Chapter IX: The Lands

The inquiring curiosity of men as well as of children is not first stimulated by those things which seem most usual and commonplace. The latter are taken for granted. Science originates rather in the wonder aroused by the extraordinary or by the impressive. Only after a long process of development does it turn to the study of the homely and the obvious.

The truth of this is illustrated in the medieval geography of the lands. Geomorphology, or the science of land forms, was very much in its infancy during our period and for many centuries thereafter. Only rarely did the man of the Middle Ages seek for an explanation of the origin of the familiar features of the earth’s surface which he saw around him day by day. If he described a landscape in terms that often reveal love of its beauty or, at least, appreciation of its productive capacity, he was almost totally blind to the possibilities of profounder analysis of its nature. A plain was a plain, a valley a valley because God had made it so.

The present chapter will deal mainly with the character of these external, unscientific descriptions of land forms. The attempt will be made, however, to point out a few notable exceptions to the general rule, a few cases where men sought for a deeper meaning in the aspects of nature than the meaning written upon the surface.

_CLASSIFICATION OF LAND AREAS_

QUANTITATIVE AND QUALITATIVE SUBDIVISIONS

There are two ways of subdividing and classifying areas of land, the quantitative and the qualitative.

Adelard of Bath gives us an example of a quantitative subdivision where he tells in his _De eodem et diverso_[954] that the inventor of geometry split the known world into parts (or, perhaps, continents), the parts into provinces, the provinces into regions, the regions into localities, the localities into territories, the territories into fields, the fields into centuries, and the centuries into _jugera_ (acres).

The author of the _De imagine mundi_, borrowing from Isidore,[955] makes a qualitative subdivision.[956] Land, he says, may be grouped under six different heads, _terra_ being the name applied to the entire element of earth. The six kinds of _terra_ are: (1) _tellus_, fertile; (2) _humus_, infertile, because of an excess of moisture; (3) _arida_, waterless, like Libya, dried up by the sun; (4) _sicca_, rather less dry than _arida_, but where, nevertheless, all precipitation quickly disappears, as in Judea; (5) _solum_, so called from its solidity, as mountainous land (_a soliditate ut sunt montana_); and, finally (6) _ops_, or wealthy land, like that of India, where gold and gems abound.[957]

In addition to such variations in the character of the lands, it was a common view that certain localities are by nature either peculiarly noxious or else peculiarly free from poisons. Gervase of Tilbury notes[958] an area near Pozzuoli which resembled a dried-up swamp but proved fatal to all animals venturing upon it. Elsewhere[959] he repeats, in connection with the tree of life spoken of by Alexander in his supposed letter to Aristotle, a widespread tradition of a land where no man could die even though he were decrepit with old age and might wish for relief from the cares of this world.[960] The _Image du monde_[961] attributes a similar quality to an island in the northern seas. When the inhabitants wished to die they had themselves taken to Tylle (Thule), where they might expire in peace. Giraldus Cambrensis describes[962] such an island in a lake in Ireland, as well as an island where no females could live.

GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS’ COMPARISON OF EAST AND WEST

Probably, however, the most striking study of the varying qualities of different regions is Giraldus Cambrensis’ elaborate comparison of Orient and Occident.[963] In Chapter VII we discussed this writer’s belief that the atmosphere of the West is far healthier than that of the East. But not only is the air better, he asserted, but also the land itself, and of all the lands Ireland is the most healthy. No venomous reptiles can exist in the Emerald Isle. Giraldus attributed this phenomenon not to the beneficent work of St. Patrick in driving out the snakes[964] (this story, he said, was merely a pleasant fiction) but rather to some natural deficiency in Irish soil that had existed long before St. Patrick’s time. He explained further that no poisonous reptiles could survive in Ireland even when they were brought there;[965] toads, when carried over on ships, burst open as soon as they are thrown ashore; and the dust of Ireland, when sprinkled on poisonous creatures of any sort, kills them instantly.[966] The East, on the other hand, Giraldus called[967] a fountain of poisons (_fons venenorum_), and he waxed most eloquent on its terrors:[968] poisonous animals abound, the waters are always polluted, and death lurks on every hand; but the farther away from this Oriental source of poison one travels, the less its effect, until in the extreme West it exerts no influence at all, just as the sun’s rays are weaker the farther one goes from beneath the zodiac.

This distinction between Eastern and Western climate and conditions of terrain may to a limited extent have been based on actual observation. Undoubtedly the pilgrim and Crusader suffered more from disease and hardship when traveling in the Orient than they did at home, because they were not acclimatized to Levantine conditions of life and did not understand what was necessary for the preservation of health; and this may well have produced the unfavorable impression of the East which found its way in exaggerated form into the pages of the _Topographia Hiberniae_.

_MOUNTAINS_

Mountains are the most imposing natural features of the lands.[969] Though there did not exist in the Middle Ages anything comparable to that love of mountains for their own sake which developed later and of which we see an early manifestation in the ascent of Mont Ventoux by Petrarch in April, 1336, the very bulk of the hills, nevertheless, impressed men’s imaginations, and medieval literature is full of notices concerning mountains.

ORIGIN OF MOUNTAINS

In regard to their origin, Peter Comestor asserts that the mountains may not have been as high at the time of the Flood as they now are,[970] and Gervase of Tilbury cites the opinion of some that there were no mountains at all on the face of the earth before the Deluge.[971] Bartholomew Anglicus[972] conjectured that in the very beginning the earth was a plain covered with waters, the movements of which produced the valleys, while the heights were the ridges that remained separating the valleys; many mountains also were the result of great telluric convulsions and were full of caverns that give forth immense volumes of water and form the sources of rivers.

In a translation by Alfred of Sareshel of an Arabic work,[973] perhaps that of Avicenna, we have a strikingly modern description of the geological processes resulting in the production of mountains by the forces of erosion and by the accumulation of soil and earth. “Mountains may arise from two causes, either from uplifting of the ground, such as takes place in earthquakes or from the effects of running water and wind in hollowing out valleys in soft rocks and leaving the hard rocks prominent, which has been the effective process in the case of most hills. Such changes must have taken long periods of time, and possibly the mountains are now diminishing in size. What proves that water has been the main agent in bringing about these transformations of the surface is the occurrence in many rocks of the impressions of aquatic and other animals. The yellow earth that clothes the surface of the mountains is not of the same origin as the framework of the ground underneath it but arises from the decay of organic remains, mingled with earthy materials transported by the water. Perhaps these materials were originally in the sea which once overspread all the land” (Geikie’s translation).[974]

If, in reading the above passage, we feel that we are dealing with ideas that could well stand in the light of modern science and that in this passage at least geomorphology has emerged from its infancy, we are brought back to the Middle Ages when we turn to Rupert of Deutz’s teleological explanation of the reasons why God created deep valleys and high mountains on the land. According to this mystic, these features were made to serve as a protection to the human wanderer upon the surface of the earth from the violence of the winds which would otherwise have unlimited power over all things, as they do on the Libyan desert or on the ocean.[975]

THEIR SIZE AND HEIGHT

The fact that, great as mountains may appear to men, they are in reality but insignificant in comparison with the size of the entire earth, was partially appreciated by the author of the _De imagine mundi_, when he remarked[976] that, if we could look down on the earth from the air above, the entire height of the mountains and depth of the valleys would seem less than the width of the fingers of one who holds a very large ball in his hand.

We find occasional speculations regarding altitudes. Peter Comestor, followed by Gervase of Tilbury, asserted[977] that Olympus reaches up into a region of calm, windless air; and William of Conches held[978] that the presence of snow on mountains is due to the rarity of the air at high altitudes. Gervase stated,[979] on the authority of Posthumianus in the _Dialogue_ of Sulpicius Severus[980] (a historian of the fourth century of our era), that Sinai is so lofty that its peak is very near the heavens and that consequently it is impossible to go there.[981]

_Miraculous Mountains_

Mountains and hills might have miraculous qualities. Giraldus Cambrensis told[982] of heights in Mona and in the northern part of Britain, beyond the Humber, over the crests of which no shouts could be heard; and Gervase of Tilbury described[983] Mount Cavagum (Canigou) in Catalonia, with a miraculous lake, the dwelling place of devils, on its summit; on one peak there lies perpetual snow and ice in a spot where the sun never shines, and a river of golden sand flows from its base. In the Romance of Alexander, the conqueror was said to have passed near a mountain which made brave men cowards and cowards brave.[984] On another occasion,[985] Alexander and his army became lost in a perilous valley among wild peaks; they could not find their way out unless one man sacrificed himself for the others by remaining in the valley. Alexander himself volunteered to remain, and the army escaped in the midst of fearful tempests; but subsequently Alexander was conducted out by a devil whom he found in the place and to whom he did a good turn.

ACCURATE OBSERVATION OF OROGRAPHIC PHENOMENA

On the other hand, during our period there was not a little reasonably accurate observation of the phenomena of mountains. Bernard Sylvester, for example, pointed out that mountains are bad plowland largely because of the thinness of the soil on their steep slopes.[986] Gervase of Tilbury noted that many of the high hills of Wales, though they might have firm and rocky bases, were characterized by watery and boggy summits.[987] Giraldus Cambrensis pictures the characteristics of the Welsh hills and brings out their combination of crag and pasture land. In one passage he tells of Mount Ereri—called by the English “Snowdon,” or mount of snows—which has such an extent of pasture lands upon it that it could supply the flocks of the whole of Wales.[988] The land of Meiryonidd (Merioneth) he spoke of as a wild, rough region, with mountains so broken and irregular that it frequently took all day for the shepherds to gather together in one spot,[989] even though they might have been within earshot of one another in the morning.

APPRECIATION OF THE BEAUTY OF MOUNTAINS

It is not hard to believe that during our period some men had the beginnings of a genuinely esthetic appreciation of the beauty of mountains. Bernard Sylvester tells of the orographic systems of the world in terms not lacking in color and poetic appreciation.[990] He writes that the world is strung with mountains like nerves in a body and goes on to enumerate and describe them: “Clear Olympus, which looks down on the clouds; Parnassus, with double yoke; Lebanon, in its woods;” Sinai, Athos, Eryx, Pindus, Othrys, Pelion, Caucasus. Though he merely repeats classical names and classical designations, the whole long passage could hardly have been written by a man wholly blind to the grandeur of his subject. Giraldus Cambrensis tells about the Church of St. David, now known as Llanthoni Abbey, in the midst of the hills of southern Wales. “Here the monks, when they sit down in their cloister to rest and take the air, see in all directions over the high gables of their roofs the peaks of the mountains bounding their horizon and, as it were, touching the sky. They see the wild deer pasturing on their summits, and at about the hour of the prime or shortly before in clear weather they see the sun appearing over the mountain crests.”[991] This certainly shows that the writer found delight in the restful qualities of a highland landscape.

If Walter of Châtillon had not at some time in his life felt the elation of a view at dawn from a mountain summit, he could hardly have written the brilliant description in the _Alexandreis_ where he tells how Alexander, at the moment when the sun began to gleam upon the surface of the sea, rushed forth from his camp and climbed upon a steep peak whence his vision embraced the bounds of Asia. Looking out over fields green with crops, over many a forested mountain and meadow lavish in its rank grass, over many a city with its encircling walls and many a vineyard and elm tree entwined with vines, the conqueror exclaimed: “Enough! my friends: this land alone satisfies me. To you I leave Europe and your native country.”[992]

RELIGIOUS ATTITUDE TOWARDS MOUNTAINS

Ganzenmüller in his book on the feeling for nature in the Middle Ages cites several important texts which illustrate the religious attitudes towards mountains that must have prevailed throughout our period. We shall see a little later that Bernard of Clairvaux in one of his letters spoke of mountains as symbolizing the aspirations of the haughty and worldly.[993] But others believed that there is a godly quality about the heights. The biographer of bishop Altmann of Passau, writing in the twelfth century, tells us that one day the bishop, accompanied by an immense crowd of people, climbed a mountain near Mautern in Lower Austria firmly believing that those who serve God here below will climb to the corners and bounds of heaven.[994] Eadmer records of Anselm of Canterbury that on one occasion, when the latter happened to find himself on a high summit, he was so refreshed by the clear air and solitude that he remarked: “Here is my resting place: here will I dwell.”[995] St. Francis of Assisi must have felt the same mystic love of mountains that he felt for birds and animals and that he expressed so beautifully in his hymn to Brother Sun, for did he not in 1224 go into retreat at La Verna, a remote, forest-covered peak in the Casentino,[996] and did he not, as he left, turn back and bless the mountain as he had blessed the birds? At the present time the lower slopes of La Verna are bare and sun-baked. The summit, buttressed by massive ledges, is covered with a beautiful wood, and from it the eye wanders over Tuscany, across the ranges of the Apennines, and to the eastward catches a glimpse of the Adriatic. That St. Francis should deliberately have chosen this place of exceptional charm for a retreat; that he should have made a long, hard journey to reach it; and, above all, that here he received the supreme glory of his life reveal to us something far deeper than mere esthetic satisfaction in the beauty of nature. To St. Francis the quiet summit of the mountain was a symbol of the peace and tranquillity of heaven and of eternity.

NORMAL MEDIEVAL FEELING ABOUT MOUNTAINS

But for the most part mountainous regions were regarded as places of grimness and horror. The many journeys over the Alps made in the Middle Ages by pilgrim, soldier, and trader brought forth few comments on aught else than the hardships of the way. Otto of Freising tells[997] how in September, 1155, Frederick Barbarossa’s army passed through a narrow gorge in the Alps above Verona where robbers impeded its passage. Otto’s description is very brief and simple; the road, he says, runs between high cliffs on one side and the unfordable river on the other. Gunther in the _Ligurinus_[998] elaborates on this by the copious addition of words emphasizing the terrors of the route: the narrow track wide enough for only one person at a time to proceed; on one side the “cloud-swept crags of the jagged Alps,” on the other a chaotic, whirling stream; these combined to fill the passer-by with fear.

Perhaps the most striking narrative of a mountain passage dating from our period tells of the crossing of the Great St. Bernard Pass by the abbot of St. Trond and the archdeacon of Liége in 1128.[999] Having celebrated Christmas at Piacenza, the travelers arrived at the beginning of winter in the village of Restopolis (Étrouble) in the valley leading to the pass, Mons Jovis; here they were snowbound until after New Year’s Day. Finally the native guides were able to conduct them on to St. Rhémy farther up the valley close to the final ascent. “Frozen as it were in the jaws of death” they remained here a day and a night, constantly menaced by the gravest danger. The small village was full of travelers, many of whom had been overwhelmed by the avalanches which kept falling from the high cliffs on either side. Some of these unfortunates had been suffocated, and others so badly hurt that they were disabled.[1000] The ecclesiastics were obliged to spend several miserable days in this “accursed spot,” but at last they were able to prevail on their guides to lead them onward. A procession was organized, the guides in the lead, clad in thick felt hats, gloves, and with spikes in their boots to enable them to cross the ice; then came other storm-bound travelers; the horses and the clergy, who were physically the weakest, brought up the rear. Just before leaving, the party stopped for mass in a chapel. While the service was going on, ten of the guides who had gone ahead were engulfed by an avalanche and killed. This so alarmed the prelates that they retreated to Restopolis; but at last good weather came, and on January 6 they managed to get across the pass with no great difficulty.

In 1188 John of Bremble, a monk of Christ Church, Canterbury, visited the Great St. Bernard Pass. He wrote about it as follows to his sub-prior, Geoffrey, and gave expression to what Gribble correctly calls the “normal medieval view of mountains:”[1001] “I have been on the Mount of Jove; on the one hand looking up to the heaven of mountains, on the other shuddering at the hell of the valleys, feeling myself so much nearer heaven that I was sure that my prayer would be heard. ‘Lord,’ I said, ‘restore me to my brethren, that I may tell them that they come not to this place of torment.’ Place of torment, indeed, where the marble pavement of the stony ground is ice alone, and you cannot set your foot safely; where, strange to say, although it is so slippery that you cannot stand, the death into which there is every facility for a fall is certain death” (Gribble’s translation).

GLACIERS

As a general rule the medieval traveler took no interest in glaciers. Journeys across the Alps were such hazardous undertakings that even the traveler of scientific tastes could have had little opportunity or inclination to investigate the phenomena of the ice. A passage in the _Gesta Danorum_ of Saxo Grammaticus, therefore, is doubly remarkable because it gives us some specific details regarding the glaciers of Iceland. After speaking of the ice floes breaking on the shore, Saxo writes: “There is also there another type of ice which runs between the rocks and passes of the mountains. This undergoes certain changes: it is subject to a process of transposition in which the upper parts sink down to the bottom and the lower parts arise to the surface. It is reliably asserted that persons who happened to be passing over the flat surface of the ice have fallen into crevasses and gaping fissures and that, soon after, their dead bodies have been recovered without a trace of ice above them. This circumstance has led many people to believe that whomsoever the icy caldron takes into its lowest depths, it will deliver again shortly after upside down.”[1002] Though this passage shows that Saxo did not have a clear conception of what he was trying to describe, it was certainly based upon some knowledge, though slight, of glacial phenomena. It is a well-known fact that on its arrival at the lower portion of a glacier, ice that at higher elevations was at the bottom often comes to the surface and brings with it materials scraped from the glacial bed or objects that may have fallen into the crevasses. This passage of Saxo has been cited as the earliest occasion in literature in which the motion of glacial ice was recognized.[1003]

_VOLCANOES AND EARTHQUAKES_

VISITS TO VOLCANOES

Volcanoes are a type of mountain that attracted particular attention, and, though the men of medieval and ancient times were certainly not mountain climbers,[1004] there are a few records of their having deliberately visited volcanoes out of curiosity or scientific interest. It is well known that Pliny the Elder perished in an attempt to investigate the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 A. D., and during the twelfth century the Sicilian scholar and administrator, Henricus Aristippus, is said to have made a careful study of the volcanic phenomena of Etna, not without danger.[1005] In the legend of St. Brandan’s voyage we find an account of the manner in which a companion of the saint lost his life in an attempt to scale a fiery peak on an island in the northern seas.[1006]

The writer of the second verse redaction of the _Image du monde_ also tells us that he himself had made the ascent of Mongibel (Etna), and his observations are so detailed and realistic that we cannot but believe that he is telling the truth.[1007] His object was to see what comes out of the smoking mouth of the mountain. He noticed that the fire which issues forth soon turns to vapor and smoke; that the rocks of the mountain resemble “foam of iron” (_escume de fer_—pumice or some other volcanic ejecta); that the land about the mountain is broken (_esparse_) and appears to be blasted and burned (_bruslée et arse_). The volcanic heat touched (_ting_) his bare hand, and a gentle sweat broke out over his body; but near the summit he was able to slake his thirst from frozen snow. On the way down he had the curious experience of hearing thunder in the clouds below him. When he finally got back to the city, the people thought he was a fool (_musard_) for venturing into a place with such a bad reputation. He adds that some people say that Mongibel is the highest mountain in the world. That it is much higher than appears from below, he himself had demonstrated. It can be seen from no less than two hundred leagues away at sea.

VOLCANIC REGION OF SOUTHERN ITALY AND SICILY

The two volcanic regions known to the medieval world were Southern Italy and Sicily on the one hand and Iceland on the other. Gervase of Tilbury describes Vesuvius and the volcanic features about Naples;[1008] he says that in the vicinity of Pozzuoli there are hills with sands near the summit so hot that they hinder persons from ascending across them. On the very outskirts of Naples he speaks of a high mountain, called Mons Virginum, overlooking the sea and the surrounding country. In the month of May it belches forth a terrifying smoke with firebrands that turn to the color of carbon when burnt out. This would seem to indicate the presence of a vent connecting the mountain with the infernal regions. (“Unde illic quoddam inferni terreni spiraculum asserunt ebullire.”) The south wind blows a hot dust from the volcano which ruins the crops and fruits of the neighborhood and tends to render the land barren and sterile. To this fairly clear description of a volcano Gervase adds a fantastic tale about the preventive measures which Virgil[1009] took to avert the disaster caused by the hot winds; the poet erected a statue holding a horn which automatically tooted whenever the south wind began to blow, and for some reason repulsed the blast.[1010] Recently, however, the statue had either gone to pieces with age or else had been destroyed by malice, for the damage done by the volcanic blasts was once more repeated as in bygone days.

The traveler Conrad of Querfurt looked with interest upon the volcanic features of the Phlegraean Fields to the northwest of Naples and drew attention to the confused labyrinth of passages in the interior of Monte Barbaro and to the hot springs, subterranean channels of boiling water, and other wonders of the region.[1011]

Guy of Bazoches, who passed through Sicily on the way to the Holy Land, included in a letter to his nephews a striking word picture of Etna. “Sicily,” he wrote, “fears not to pierce the clouds with its immense mountain summits. Etna towers above all of these with its flaming crests upon which the opposing elements strive with each other tirelessly and indomitably in an immense conflict. For though Etna incessantly sends forth scorching heat, its summit, none the less, is white with snow, and with a wintry garment it covers its burning shoulders.”[1012] Guy mentioned also the “Isles of Vulcan” in the Sicilian Sea, “the interior of which were said to glow with eternal fires. Eolus once dwelt in these isles and was in the habit of dispensing their smokes, which were stirred up by the winds, and hence he came to be called the king of the winds.”[1013] The _Image du monde_ refers to a volcano two leagues distant at sea from Sicily; this may have been Vulcano or possibly Stromboli, though in any case the distance was underestimated.[1014]

_Michael Scot on the Eolian Isles and Etna_

Michael Scot brought together information about the volcanoes of the Eolian (Lipari) Islands and of Sicily which he included in a discourse on natural phenomena that he prepared for his patron Frederick II.[1015] He speaks of “Strongulus” (Stromboli), “a mountain which is in the midst of the sea,” of “Strongulinus” (Strombolicchio), “Vulcanus” (Vulcano), “Vulcaninus” (Vulcanello?), “Moncibellus” (Etna), and the isle of Lipari, “on which there are all manner of fine trees and grains.” From the summit of Stromboli and “Strongulinus,” a lesser mountain than Stromboli, great fiery flames are continuously emitted. The other four, he declares, emit flames only when the south wind (_Auster_) blows; and, when the flames cease, a mighty smoke issues from them. The eruptions are often accompanied by showers of scorched rock and sometimes with roots of trees (? _sticiones lignorum_) and cinders; the ground is covered and the air obscured as stream waters are clouded with sand. Glowing bombs are hurled aloft like sparks from a furnace; when these fall to the ground they burst into fragments, great and small, and in these fragments is found the pumice which writers use. This pumice floats on the sea and is carried ashore, where the people collect it for building walls and for uses similar to those to which we put bricks. Liquid sulphur is also gathered by sailors from the surface of the sea thereabouts in baskets and bowls. The nearer this may be obtained to the mountains whence it boils forth, the better its quality.

VOLCANOES OF ICELAND

In the _Topographia Hiberniae_ of Giraldus Cambrensis we find a description of the volcanic eruptions of Iceland.[1016] After remarking that thunder and lightning are rare in the northern isle, he goes on to explain that there is another and even worse affliction than these; every year or two fire bursts out of a certain part of the island like a whirlwind with a violent gale and melts everything in its path; he adds that the cause of this phenomenon and whether it originated above or below ground are unknown. Into two manuscripts of Solinus, the oldest of which dates from the twelfth century, there was inserted some additional information about the northern isles. We are told that the marine ice on the coasts of Iceland “ignites itself on collision, and when it is ignited it burns like wood” (Nansen’s translation).[1017] Adam of Bremen had also spoken of ice that appeared to be black and dry on account of its age and burned when kindled.[1018] Though it has been suggested that this impression may have been derived from mists arising from the ice, the story was perhaps, as Nansen observes, “due to statements about volcanoes and boiling springs which have been confused with it. The black color and dryness of the ice may have been due to confusion with lava or with floating pumice stone in the sea.”[1019]

More definite information concerning the volcanic activity of Iceland reached Saxo Grammaticus about a century after the time of Adam of Bremen. Saxo refers to a mountain there which perpetually glows like a star with its burning flame, and it seemed to him no less marvelous that the eruption could occur in a region of such extreme cold.[1020] In the _Historia Norwegiae_ the fiery outbreaks of Mons Casule (Hekla) are likened to those of Etna, and an immense submarine eruption is described; over a space three miles wide the sea had boiled and bubbled as in a caldron; the earth was upheaved and out of the submarine depths there arose fiery fumes, and a mighty mountain sprang from the sea.[1021] This perhaps refers to a submarine eruption that took place off Cape Reykyanes in 1211.[1022]

In the _King’s Mirror_ the volcanic activity of Iceland is compared with that of Sicily, and the curious statement is made that, unlike the subterranean fires of the Mediterranean isle, those of Iceland will burn neither wood nor earth. On the other hand, they will burn the hardest stones and pieces of rock just as easily as oil.[1023]

ST. BRANDAN’S VISITS TO VOLCANIC ISLES

St. Brandan in the course of his wanderings came across two fiery islands.[1024] The first was eight days’ sail to the north of the mysterious crystal column we have already mentioned. It was a rough, treeless, and rocky isle covered with the forges of smiths. Though the saint wished to keep clear of this dangerous spot, a wind sprang up which drove his vessel towards it. One of the smiths threw a gigantic mass of molten slag at the voyagers; but luckily he missed the ship, and the slag fell into the sea, sending up huge clouds of steam. This was a signal for all the smiths to start heaving lumps of molten ore at the vessel, running back and forth from their forges to heat them. Soon the entire island was burning and blazing like a furnace, and the sea around boiling like a kettle. The saint and his party miraculously escaped from this peril, but throughout the entire day they could hear an immense din and shouting from the isle; and even when they had drifted out of sight the tumult came to their ears, and their nostrils were afflicted by a terrible stench. Soon the wanderers approached the second fiery isle; their first sight of it revealed a mighty mountain on the northern horizon, with its peak enveloped in what appeared to be a thin cloud but in reality was smoke. They landed on the shores of the island, and one of Brandan’s companions who endeavored to climb the steep, high crags and investigate the summit was burned to death by the fires. Happily for the others, a wind arose which drove the ship southward, whence they saw the island now clear of smoke and spouting flames into the air, so that the whole mountain appeared to be aglow.

It has been suggested that these stories were derived from classical and Celtic mythology. The first island brings to mind pagan tales mingled with Christian traditions of devils and the infernal regions; perhaps it owes something to the Homeric account of the isle of the Cyclops. But why, we may ask, did Irish writers place such fiery phenomena in the cold and rainy seas surrounding their home? Is it not possible that early Irish poets had heard vaguely of the volcanoes of Iceland and that nebulous reports of them, modified by the influence of classical and Christian traditions, took the form which we find in the legend of St. Brandan’s voyagings? May it not be significant that the fiery islands of St. Brandan were reached only after northerly wanderings?

VOLCANOES AS GATES OF HELL

Volcanoes were often popularly supposed to be the entrances into Hell or else little independent scenes of punishment and dwelling places of devils. Michael Scot would not decide “whether the gate to the lower regions is” in the volcanoes of the Lipari Islands and Sicily “or in the northern isle seen by St. Brandan....” But, he said, “whatever the way in, Hell is in the bowels of the earth, and there is no way out” (Haskins).[1025] St. Brandan, seven days’ journey to the south of the second island just described, found Judas sitting alone on a rock in the midst of the sea.[1026] In the course of their conversation, Judas explained that he was imprisoned every day excepting Sundays and Christmas in the mountain which they had seen erupting. On these days, through the infinite mercy of Jesus Christ, he was permitted to come out and cool off. The bishop of Pozzuoli, Gervase of Tilbury tells us,[1027] on several occasions heard the wailings and lamentations of the damned during his walks in the volcanic country near his city and had actually seen the gates of Hell in a lake near by. Icelandic mythology conceived of a gigantic hell under and inside of Mount Hekla.[1028] The _King’s Mirror_ placed in the volcanic fires of Iceland a scene of punishment for souls.[1029] In addition it speaks of a cold hell, belief in which seems natural to Northern peoples and is also expressed in Saxo Grammaticus’ description of the moanings and wailings to be heard in the clashing of ice floes on the cliffs and crags of the Icelandic coast.[1030]

CAUSES OF VULCANISM

Medieval writers did not add much to what the Greeks and Romans had said in regard to the causes of vulcanism. In general they accepted the theories of Isidore and Pliny. Sicily, a typical volcanic region, was supposed to be cavernous and full of sulphur and bitumen strata which, when ignited and kept burning by the air, throw off smoke, vapor, and flames and, when a strong wind blows upon them, vomit forth masses of sand and rocks.[1031] Gervase of Tilbury elaborates confusedly on this theme,[1032] saying that there are many fires and earthquakes in Sicily because beneath that land there is a mighty abyss, the bottom of which is unknown to man. Near at hand are immense caverns and broad caves, wherein winds are conceived from the whirling of the waters, for mountains and waters create winds—mountains by offering an obstacle to the air. Though he does not say so specifically, we may conclude that Gervase believed that earthquakes and other volcanic phenomena were caused by these winds trying to escape from the interior of the earth. This was certainly the opinion of Michael Scot, who pointed out that masses of sulphur and other white-hot rocks (_petre calidissime_) are made to burn by the native heat of the earth’s interior and by the winds which enter the earth’s crust in remote regions (_in extremis partibus_) and force their way downward through passages, tubes, and caverns. These winds are volatilized and given explosive force by contact with the sulphur and hot rocks. When they burst forth again into the atmosphere they have all the attributes of fire and flame—sparks, ashes, cinders—and are supposed by many people to be genuine fire, though as a matter of fact they are by nature quite different because the waters ever present in the subterranean cavities fail to extinguish them. So intense is the heat produced by the sulphur and other combustible materials that the world would be entirely consumed by the winds that would blow over them if they were on the earth’s surface. Hence it is a great mercy of God that he has hidden them away in the depths of the ground and has thus made impossible the destruction of the world by this cause and that he has permitted men to dwell and cultivate their fields on the mountains beneath which such evil forces are buried.[1033]

Alexander Neckam defined a volcano as a subterranean fire which, though bound to the earth with one foot, seeks to spring aloft with the other. He believed that volcanic rocks contain gases within them which when kindled produce eruptions.[1034]

Though these passages reveal to us belief during the Crusading age in the presence of heat and fire in the inside of the earth, the teachings of Plato and many of the Church Fathers that the sources of volcanic fires spring from immense subterranean reservoirs of fire do not appear to have been given much credence. Though the earth’s crust and even its innermost heart might be interpenetrated with cavities into which air, water, and fire enter, confidence in the essential solidity and massiveness of the earth prevailed, and theories which would admit of the presence of bodies of water or of fire of any great extent within the heaviest and most solid of the elements were not regarded as worthy of serious consideration. Hell, however, was almost universally placed at the very center of the earth by medieval theologians and geographers alike.[1035]

EARTHQUAKES

The majority of medieval writers believed that earthquakes are caused by the same physical forces as those which produce volcanic eruptions, the violent stirring of winds,[1036] vapors, or exhalations within the earth’s crust.[1037] In the _Quaestiones naturales_ of Adelard of Bath, which takes the form of a dialogue between uncle and nephew, the nephew finds it difficult to reconcile the stability and immobility of the earth, which his uncle had just demonstrated, with the well-known fact that the earth sometimes quakes and trembles. To this Adelard replies that, while it is true that the earth may occasionally move in particular localities, it does not move as a whole[1038] and that earthquakes are caused by the air contained within the earth and have nothing whatever to do with the intrinsically stable qualities of the earth as a globe. He then proceeds to give the Aristotelian explanation of the causes of earthquakes.[1039] The _De imagine mundi_, followed by the _Image du monde_ and by Bartholomew Anglicus,[1040] also assigns the same causes; and William of Conches explains[1041] that earthquakes are the result of waters descending into underground hollows where they encounter vapors, condensed into cloudlike form by the coldness of the earth’s interior; these vapors, in turn, produce telluric movements by forcing their way to the surface. Neckam repeats much the same explanation but adds the usual allegorical lesson:[1042] the land symbolizes the Church, which, although on the whole serene and firm, may well be shaken now and then by purely local troubles and disturbances.

The medieval chronicler took delight in mentioning prodigies of nature that came to his attention, and of these prodigies earthquakes were among the most striking. The _Gesta regis Henrici Secundi_, under the year 1178, records a terrific earthquake at Oxenhale in England:[1043] some land owned by Hugh, bishop of Durham, rose up like a tower, so that its highest point was on a level with the summits of the hills and higher than the highest pinnacle of the churches (_templorum_); after remaining like this from nine o’clock until nightfall, it collapsed at sunset with a terrific noise that frightened all the onlookers. The earth then absorbed the tower of land and in its place there remained until the time of writing a well of immense depth as a perpetual testimony to the occurrence of this phenomenon. In the same chronicle, under the date of April 15, 1185,[1044] we find a more typical and less fantastic description of an earthquake felt throughout almost the entire length of England; rocks were shattered, stone houses fell in ruins, and the metropolitan church of Lincoln was broken asunder from top to bottom.

_DESERTS_

The deserts of the Orient impressed the medieval writer in much the same way as mountains, by the obstacles and difficulties which they presented to the traveler. William of Tyre dilates[1045] on the terrors of drought in the desert and explains how the Saracens carry in great sacks on camels water sufficient to serve man and beast for many days at a time; he pictures impressively the horrors of the sand storms that may spring up at any time. In the Egyptian desert, he says, the land is so dry and barren that no manner of tree can grow there. The features of the desert are also described in the _Letter of Prester John_.[1046] This fabulous Christian potentate of the East tells us that in the great Sandy Sea which lies in his country the sands are disturbed by the wind and form endlessly moving waves like the waves of the real sea. But the analogy with the sea is carried a trifle too far when he goes on to assert that fish are found in the Sandy Sea. He adds that from certain mountains, three days’ journey away, a river of stones flows down and, running three days a week, sweeps both rocks and logs into the Sandy Sea, but they disappear in the sands and are never seen again. If we remove the halo of fable surrounding all this, we discern here an account of a desert of dunes, with dry watercourses entering it, a feature common enough in southwestern Asia and northern Africa. On the whole, however, little was known of deserts in Western Europe in the Middle Ages, and, though the waste places of Asia and India are constantly mentioned in the Romance of Alexander, the descriptions of them are wholly fanciful.

_ISLANDS_

ORIGINS

The men of the West at this time were familiar with many islands. Giraldus Cambrensis takes up the problem of the origin of the islands of the earth and in particular the question of whether they were formed at the time of the Deluge or long before or long after.[1047] His opinion seems to have been that some time after the Flood the lands became replete with animal life and that it was then that the islands came into existence, not violently and suddenly but little by little out of alluvial deposits.[1048] In his emphasis on the gradual and non-catastrophic manner of their formation, Giraldus by hazard enunciates a sound geological doctrine which contrasts favorably with the theories he elsewhere expresses about the violent and sudden appearance of lakes.

MIRACULOUS ISLANDS

Like mountains and lakes, islands were convenient topographic units to which the medieval mind was wont to attribute fabulous and supernatural qualities. Gervase of Tilbury, for example, describes a certain isle in the sea off the coast of the Kingdom of Arles—Lirniensis, perhaps the Isle de Lérins—where no worms ever are found.[1049] He was unable to decide whether this was due to the extreme holiness of a colony of monks which once dwelt on the island or to some natural peculiarity of the soil. At all events, this reminds us of the tradition about the inability of poisonous reptiles or noxious animals of any kind to exist in Ireland.

Giraldus Cambrensis speaks of a floating island in a lake on the summit of Mount Snowdon.[1050] This was said to be blown about by the winds, and shepherds were much startled now and then to see their cattle transported on it from one side of the lake to the other. Giraldus explains this reasonably enough as follows: a portion of the shore had become bound together and made firm and solid as if by ropes formed from the roots of the willow and other plants. After being gradually increased in size by the addition of alluvium it finally broke off. The violent winds prevalent in the vicinity then drove it back and forth over the surface of the lake. This story undoubtedly had a basis of truth, for it is well known that sod floats about on the surface of one of the lakes near Snowdon, but that it could carry cattle upon it is a decided exaggeration.

ISLANDS OF ST. BRANDAN

The most marvelous of the islands mentioned in medieval legend were those which St. Brandan visited.[1051] The first one he came to, a high and rocky crag rising abruptly out of the sea, was doubtless suggested to the mind of the poet by one of the forbidding islets in the seas off the western coast of Ireland. Thence the saint and his crew voyaged in turn to an island entirely covered with sheep, to one that proved to be the back of a gigantic fish called Jasconius, to one full of miraculous birds that could speak, to one that put them in mind of Paradise, to a rocky isle full of forges and smiths, to an isle where there dwelt a certain hermit, Paul, who had lived there forty years without food but for thirty years had been fed by a certain beast;[1052] and finally the saint himself attained the island which was the goal of all his wanderings, the Saints’ Land of Promise (Terra repromissionis sanctorum), or Paradise—a reminiscence perhaps of the Hesperides, or Happy Islands, of Greek mythology.

Giraldus describes an isle off the Irish coast which would seem to be akin to Brandan’s Jasconius.[1053] Doubts were raised as to whether this peculiar island was a whale or some other monster or whether it was really land; for some youths had tried to disembark upon it, but, just as they were about to set foot ashore, it disappeared beneath the waves. The next day it reappeared and the same thing was repeated. Finally, on the third day, one of the young men shot a red-hot arrow into it; this seems to have stabilized it, for the island did not disappear again and ultimately proved to be habitable. From this Giraldus argued that as fire is the most noble of the elements no phantasm can withstand its power.

_INFLUENCES OF GEOGRAPHICAL ENVIRONMENT_

ON PLANT AND ANIMAL LIFE

In the writings of the Crusading age we find a few scattered remarks on the relationship between geographical features and environment and the life of man and animals, or on those branches of our science now called biogeography and anthropogeography. The writings of Bernard Sylvester furnish us with some striking examples. The Platonic and realist conception of the unity of all matter, which was exemplified in the theory of a World Soul and expounded in vivid terms by Theodoric of Chartres, led Bernard in his _De mundi universitate_ to emphasize the close interrelations of all natural phenomena and the influences of the various elements and parts of the universe upon each other. He stressed, for example, the importance of astrological influences, by attributing to the moon control over the tides and other terrestrial phenomena.[1054] In geography he emphasized the influences of terrain on plant and animal life. Thus he says “fruitful land gives birth to wolves, desert to lions, arid land to serpents, woods to bees.”[1055] Elsewhere he explains how the plane tree grows in flat country, the alder in valleys, the box among rocks, the willow on the banks of streams, the fragrant cypress in the mountains, the sacred vine on the slopes, and the olive in well-worked loam.[1056] Neckam also recognized that the growth of plants was governed by the qualities of the earth.[1057] Only about the center of the globe is there really true earth; the surface which we cultivate is not true earth because it is intermingled with particles of air, fire, and other substances. Consequently it follows that in the same territory there may grow herbs by nature both warm and cold and that in certain places oats thrive well and in others barley.

There is a very striking passage in Hildegard’s _Subtilitates_ explaining in much detail the influence of various kinds of soil upon agriculture.[1058] Hildegard asserts that there are divers types of soil (_terra_)—black, white, and red. White soil is pallid and sandy and contains much humidity in the form of large raindrops: because of this quality white soil produces great vines and apple orchards but is rather less well adapted for the raising of grains. The latter may better be cultivated upon soil characterized by humidity of finer texture and minuter drops. Black soil contains too much cold and dampness to produce more than a moderate yield; red soil, on the other hand, has the right balance of dampness and dryness and hence produces a quantity of fruits, which, however, through their very abundance fail to attain perfection. And so Hildegard proceeds with a discussion that would have been of a highly utilitarian character, had it only been based more directly upon the observation of the facts of nature.

ON MAN

The influence of geographical environment on man is also noted by some of the writers of our period. Otto of Freising explains[1059] that the Lombards on entering Italy gave up their wild customs and adopted Italian ways, partly because they married native women but partly as a result of the nature of country and climate. Giraldus tells how the plains of southern Wales are far more pleasant to live in than those of the north.[1060] The latter region, on the other hand, has not only better natural defenses but a richer soil and is more fertile in producing men of strength and power. Gunther in the _Ligurinus_[1061] enlarged on Ragewin’s simple description (in his continuation of Otto of Freising’s _Gesta Friderici_) of the wild ferocity of the natives of Poland by saying that their fierceness and savagery is due partly to the nature of the soil and partly to the influence of their neighbors.

_Topography As a Natural Defense_

In the same connection these authors try to show that topography may often serve as a natural defense against hostile invaders. Giraldus speaks of Wales[1062] as a country easily defensible because of the depth of its valleys and the immensity of its woods, waters, and swamps. The remnants of the ancient Britons who were driven here were able to hold out and preserve their independence against both Angles and Normans. On the other hand, those who were driven into the southern promontory (Cornwall), where the land was not by nature so easy to defend, yielded to the conqueror. In another connection[1063] Giraldus speaks of the difficulties any one would encounter in trying to conquer such a rough country as Wales and one so well fortified by nature. Gervase of Tilbury also testifies to the strong natural defenses of Wales,[1064] specifying how the Welsh, when enemies appear, take to the bog lands on the mountains, which they can easily cross through an agility resulting from long familiarity. Here they either escape from their enemies or lie in wait to inflict grave harm on them. Giraldus[1065] tells that the islands in the lakes of Ireland were used for refuges as well as for dwelling places by the lords of the surrounding districts; and Ragewin[1066] speaks of the natural defenses of Genoa, hemmed in on one side by mountains and on the other by the sea.

_Theory of the Westward Flow of Civilization_

We may close this account of the relations of man with his geographical environment with a few words about a strangely fatalistic theory which prevailed among certain thinkers and in particular among the mystics. It was a theory that civilization flows from the East to the West and that when it reaches the uttermost limits of the West the human race will meet its doom and extinction. Severian of Gabala had said in the fourth century:[1067] “God looked into the future and set the first man in that place [Paradise, in the East] in order to cause him to understand that, just as the light of heaven moves toward the west, so the human race hastens towards death; but that it is just as reasonable to expect a future resurrection from death as it is to expect that the stars will again rise in the east.” This idea appears in the writings of Hugh of St. Victor, who states in the _De arca Noë morali_[1068] that the order of places and the order of time run in series; that whatever happened in the beginning of time happened in the Orient and that henceforth the course of events has gradually been moving westward, until now it has reached the end of the earth and we must face the fact that we are approaching the end of the ages (_saeculi_). Shortly after the Deluge the most important kingdoms and the capitol of the world were in the East, in the lands of the Assyrians, Chaldeans, and Medes; then the supreme power passed to the Greeks; and finally, towards the end of the ages, to the Romans who dwell on the confines of the world. In the _De arca Noë mystica_ the front of the ark is said to face the east and the rear the west “in order that the position of places shall correspond with the order of time and the end of the world shall be at the end of the centuries.”[1069] The ark is here supposed to represent a map of the world, and the segment of the circle of the _orbis terrarum_ cut by the ark and facing the east is the location of Paradise; the segment facing the west will be the place of universal resurrection. Ideas very similar to this are also found in the _De vanitate mundi_ of Hugh of St. Victor.[1070]

Though it cannot be proved that Otto of Freising made use of these works, nevertheless his philosophy of history is to a large extent based on the theory of the westward flow of civilization.[1071] In the prologue to his _Chronicon_ he queries, “Who can wonder that human power is changeable, when mortal wisdom also is unstable (_labilis_)? What great learning there was in Egypt and among the Chaldeans, from whom Abraham derived his knowledge! But what now is Babylon, once famous for its science and its power? A shrine of sirens, a home of lizards and ostriches, a den of serpents! And Egypt is now in large part a trackless and uninhabitable waste, whence science was transferred to the Greeks, then to the Romans, and finally to the Gauls and Spaniards. And,” he concludes, “let it be observed that because all human power or wisdom began in the Orient and will end in the Occident, the mutability and disappearance of all things is demonstrated. This I propose, with God’s aid, to make clear in the work which follows.” Otto again hammers on this theme in the prologue of his fifth book[1072] and finally, near the close of the same book,[1073] remarks, “For behold, as I have explained above, just as the heavens turn from east to west, so we behold worldly affairs and powers revolving.” If human power is so changeable, he asks, who can expect that the Kingdom of the Franks will last very long?

The idea that “westward the course of empire takes its way” was thus raised in the Middle Ages to a position of theological doctrine and philosophical principle.

_FEELING FOR LANDSCAPE AND SCENERY_

The pagan, or classical, attitude toward nature was characterized by a subjective and esthetic enjoyment of beautiful scenery; the Christian saw in nature the symbol and manifestation of the divinity.[1074] Both points of view were represented in the literature of our age.

SPIRITUAL FEELING FOR NATURE

The more spiritual feeling found its expression in the writings of men like Bernard of Clairvaux, Hugh of St. Victor, Francis of Assisi, Alexander Neckam, and many others.[1075] Bernard of Clairvaux believed that a man could learn more of the eternal verities through a reverent contemplation of nature than through the study of books. He wrote to Master Henry Murdach, an Englishman who afterwards became a monk of Clairvaux: “Believe one who has tried: you shall find a fuller satisfaction in the woods than in books. The trees and the rocks will teach you that which you cannot hear from the masters. Do you think that you cannot draw honey from the rock and oil from the hardest flint? Do not our mountains drop sweetness? the hills flow with milk and honey? and the valleys stand thick with corn?” (Eales’s translation).[1076] Bernard was fond of complex and detailed allegorical comparisons of the aspects of nature with the theological or spiritual concepts which he believed they symbolize. In a sermon on Benedict he said: “St. Benedict was a mighty fruit tree, like a tree planted by a watercourse. Where are the watercourses? Truly they are in the valleys, because midway between the mountains the water flows down. Who may not perceive that the streams retreat from the steep slopes of the mountains and make their way straight to the lowly midst of the valleys? Thus does God repulse the haughty and give grace to the humble. Here you may set foot in safety. Whoever of you are of the flock of Christ, place your trust in his staff and follow the footpath in the valley. On the hillsides that ancient serpent has ever chosen his abode which bites the horse’s hoof and makes the rider fall back. Select rather the valley for your wanderings and plantings. Do not seek the dry and rocky mountain side to set out trees. In the valleys is abundance. There plants thrive, the grass is lush, fruits grow, and, according to the words of Scripture, ‘the vales shall abound with corn.’”[1077]

It was in much the same vein that Bernard spoke of the sea as the origin of all springs and rivers and compared it with Christ, the fount of all virtue and wisdom.[1078] It was a wish to find an allegorical meaning in the phenomena of nature that induced Abelard to compare the flood of the Nile with the spread of Christian grace throughout the world.[1079] These and the many other similar allegorical comparisons that are so frequent in the literature of our period are not mere juxtapositions of things that were seen to be alike. Bernard did more than liken the valley to the humble of spirit. He implied that the valley itself partook of the quality of humility and was thereby in some way more divine than the mountain. But, if Bernard believed that mountains were symbolical of pride and arrogance, others, like Altmann of Passau, Anselm of Canterbury, and Francis of Assisi, were lovers of mountains in a truly spiritual sense. To the twelfth-century mystic the beauty of nature was more than a symbol of the divinity: it drew its very essence from God. The love that St. Francis bore towards birds and animals, mountains and fellow man was a love that arose out of his regarding all of these as creatures of God impregnated with something of the divine.

ESTHETIC LOVE OF NATURE

The esthetic love of nature that existed during our period was very different. It had its roots in a movement of protest and rebellion against the austerity of the Christian life and ideals. Men wished to enjoy the things of this world without thought of the next. What is more, they sometimes actually dared to write about their pleasures. These early stirrings of the humanistic spirit, the spirit of the Great Renaissance, brought forth troubled protests and angry remonstrances from men like Bernard and other reformers; but none the less love poems were often composed in the monasteries, and vagrant poets wandered over Europe singing the praises of earthly love, rejoicing in the springtime, with little heed for aught but the beauty of the world. Popular wherever they went, these wanderers exerted a great influence, and something of their joyous, pagan spirit crept into more serious writings of the age.

It would be possible to quote at some length texts testifying to the presence of an esthetic feeling for nature in the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries.[1080] Two or three examples must here suffice.

One of the most enthusiastic observers of natural scenery was Guy of Bazoches. He describes the environs of the castle of St. Gilles in southern France about as follows:[1081] “Here smile cultivated and fertile fields, and here the sides of the hills are adorned with vineyards. The pleasing aspect of the shrubbery and the beauty of gardens meets the eye, and oh! how the sweet smell of the grass fills the air! Fruit trees groan under their load and lament their fertility, and the warbling birds in the branches send forth rich harmonies. If we look in a different direction we see the plain stretching out its level lap covered with green meadows and alluring us with its beauty. The Rhone, disdainfully cutting through the midst of the fields, rolls down proud waters and, reaching its place of birth, flows forth into the neighboring sea.”

Even more striking is a passage from a poem that has been ascribed to Marbod of Rennes. “My uncle owns an estate in the forest where I am in the habit of going to leave care behind and all that may trouble one. The green grass, the silent woods, the soft and festive breezes, and a lively spring in the meadow revive my tired spirit: they give me back to myself and enable me to regain my poise (me mihi reddunt et faciunt in me consistere). For who is not robbed of himself in the restless city, roaring with a multitude of noises?”[1082] The writer goes on to meditate in truly Roman fashion on the transitory character of all things of this earth. Ganzenmüller comments on the subjective character of these sentiments: “What a distance separates this from the attitude towards nature of a Bernard of Clairvaux! Bernard ascribes loneliness to God, our poet to himself. No longer did one seek in nature for God but for one’s own self.”[1083]

PRACTICAL INTEREST IN COUNTRYSIDES

On the whole, however, the passages just quoted are more or less exceptional. The majority of descriptions of countrysides that date from our period reveal neither highly developed esthetic feeling nor transcendental emotion. What they do reveal is the prevalence of keen intellectual interest in detail. If a region was in any way unusual either by reason of the richness of its produce or the marvelous tales that were in circulation about it, that region was held to be worthy of comment.

Dreesbach has clearly pointed out[1084] that the passages from the French literature of the Crusading period which describe the Orient show that the things which impressed themselves on the minds of historian and chronicler and poet were the richness of gardens and orchards and the fertility of the fields. Her fecundity, not her romantic or esthetic qualities, made the average man of the Middle Ages love nature; and a country not rich and prosperous hardly deserved any particular notice, in his way of thinking. The descriptions of Syria in William of Tyre’s history reveal a great number of observations like the following: “The plain of Antioch, full of many rich fields for the raising of wheat and abounding in springs and rivulets,”[1085] or the neighborhood of Damascus, “where there are a great number of trees bearing fruits of all kinds and growing up to the very walls of the city and where everybody has a garden of his own.”[1086] Elsewhere William of Tyre emphasizes the contrast between the sterility of the desert and the marvelous fertility of Egypt, with its abundance of wheat.[1087] The same interest in the economic qualities of the land appears in the few local descriptions that we find in the writings of Otto of Freising. Otto speaks[1088] of the forested region about the Rhine, near Worms, as being “rich in produce and wine, abundant in hunting and fishing,” and for this reason, he adds, the region was pleasing to the princes who came from across the Alps to take part in the Diet at Worms. In detailing the life of Corbianus, founder of the church at Freising, he gives us a topographical account of the vicinity of this city.[1089] A hill, he says, situated in a most beautiful and delicious spot, overlooks like a watchtower the whole region, through which can be seen the swift stream of the Isar. In the days of Corbianus (about 745 A. D.) this territory was said to have been covered with woods and was a haunt of game; traces of these woods were still to be found in the ancient tree trunks among the thickets of the plains, and to Otto’s own day immense quantities of deer and goats ran wild there. In the northern part of the district by no means inconsiderable tracts of woodland, commonly called “the forest,” were still in existence, and from them much useful building material and fuel could be procured. The land contiguous to the hill was inclosed by the rivers Isar on the south and Amper on the north, and between the two streams it extended four German miles in the form of a very fertile peninsula. At the end of this, where the two rivers come together, was a place called Moosburg, beautiful and delightful, the site of a congregation of clergy connected with the church of the blessed Castulus.

GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS’ EYE FOR LOCAL TOPOGRAPHY

Giraldus Cambrensis, more than his contemporaries, had an eye for local topography. In spite of his taste for the marvelous, this impelled him now and then to paint a fairly clear word picture of the appearance of the countryside. He notes many things of a sort that do not usually occur in other medieval works; for instance, the fact that in fair weather it is possible to see the hills of Ireland from St. David’s Head in Wales;[1090] that the fertility of the Irish soil lies in its grassland rather than in its grain;[1091] that Ireland is rugged and hilly, very damp and watery, full of woods, swamps, and trackless wastes, with lakes at the foot of the hills and pools and bogs even on the highest summits; that here and there one sees beautiful plains, but in general open surfaces are of limited extent in comparison to woodland; that the seacoasts are low, that hills and mountains are restricted to the interior, and that both inland and along the shores there is more sandy than rocky country.[1092] He was also impressed by the barren and desolate character of many parts of Wales;[1093] the “angle” of the land near St. David’s, he says, has a rocky, sterile soil, with neither woods, nor rivers, nor orchards, but is open and exposed to winds and storms. Mona also is arid and rocky, deformed in appearance, and generally unpromising, though as a matter of fact vastly more fertile and opulent than the adjacent portion of the Welsh mainland.[1094]