; businessmen too absorbed in personal gain to save the peninsula; generals who won by bribery more than they could win by arms; and a bureaucracy ruinously expensive and irremediably corrupt. The majestic tree had rotted in its trunk, and was ripe for a fall.

  The final years were a kaleidoscope of imperial mediocrities. The Goths of Gaul pro
claimed one of their generals, Avitus, emperor (455); the Senate refused to confirm him, and he was transformed into a bishop. Majorian (456–61) labored bravely to restore order, but was deposed by his patricius or prime minister, the Visigoth Ricimer. Severas (461–5) was an inefficient tool of Ricimer. Anthemius (467–72) was a half-pagan philosopher, unacceptable to the Christian West; Ricimer besieged and captured him and had him killed. Olybrius, by grace of Ricimer, ruled for two months (472), and surprised himself by dying a natural death. Glycerius (473) was soon deposed, and for two years Rome was ruled by Julius Nepos. At this juncture a new conglomeration of barbarians swept down into Italy—Heruli, Sciri, Rugii, and other tribes that had once acknowledged the rule of Attila. At the same time a Pannonian general, Orestes, deposed Nepos, and established his son Romulus (nicknamed Augustulus) on the throne (475). The new invaders demanded from Orestes a third of Italy; when he refused they slew him, and replaced Romulus with their general Odoacer (476). This son of Attila’s minister Edecon was not without ability; he convened the cowed Senate, and through it he offered to Zeno, the new Emperor of the East, sovereignty over all the Empire, provided that Odoacer might as his patricius govern Italy. Zeno consented, and the line of Western emperors came to an end.

  No one appears to have seen in this event the “fall of Rome”; on the contrary, it seemed to be a blessed unification of the Empire, as formerly under Constantine. The Roman Senate saw the matter so, and raised a statue to Zeno in Rome. The Germanization of the Italian army, government, and peasantry, and the natural multiplication of the Germans in Italy, had proceeded so long that the political consequences seemed to be negligible shifts on the surface of the national scene. Actually, however, Odoacer ruled Italy as a king, with small regard for Zeno. In effect the Germans had conquered Italy as Gaiseric had conquered Africa, as the Visigoths had conquered Spain, as the Angles and Saxons were conquering Britain, as the Franks were conquering Gaul. In the West the great Empire was no more.

  The results of the barbarian conquest were endless. Economically it meant reruralization. The barbarians lived by tillage, herding, hunting, and war, and had not yet learned the commercial complexities on which cities thrived; with their victory the municipal character of Western civilization ceased for seven centuries. Ethnically the migrations brought a new mingling of racial elements—a substantial infusion of Germanic blood into Italy, Gaul, and Spain, and of Asiatic blood into Russia, the Balkans, and Hungary. The mixture did not mystically reinvigorate the Italian or Gallic population. What happened was the elimination of weak individuals and strains through war and other forms of competition; the compulsion laid upon everyone to develop strength, stamina, and courage, and the masculine qualities that long security had suppressed; the renewal, by poverty, of healthier and simpler habits of life than those which the doles and luxuries of the cities had bred. Politically the conquest replaced a higher with a lower form of monarchy; it augmented the authority of persons, and reduced the power and protection of laws; individualism and violence increased. Historically, the conquest destroyed the outward form of what had already inwardly decayed; it cleared away with regrettable brutality and thoroughness a system of life which, with all its gifts of order, culture, and law, had worn itself into senile debility, and had lost the powers of regeneration and growth. A new beginning was now possible: the Empire in the West faded, but the states of modern Europe were born. A thousand years before Christ northern invaders had entered Italy, subdued and mingled with its inhabitants, borrowed civilization from them, and with them, through eight centuries, had built a new civilization. Four hundred years after Christ the process was repeated; the wheel of history came full turn; the beginning and the end were the same. But the end was always a beginning.

  CHAPTER III

  The Progress of Christianity

  364–451

  THE foster mother of the new civilization was the Church. As the old order faded away in corruption, cowardice, and neglect, a unique army of churchmen rose to defend with energy and skill a regenerated stability and decency of life. The historic function of Christianity was to re-establish the moral basis of character and society by providing supernatural sanctions and support for the uncongenial commandments of social order; to instill into rude barbarians gentler ideals of conduct through a creed spontaneously compounded of myth and miracle, of fear and hope and love. There is an epic grandeur, sullied with superstition and cruelty, in the struggle of the new religion to capture, tame, and inspire the minds of brute or decadent men, to forge a uniting empire of faith that would again hold men together, as they had once been held by the magic of Greece or the majesty of Rome. Institutions and beliefs are the offspring of human needs, and understanding must be in terms of these necessities.

  I. THE ORGANIZATION OF THE CHURCH

  If art is the organization of materials, the Roman Catholic Church is among the most imposing masterpieces of history. Through nineteen centuries, each heavy with crisis, she has held her faithful together, following them with her ministrations to the ends of the earth, forming their minds, molding their morals, encouraging their fertility, solemnizing their marriages, consoling their bereavements, lifting their momentary lives into eternal drama, harvesting their gifts, surviving every heresy and revolt, and patiently building again every broken support of her power. How did this majestic institution grow?

  It began in the spiritual hunger of men and women harassed with poverty, wearied with conflict, awed by mystery, or fearful of death. To millions of souls the Church brought a faith and hope that inspired and canceled death. That faith became their most precious possession, for which they would die or kill; and on that rock of hope the Church was built. It was at first a simple association of believers, an ecclesia or gathering. Each ecclesia or church chose one or more presbyteroi—elders, priests—to lead them, and one or more readers, acolytes, subdeacons, and deacons to assist the priest. As the worshipers grew in number, and their affairs became more complex, the congregations chose a priest or layman in each city to be an episcopos—overseer, bishop—to co-ordinate their functioning. As the number of bishops grew, they in turn required supervision and co-ordination; in the fourth century we hear of archbishops, metropolitans, or primates governing the bishops and the churches of a province. Over all these grades of clergy patriarchs held sway at Constantinople, Antioch, Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Rome. At the call of a patriarch or an emperor the bishops and archbishops convened in synods or councils. If a council represented only a province it was called provincial; if it represented only the East or the West it was called plenary; if both, it was general; if its decrees were accepted as binding upon all Christians, it was ecumenical—i.e., applying to the oikoumene, or (total Christian) inhabited world. The occasionally resultant unity gave the Church its name of Catholic, or universal.

  This organization, whose power rested at last upon belief and prestige, required some regulation of the ecclesiastical life. In the first three centuries of Christianity, celibacy was not required of a priest. He might keep a wife whom he had married before ordination, but he must not marry after taking holy orders; and no man could be ordained who had married two wives, or a widow, a divorcee, or a concubine. Like most societies, the Church was harassed with extremists. In reaction against the sexual license of pagan morals, some Christian enthusiasts concluded from a passage in St. Paul1 that any commerce between the sexes was sinful; they denounced all marriage, and trembled at the abomination of a married priest. The provincial council of Gengra (c. 362) condemned these views as heretical, but the Church increasingly demanded celibacy in her priests. Property was being left in rising amounts to individual churches; now and then a married priest had the bequest written in his name and transmitted it to his children. Clerical marriage sometimes led to adultery or other scandal, and lowered the respect of the people for the priest. A Roman synod of 386 advised the complete continence of the clergy; and a year later Pope Siricius ordered the unfrocking of any priest who
married, or continued to live with his wife. Jerome, Ambrose, and Augustine supported this decree with their triple power; and after a generation of sporadic resistance it was enforced with transient success in the West.

  The gravest problem of the Church, next to reconciling her ideals with her continuance, was to find a way of living with the state. The rise of an ecclesiastical organization side by side with the officials of the government created a struggle for power in which the accepted subjection of one to the other was the prerequisite of peace. In the East the Church became subordinate to the state; in the West she fought for independence, then for mastery. In either case the union of Church and state involved a profound modification of Christian ethics. Tertullian, Origen, and Lactantius had taught that war is always unlawful; the Church, now protected by the state, resigned herself to such wars as she deemed necessary to protect either the state or the Church. She had not in herself the means of force; but when force seemed desirable she could appeal to the “secular arm” to implement her will. She received from the state, and from individuals, splendid gifts of money, temples, or lands; she grew rich, and needed the state to protect her in all the rights of property. Even when the state fell she kept her wealth; the barbarian conquerors, however heretical, seldom robbed the Church. The authority of the word so soon rivaled the power of the sword.

  II. THE HERETICS

  The most unpleasant task of ecclesiastical organization was to prevent a fragmentation of the Church through the multiplication of heresies—i.e., doctrines contrary to conciliar definitions of the Christian creed. Once triumphant, the Church ceased to preach toleration; she looked with the same hostile eye upon individualism in belief as the state upon secession or revolt. Neither the Church nor the heretics thought of heresy in purely theological terms. The heresy was in many cases the ideological flag of a rebellious locality seeking liberation from the imperial power; so the Monophysites wished to free Syria and Egypt from Constantinople; the Donatists hoped to free Africa from Rome; and as Church and state were now united, the rebellion was against both. Orthodoxy opposed nationalism, heresy defended it; the Church labored for centralization and unity, the heretics for local independence and liberty.