Chapter VIII: The Norman Kingdom of Sicily 218 (1)

INDEX 251

THE NORMANS IN EUROPEAN HISTORY

I

NORMANDY AND ITS PLACE IN HISTORY

In June, 1911, at Rouen, Normandy celebrated the one-thousandth anniversary of its existence. Decorated with the grace and simplicity of which only a French city is capable, the Norman capital received with equal cordiality the descendants of the conquerors and the conquered--Norwegians and Swedes, Danes of Denmark and Danes of Iceland, Normans of Normandy and of England, of Sicily and of Canada. Four Norwegian students accomplished the journey from their native fjords in an open Viking boat, having set ashore early in the voyage a comrade who had so far fallen away from the customs of his ancestors as to sleep under a blanket. From the United States bold Scandinavians, aided by the American Express Company, brought from Minnesota the Kensington rune stone, which purports to prove the presence of Norse explorers in the northwest one hundred and thirty years before the landfall of Columbus. A congress of Norman history listened for nearly a week in five simultaneous sections to communications on every phase of the Norman past. There was Norman music in the streets, there were Norman plays at the theatres, Norman mysteries in the cathedral close. Banquet followed banquet and toast followed toast, till the cider of Normandy paled before the champagne of France. Finally a great pageant, starting, like the city, from the river-bank, unrolled the vast panorama of Norman history through streets whose very names reëcho its great figures--Rollo and his Norse companions arriving in their Viking ships, the dukes his successors, William Longsword, Richard the Fearless, Robert the Magnificent, William the Conqueror, the sons of Tancred of Hauteville who drove the paynim from Sicily, and that other Tancred who planted the banner of the cross on the walls of Jerusalem, all with their knights and heralds and men at arms, followed by another pageant of the achievements of Normandy in the arts of peace. And on the last evening the great abbey-church of Saint-Ouen burnt red fire for the first time in its history till the whole mass glowed and every statue and storied niche stood out with some clear, sharp bit of the Norman past, while its lantern-tower, “the crown of Normandy,” shone out over the city and the river which are the centre of Norman history and where this day the dukes wore again their crown.

In this transitory world the thousandth anniversary of anything is sufficiently rare to challenge attention, even in an age which is rapidly becoming hardened to celebrations. Of the events commemorated in 1915 the discovery of the Pacific is only four hundred years old, the signing of the Great Charter but seven hundred. The oldest American university has celebrated only its two hundred and fiftieth anniversary, the oldest European only its eight-hundredth. Even those infrequent commemorations which carry us back a thousand years or more, like the millenary of King Alfred or the sixteen-hundredth Constantinian jubilee of 1913, are usually reminders of great men or great events rather than, as in the case of Normandy, the completion of a millennium of continuous historical development. So far as I can now recollect, the only parallel is that of Iceland, which rounded out its thousand years with the dignity of a new constitution in 1874. Of about the same age, Iceland also resembles Normandy in being the creation of the Norse sea-rovers, an outpost of the Vikings in the west, as Normandy was an outpost in the south. Of the two, Iceland is perhaps the more individual, as it certainly has been the more faithful to its Scandinavian traditions, but the conditions which have enabled it to retain its early characteristics have also isolated it from the broader currents of the world’s history. Normandy, on the other hand, was drawn at once into the full tide of European politics and became itself a founder of new states, an imperial power, a colonizer of lands beyond the seas, the mother of a greater Normandy in England, in Sicily, and in America.

At home and abroad the history of Normandy is a record of rich and varied achievement--of war and conquest and feats of arms, but also of law and government and religion, of agriculture, industry, trade, and exploration, of literature and science and art. It takes us back to Rollo and William of the Long Sword, to the Vikings and the Crusaders, to the conquerors of England and Sicily, to masterful prelates of the feudal age like Odo of Bayeux and Thomas Becket; it brings us down to the admirals and men of art and letters of the _Grand Siècle_,--Tourville and DuQuesne, Poussin, Malherbe, and the great Corneille,--to Charlotte Corday and the days of the Terror, and to the painters and scholars and men of letters of the nineteenth century,--Géricault and Millet, Laplace and Léopold Delisle, Flaubert and Maupassant and Albert Sorel. It traces the laborious clearing of ancient forests, the rude processes of primitive agriculture, the making of Norman cider and the breeding of the Norman horse, the vicissitudes of trade in fish and marten-skins, in pottery, cheap cottons, and strong waters, the development of a centre of fashion like Trouville or centres of war and commerce like Cherbourg and Havre. It describes the slow building of monasteries and cathedrals and the patient labors of priests and monks, as well as the conquest of the Canaries, the colonization of Canada, and the exploration of the Great West. A thousand years of such history are well worth a week of commemoration and retrospect.

To the American traveller who wends his way toward Paris from Cherbourg, Havre, or Dieppe, the first impression of Normandy is that of a country strikingly like England. There are the same high chalk cliffs, the same “little grey church on the windy shore,” often the same orchards and hedges, poppies and roses. There are trees and wide stretches of forest as in few other parts of France, placid, full-brimmed rivers and quiet countrysides, and everywhere the rich green of meadow and park and pasture, that vivid green of the north which made Alphonse Daudet at Oxford shudder, “Green rheumatism,” as he thought of the sun-browned plains and sharp, bare hills of his own Provence. Normandy is brighter than England, with a dash more of color in the landscape, but its skies are not sunny and its air breathes the mists of the sea and the chill of the north. There is a grey tone also, of grey towns and grey sea, matched by an austere and sombre element in the Norman character, which, if it does not take its pleasures sadly after the manner of Taine’s Englishmen, is prone to take them soberly, and by an element of melancholy, a sense of _le glas des choses mortes_, which Flaubert called the melancholy of the northern barbarians. The Norman landscape also gives us the feeling of finish and repose and the sentiment of a rich past, not merely in the obvious externals of crumbling wall and ivied tower, but in that deeper sense of a people bound from immemorial antiquity to the soil, adapted to every local difference through long generations of use and wont, in an intimate union of man and nature which makes the Norman inseparable from his land. All this, too, is English, but English with a difference. Just as, in Henry James’s phrase, the English landscape is a landlord’s landscape, and the French a peasant’s, so the _mairie_ and the _préfecture_, the public garden and the public band, the café and the ever-open church, the workman’s _blouse_ and the grandam’s _bonnet_, remind us continually that we are in a Latin country and on our way to Paris.

Now the history of Normandy reflects this twofold impression of the traveller: it faces toward England and the sea, but it belongs to France and the land. Open to the outer world by the great valley of the Seine and the bays and inlets of its long coast-line, Normandy was never drawn to the sea in the same degree as its neighbor Brittany, nor isolated in any such measure from the life of the Continent. Where the shore is low, meadow and field run to the water’s edge; where it is high, its line is relatively little broken, so that the streams generally rush to the sea down short, steep valleys, up which wheeze the trains which connect the little seaside ports and watering-places with the modern world within. In spite of the trade of its rivers and its ports, in spite of the growth of industry along its streams, Normandy is still primarily an agricultural country, rooted deep in the rich soil of an ancient past, a country of horses and cattle, of butter and cheese and cider and the kindly fruits of the earth; and the continuity of its history rests upon the land itself. “Behind the shore and even upon it,” says Vidal de la Blache, “the ancient cumulative force of the interior has reacted against the sea. There an old and rich civilization has subsisted in its entirety, founded on the soil, through whose power have resisted and endured the speech, the traditions, and the peoples of ancient times.”[1] Conquered and colonized by the sea-rovers of the north, the land of Normandy was able to absorb its conquerors into the law, the language, the religion, and the culture of France, where, as Sorel says, their descendants now preserve “their attachment to their native soil, the love of their ancestors, the respect for the ruins of the past, and the indestructible veneration for its tombs.”[2]

If the character of Normandy is thus in considerable measure determined by geography, its boundaries and even its internal unity are chiefly the result of history. For good and ill, Normandy has, on the land side, no natural frontiers. The hills of the west continue those of Brittany, the plains of the east merge in those of Picardy. The watershed of the south marks no clear-cut boundary from Maine and Perche; the valleys of the Seine and the Eure lead straight to the Ile-de-France, separated from Normandy only by those border fortresses of the Avre and the Vexin which are the perpetual battle-ground of Norman history--Normandy’s Alsace-Lorraine! Within these limits lie two distinct physiographic areas, one the lower portion of the Paris basin, the other a western region which belongs with Brittany and the west of France. These districts are commonly distinguished as Upper and Lower Normandy, terms consecrated by long use and representing two contrasted regions and types, but there is no general agreement as to their exact limits or the limits of the region of Middle Normandy which some have placed between them. Even the attempt to define these areas in terms of cheese--as the land respectively of the creamy Neufchâtel, the resilient Pont-l’Évêque, and the flowing Camembert--is defective from the point of view of geographical accuracy!

The most distinctive parts of Upper Normandy are the valley of the Seine and the region to the north and east, the _pays de Caux_, fringed by the coast from Havre to the frontier of Picardy. Less monotonous than the bare plains farther east, the plateau of Caux is covered by a rich vegetation, broken by scattered farmsteads, where house and orchard and outbuildings are protected from the wind by those rectangular earthworks surmounted by trees which are the most characteristic feature of the region. It is the country of _Madame Bovary_ and of Maupassant’s peasants. Equally typical is the valley of the Seine, ample, majestic, slow, cutting its sinuous way through high banks which grow higher as we approach the sea, winding around ancient strongholds like Château Gaillard and Tancarville or ruined abbeys like Jumièges and Saint-Wandrille,--where Maeterlinck’s bees still hum in the garden,--catching the tide soon after it enters Normandy, reaching deep water at Rouen, and meeting the “longed-for dash of waves” in the great estuary at its mouth. Halfway from the Norman frontier to the river’s end stands Rouen, mistress of the Seine and capital, not only of Upper Normandy, but of the whole Norman land. Celtic in name and origin, like most French cities, chief town of the Roman province of _Lugdunensis Secunda_ and of the ecclesiastical province to which this gave rise, the political and commercial importance of Rouen have made it also the principal city of mediæval and modern Normandy and the seat of the changing political authority to which the land has bowed. As early as the twelfth century it is one of the famous cities of Europe, likened to Rome by local poets and celebrated even by sober historians for its murmuring streams and pleasant meadows, its hill-girt site and strong defences, its beautiful churches and private dwellings, its well-stocked markets, and its extensive foreign trade. In spite of all modern changes, Rouen is still a city full of history, in the parchments of its archives and the stones of its walls, in its stately cathedral with the ancient tombs of the Norman dukes, in the glorious nave of its great abbey-church, the florid Gothic of Saint-Maclou, the richly carved perpendicular of its Palace of Justice, and its splendid façades of the French Renaissance; historic also in those unbuilt spots which mark the landing of the Northmen and the burning of Joan of Arc.

Lower Normandy shows greater variety, comprising the hilly country of the Bocage,--the so-called Norman Switzerland,--the plain of Caen and the pasture-lands of the Bessin, and the wide sweep of the Atlantic coast-line, from the promontory of La Hague to the shifting sands of the bay of Mont-Saint-Michel. It is a country of green fields and orchards and sunken lanes, of dank parks and mouldering châteaux, of deserted mills and ancient parish churches, of quaint timbered houses and long village streets, of silent streams, small ports, and pebbly beaches, the whole merging ultimately in the neighboring lands of Brittany and Maine. Its typical places are Falaise, Vire, and Argentan, with their ancient castles of the Norman dukes; Bayeux and Coutances, the foundations of whose soaring cathedrals carry us back to the princely prelates of the Conquest; provincial capitals of the Old Régime, like Valognes, or the new, like Saint-Lô; and best of all, the crowning glories of the marvel of Mont-Saint-Michel. Its chief town is Caen, stern and grey, the heart of Normandy as Rouen is its head, an old poet tells us; no ancient Roman capital, but the creation of the mediæval dukes, who reared its great abbey-churches to commemorate the marriage and the piety of William the Conqueror and Matilda, and who established their exchequer in its castle; an intellectual centre also, the seat of the only Norman university, of an academy, and of a society of antiquaries which has recovered for us great portions of the Norman past.

Fashioned and enriched by the hand of man, the land of Normandy has in turn profoundly influenced the character of its inhabitants. First and foremost, the Norman is a peasant, industrious, tenacious, cautious, secretive, distrustful of strangers, close-fisted, shrewd, even to the point of cunning, a hard man at a bargain, eager for gain, but with the genius for small affairs rather than for great, for labor and economy rather than enterprise and daring. Suspicious of novelty, he is a conservative in politics with a high regard for vested interests. The possession of property, especially landed property, is his great ambition; and since, as St. Francis long ago reminded us, property is the sower of strife and suits at law, he is by nature litigious and lawyerly. There is a well-known passage of Michelet which describes the Norman peasant on his return from the fields explaining the Civil Code to his attentive children; Racine, who immortalized Chicaneau in his _Plaideurs_, laid the scene in a town of Lower Normandy. Even in his time this was no new trait, for the fondness for legal form and chicane can be traced in the early days of the _Coutume de Normandie_, while the _Burnt Njal Saga_ shows us the love of lawsuits and fine points of procedure full-blown among the Northmen of primitive Iceland. If Normandy is the _pays de gain_, it is also the _pays de sapience_. Hard-headed and practical, the Norman is not an idealist or a mystic; even his religion has a practical flavor, and the Bretons are wont to assert that there has never been a Norman saint. With the verse of Corneille and the splendid monuments of Romanesque and Gothic architecture before us, no one can accuse the Normans of lack of artistic sense, yet here, too, the Norman imagination is inclined to be restrained and severe, realistic rather than romantic. Its typical modern writers are Flaubert and Maupassant; its typical painter is Millet, choosing his scenes from Barbizon, but loyal to the peasant types of his native Normandy. Indeed Henry Adams insists that Flaubert’s style, exact, impersonal, austere, is singularly like that of those great works of Norman Romanesque, the old tower of Rouen cathedral and St. Stephen’s abbey at Caen, and shows us “how an old art transmutes itself into a new one, without changing its methods.”[3] In history, a field in which the Norman attachment to the past has produced notable results, the distinguishing qualities of Norman work have been acute criticism and great erudition rather than brilliant imagination. In science, when a great Norman like Laplace discovered the nebular hypothesis, he relegated it to a note in the appendix to his ordered and systematic treatise on the motions of the heavenly bodies. The Norman mind is neither nebular nor hypothetical!

The land is not the whole of nature’s gift to Normandy; we must also take account of the sea, of those who came by sea and those who went down to the sea in ships; and history tells us of another type of Norman, those giants of an elder day who, as one of their descendants has said, “found the seas too narrow and the land too tame.” The men who subdued England and Sicily, who discovered the Canaries and penetrated to the Mississippi, who colonized Quebec and ruled the Isle of France, were no stay-at-homes, no cautious landsmen interested in boundaries and inheritances and vain strivings about the law. Warriors and adventurers in untamed lands and upon uncharted seas, they were organizers of states and rulers of peoples, and it is their work which gives Normandy its chief claim upon the attention of the student of general history. These are the Normans of history and the Normans of romance. Listen to the earliest characterizations of them which have reached us from the south, as a monk of the eleventh century, Aimé of Monte Cassino, sets out to recount the deeds of the southern Normans, _fortissime gent_ who have spread themselves over the earth, ever leaving small things to acquire greater, unwilling to serve, but seeking to have every one in subjection;[4] or as his contemporary, Geoffrey Malaterra, himself very likely of Norman origin, describes this cunning and revengeful race, despising their own inheritance in the hope of winning a greater elsewhere, eager for gain and eager for power, quick to imitate whatever they see, at once lavish and greedy; given to hunting and hawking and delighting in horses and accoutrements and fine clothing, yet ready when occasion demands to bear labor and hunger and cold; skilful in flattery and the use of fine words, but unbridled unless held down firmly by the yoke of justice.[5] Turn then to the northern writers of the following century: William of Malmesbury, who describes the fierce onslaughts of the Normans, inured to war and scarcely able to live without it, their stratagems and breaches of faith and their envy of both equals and superiors;[6] or the English monk Ordericus, who spent his life among them in Normandy and who says:--

The race of the Normans is unconquered and ready for any wild deed
unless restrained by a strong ruler. In whatever gathering they
find themselves they always seek to dominate, and in the heat of
their ambition they are often led to violate their obligations. All
this the French and Bretons and Flemings and other neighbors have
frequently felt; this the Italians and the Lombards, the Angles and
Saxons, have also learned to their undoing.[7]

A little later it is the Norman poet Wace who tells, through the mouth of the dying William the Conqueror, of these same Normans--brave and valiant and conquering, proud and boastful and fond of good cheer, hard to control and needing to be kept under foot by their rulers.[8] Through all these accounts runs the same story of a high-spirited, masterful, unscrupulous race, eager for danger and ready for every adventure, and needing always the bit and bridle rather than the spur.

The contrast is not merely between the eleventh century and the twentieth, between a lawless race of pioneers and a race subdued and softened by generations of order and peace; the two types are present in the early days of Norman history. Among the conquerors of England a recent historian distinguishes “the great soldiers of the invading host ... equally remarkable for foresight in council and for headlong courage in the hour of action, whose wits are sharpened by danger and whose resolution is only stimulated by obstacles; incapable of peaceful industry but willing to prepare themselves for war and rapine by the most laborious apprenticeship”; and over against them “the politicians ... cautious, plausible, deliberate, with an immense capacity for detail, and an innate liking for routine; conscious in a manner of their moral obligations, but mainly concerned with small economies and gains; limited in their horizon, but quick to recognise superior powers and to use them for their own objects; indifferent for their own part to high ideals, and yet respectful to idealists; altogether a hard-headed, heavy-handed, laborious and tenacious type of men.”[9]

These contrasting types of life and character it is tempting to refer to the respective influences of land and water, to the differences between the peasant and the rider to the sea. One might even attempt a philosophy of Norman history somewhat on this wise. In its normal and undisturbed state Normandy is a part of France, in its life as in its geography, and as such it shows only the ordinary local differences from the rest of the French lands. So it was under the Romans, so under the Franks. At the beginning of the tenth century the coming of the Northmen introduces a new element which develops relations with the sea and the countries beyond the sea, with Scandinavia and later with the British Isles. Normandy ceases to be provincial, it almost ceases to be French; it even becomes the centre of an Atlantic empire which stretches from Scotland to the Pyrenees. It sends its pilgrims to Compostela, its chivalry to Jerusalem, its younger sons to Sicily and southern Italy. Its relations with the sea do not cease with its political separation from the lands across the Channel in 1204. The English come back for a time in the fifteenth century; the Normans cross the Atlantic in the sixteenth and settle Canada in the seventeenth. But the overmastering influence of the soil prevails and draws its children back to itself. The sea-faring impulse declines; activity turns inward; the province is finally absorbed in the nation; Normandy is again a part of France, and the originality and distinctness of its history fade away in the life of the whole.

Philosophy or no philosophy, the history of Normandy falls for our purposes into three convenient periods. The first of these extends from the earliest times to the coming of the Northmen in 911, the event which created Normandy as a distinct entity. The second is the history of the independent Norman duchy from 911 to the French conquest in 1204, the three splendid centuries of Norman independence and Norman greatness. The third period of seven hundred years deals with Normandy as a part of France.

* * * * *

The interest and importance of these several periods vary with the point of view. Many people are of the opinion that the only history which matters is modern history, and the more modern the better because the nearer to ourselves and our time. To such everything is meaningless before the French Revolution or the Franco-Prussian War--or perhaps the War of 1914. To those who care only for their own time the past has no perspective; as a distinguished maker and writer of history has said, James Buchanan and Tiglath-Pileser become contemporaries. This foreshortened interest in the immediate past starts from a sound principle, namely, that it is an important function of history to explain the present in the light of the past from which it has come. By a natural reaction from the study which stopped with Marcus Aurelius or the American colonies or the Congress of Vienna, the demand naturally arose for the history of the day before yesterday, which was once declared to be the least known period in human annals. This is quite legitimate if it does not stop here and does not accept the easy assumption that what is nearest us is necessarily most important, even to ourselves. Modern Germany owes more to Martin Luther than to Nietzsche, more to Charles the Great, who eleven hundred years ago conquered and civilized the Saxons and began the subjugation of the Slavs, than to many a more modern figure in the Sieges-allee at Berlin. Our method of reckoning time and latitude by sixtieths owes less to the contemporaries of James Buchanan than to those of Tiglath-Pileser. If we must apply material standards to history, we must consider the mass as well as the square of the distance.

Obviously, too, we must consider distance in space as well as in time. The Boston fire of 1872 did not rouse Paris, and our hearts do not thrill at the mention of the Socialist mayors and Conservative deputies whose names become household words when the streets of French towns are rechristened in their memory. The perspective of Norman history is different for a Norman than for other Frenchmen, different for a Frenchman than for an American.

Now there can be no question that for the average Norman the recent period bulks larger than the earlier. His life is directly and constantly affected by the bureaucratic traditions of the Old Régime, by the new freedom and the land-distribution of the Revolution, by the coming of the railroad, the steamship, and the primary school. William the Conqueror, Philip Augustus, Joan of Arc, their deeds and their times, have become mere traditions to him, if indeed they are that. In all these changes, however, there is nothing distinctive, nothing peculiar, nothing that cannot be studied just as well in some other part of France. Their local and specifically Norman aspects are of absorbing interest to Normandy, but they are meaningless to the world at large. With the union with France in 1204 Norman history becomes local history, and whatever possesses more than local interest it shares with the rest of France. From the point of view of the world at large, the history of Normandy runs parallel with that of the other regions of France. Normandy will contribute its quota of great names to the world, in art and music and literature, in learning and industry and politics; it will take its part in the great movements of French history, the Reformation, the Revolution, the new republic; but it will be only a part of a larger whole and derive its interest for the general student from its membership in the body of France.

Much the same is true of the period before the coming of the Northmen. Under the Celts, the Romans, and the Franks, the region which was to become Normandy is not distinguished in any notable way from the rest of Gaul, and it has the further disadvantage of being one of the regions concerning which our knowledge is particularly scanty. A few names of tribes in Cæsar’s _Gallic War_ and in the Roman geographers, a few scattered inscriptions from the days of the empire, a few lives of saints and now and then a rare document of Frankish times, this with the results of archæological research constitutes the basis of early Norman history. After all, Normandy was remote from Rome and lay apart also from the main currents of Frankish life and politics, so that we should not look here for much light on general conditions. Nevertheless it is in this obscure age that the foundations of Normandy were laid. First of all, the population, Gallo-Roman at bottom, receiving a Germanic admixture of Saxons and Franks long before the coming of the Northmen, but still preponderantly non-Germanic in its racial type. Next, language, determined by the process of Romanization and persisting as a Romance speech in spite of Saxon and Frank and Northman, until in the earliest monuments of the eleventh century we can recognize the beginnings of modern French. Then law, the Frankish law which the Northmen were to absorb, perpetuate, and carry to England. Fourth, religion, the Christian faith, triumphing only with difficulty in a land largely rural and open to barbarian invasion, but established firmly by the sixth century and already reënforced by monastic foundations which were to be the centres of faith and culture to a later age. Finally, the framework of political geography, resting on the Roman cities which with some modifications were perpetuated as the dioceses of the mediæval church, and connected by Roman roads which remained until modern times the great highways of local communication. A beginning was also made in the direction of separate organization when, toward the close of the fourth century, these districts of the northwest are for the first time set off by themselves as an administrative area, the province of _Lugdunensis Secunda_, which coincides with later Normandy. Then, as regularly throughout Gaul, the civil province becomes the ecclesiastical province, centring about its oldest church, Rouen, and the province of the archbishop of Rouen perpetuates the boundaries of the political area after the political authority passed away, and carries over to the Middle Ages the outline of the Roman organization. In all this process there is nothing particularly different from what took place throughout the greater part of northern Gaul, but the results were fundamental for Normandy and for the whole of Norman history.

A new epoch begins with the coming of the Northmen in the early tenth century, as a result of which Normandy was differentiated from the rest of France and carried into the broader currents of European history. At first an outpost of the Scandinavian north, its relations soon shifted as it bred the conquerors of England and Sicily. The Normans of the eleventh century, Henry Adams maintains, stood more fully in the centre of the world’s history than their English descendants ever did. They “were a part, and a great part, of the Church, of France, and of Europe.” The Popes leaned on them, at times heavily. By the conquest of England the “Norman dukes cast the kings of France into the shade.... Normans were everywhere in 1066, and everywhere in the lead of their age.”[10] A century later Normans ruled half of Italy, two thirds of France, and the whole of England; and they had made a beginning on Ireland and Scotland. No one can write of European affairs throughout this whole period without giving a large place to the Normans and their doings; while events like the conquests of England and Ireland changed the course of history.

Normandy has also its place in the history of European institutions, for the Normans were organizers as well as conquerors, and their political creations were the most efficient states of their time. Masterful, yet legally minded and businesslike, with a sense for detail and routine, the Norman princes had a sure instinct for state-building, at home and abroad. The Norman duchy was a compact and powerful state before its duke crossed the Channel, and the central government which the Normans created in England showed the same characteristics on a larger scale. The Anglo-Norman empire of the twelfth century was the marvel of its day, while the history of the Norman kingdom of Sicily showed that the Norman genius for assimilation and political organization was not confined to the dukes of Rouen. Highly significant during the eleventh and twelfth centuries, Norman institutions remained of permanent importance, affecting the central administration of France in ways which are still obscure, and exerting a decisive influence upon the law and government of England. Normandy was the connecting link between the Frankish law of the Continent and the English common law, and thus claims a share in the jurisprudence of the wide-flung lands to which the common law has spread. The institution of trial by jury, for example, is of Norman origin, or rather of Frankish origin and Norman development.

By virtue, then, of its large part in the events of its time, by virtue of the decisive character of the events in which the Normans took part, and by virtue of the permanent influence of its institutions, the Normandy of the dukes can claim an important position in the general history of the world. In seeking to describe the place of the Normans in European history we shall accordingly pass over those periods, the earlier and the later, which are primarily of local interest, and concentrate ourselves upon the heroic age of the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth centuries. We shall begin with the coming of the Northmen and the creation of the Norman state. The third lecture will consider the Norman conquest of England; the fourth, the Norman empire to which this gave rise. We shall then trace the events which led to the separation of Normandy from England and its ultimate union in 1204 with the French monarchy under Philip Augustus, concluding our survey of the Normans of the north by a sketch of Norman life and culture in this period. The two concluding lectures will trace the establishment of the Norman kingdom of southern Italy and Sicily, and examine the brilliant composite civilization of the southern Normans from the reign of the great King Roger to the accession of his still more famous grandson, the Emperor Frederick II.

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

There is no substantial general history of Normandy. For a
review of the materials, the literature, and the problems, see
the excellent résumé of H. Prentout, _La Normandie_ (Paris,
1910, reprinted from the _Revue de synthèse historique_). For
bibliographical purposes this should be supplemented by the
_Catalogue des ouvrages normands de la Bibliothèque municipale
de Caen_ (Caen, 1910–12). For the general features of Norman
geography, see the brief account by Vidal de la Blache, in the
_Histoire de France_ of Lavisse, republished with illustrations
under the title of _La France_ (Paris, 1908). The subject can
best be followed out in J. Sion, _Les paysans de la Normandie
orientale_ (Paris, 1908), and R. de Félice, _La Basse-Normandie_
(Paris, 1907). Various aspects of Norman genius and character
are delightfully treated by Albert Sorel, _Pages normandes_
(Paris, 1907). The proceedings of the historical congress held
in conjunction with the millénaire of 1911 were to have been
printed in full, but so far only various reprints of individual
communications have appeared. J. Touflet, _Le millénaire de
Normandie_ (Rouen, 1913), is not an account of the commemoration,
but an illustrated collection of popular papers. One of the more
notable pamphlets published on this occasion is that of Gabriel
Monod, _Le rôle de la Normandie dans l’histoire de France_ (Paris,
1911).

II

THE COMING OF THE NORTHMEN

The central fact of Norman history and the starting-point for its study is the event so brilliantly commemorated by the millenary of 1911, the grant of Normandy to Rollo and his northern followers in the year 911. The history of Normandy, of course, began long before that year. The land was there, and likewise in large measure the people, that is to say, probably the greater part of the elements which went to make the population of the country at a later day; and the history of the region can be traced back several centuries. But after all, neither the Celtic _civitates_ nor the Roman province of _Lugdunensis Secunda_ nor the ecclesiastical province of Rouen which took its place nor the northwestern _pagi_ of the Frankish empire were Normandy. They lacked the name--that is obvious; they lacked also individuality of character, which is more. They were a part, and not a distinctive part, of something else, whereas later Normandy was a separate entity with a life and a history of its own. And the dividing line must be drawn when the Northmen first established themselves permanently in the land and gave it a new name and a new history.

It must be said that the date 911, like most exact dates in history, is somewhat arbitrary. The Northmen first invaded Normandy in 841, and their inroads did not cease until about 966, so that the year 911 falls near the middle of a century and a quarter of invasion and settlement, and marks neither the beginning nor the end of an epoch. It is also true that this date, like many another which appears in heavy-faced type in our histories, is not known with entire certainty, for some historians have placed in 912 or even later the events commonly assigned to that year. On the whole, however, there is good reason for maintaining 911--and a thousandth anniversary must have some definite date to commemorate!

For the actual occurrences of that year, we have only the account of a romancing historian of a hundred years later, reënforced here and there by the exceedingly scanty records of the time. The main fact is clear, namely that the Frankish king, Charles the Simple, granted Rollo as a fief a considerable part, the eastern part, of later Normandy. Apparently Rollo did homage for his fief in feudal fashion by placing his hands between the hands of the king, something, we are told, which “neither his father, nor his grandfather, nor his great-grandfather before him had ever done for any man.” Legend goes on to relate, however, that Rollo refused to kneel and kiss the king’s foot, crying out in his own speech, “No, by God!” and that the companion to whom he delegated the unwelcome obligation performed it so clumsily that he overturned the king, to the great merriment of the assembled Northmen. Rollo did not receive the whole of the later duchy, but only the region on either side of the Seine which came to be known as Upper Normandy, and it was not till 924 that the Northmen acquired also middle Normandy, or the Bessin, while the west, the Cotentin and the Avranchin, fell to them only in 933.

As to Rollo’s personality, we have only the evidence of later Norman historians of doubtful authority and the Norse saga of Harold Fairhair. If, as seems likely, their accounts relate to the same person, he was known in the north as Hrolf the Ganger, because he was so huge that no horse could carry him and he must needs gang afoot. A pirate at home, he was driven into exile by the anger of King Harold, whereupon he followed his trade in the Western Isles and in Gaul, and rose to be a great Jarl among his people. The saga makes him a Norwegian, but Danish scholars have sought to prove him a Dane, and more recently the cudgels have been taken up for his Swedish origin. To me the Norwegian theory seems on the whole the most probable, being based on a trustworthy saga and corroborated by other incidental evidence. Yet, however significant of Rollo’s importance it may be that three great countries should each claim him as its own, like the seven cities that strove for the honor of Homer’s birthplace, the question of his nationality is historically of subordinate interest, and at a time when national lines were not yet drawn, it is futile to fit the inadequate evidence into one or another theory. The important fact is that Norway, Denmark, and even more distant Sweden, all contributed to the colonists who settled in Normandy under Rollo and his successors, and the achievements of the Normans thus become the common heritage of the Scandinavian race.

The colonization of Normandy was, of course, only a small part of the work of this heroic age of Scandinavian expansion. The great emigration from the North in the ninth and tenth centuries has been explained in part by the growth of centralized government and the consequent departure of the independent, the turbulent, and the untamed for new fields of adventure; but its chief cause was doubtless that which lies back of colonizing movements in all ages, the growth of population and the need of more room. Five centuries earlier this land-hunger had pushed the Germanic tribes across the Rhine and Danube and produced the great wandering of the peoples which destroyed the Roman empire; and the Viking raids were simply a later aspect of this same _Völkerwanderung_, retarded by the outlying position of the Scandinavian lands and by the greater difficulty of migration by sea. For, unlike the Goths who swept across the map of Europe in vast curves of marching men, or the Franks who moved forward by slow stages of gradual settlement in their occupation of Roman Gaul, the Scandinavian invaders were men of the sea and migrated in ships. The deep fjords of Norway and the indented coast of the North Sea and the Baltic made them perforce sailors and fishermen and taught them the mastery of the wider ocean. In their dragon ships--shallow, clinker-built, half-decked craft, pointed at either end, low in the middle, where the gunwale was protected by a row of shields--they could cross the sea, explore creeks and inlets, and follow the course of rivers far above their mouth. The greater ships might reach the length of seventy-five feet and carry as many as one hundred and twenty men, but these were the largest, and even these offered but a slow means of migration. We must think of the whole movement at first as one of small and scattered bands, terrible more for their fierce, sudden, and skilful methods of attack, than for force of superior numbers or organization. The truth is that sea-power, whose strategic significance in modern warfare Admiral Mahan did so much to make us appreciate, was in the ninth and tenth centuries, so far as western Europe was concerned, a Scandinavian monopoly. Masters of the seas, the Northmen harried the coasts and river-valleys as they would, and there was none to drive them back.

Outside of the Baltic, where the Danes ravaged the southern coast and the Swedes moved eastward to lay the foundations of the Russian state and to penetrate as far as Constantinople, two main routes lay open to the masters of the northern seas. One led west to the Orkneys, the Shetlands, and the coast of Scotland, and then either south to the shores of Ireland, or further west to Iceland, Greenland, and America. The other led through the North Sea to England, the Low Countries, and the coast of Gaul. Both were used, and used freely, by the Vikings, and in both directions they accomplished enduring results:--Iceland and the kingdoms of the isles in the north, the beginnings of town life and commerce in Ireland, the Danelaw in England, and the duchy of Normandy.

When the great northern invasions began at the close of the eighth century, Charles the Great ruled all the Christian lands of the western Continent. By fire and sword he converted the heathen Saxons of the north to Christianity and civilization and advanced his frontier to the Danish border, so that the pious monk of St. Gall laments that he did not conquer the Danes also--“be it that Divine Providence was not then on our side, or that our sins rose up against us.” And this same gossiping chronicler--not the best of authorities it is true--has left us a striking picture of Charlemagne’s first experience with the Scandinavian invaders:--

Once Charles arrived by chance at a certain maritime town of
Gallia Narbonensis. While he was sitting at dinner, and had not
been recognized by the townspeople, some northern pirates came to
carry on their depredations in that very port. When the ships were
perceived some thought they were Jewish merchants, some that they
were Africans, some Bretons. But the wise king, knowing from the
shape and swiftness of the vessels what sort of crews they carried,
said to those about him, “These ships bear no merchandize, but
cruel foes.” At these words all the Franks rivalled each other in
the speed with which they rushed to attack the boats. But it was
useless. The Northmen hearing that there stood the man whom they
were wont to call Charles the Hammer, were afraid lest all their
fleet should be taken in the port, and should be broken in pieces;
and their flight was so rapid, that they withdrew themselves not
only from the swords, but even from the eyes of those who wished
to catch them. The religious Charles, however, seized by a holy
fear, rose from the table, and looked out of the window towards the
East, remaining long in that position, his face bathed in tears.
No one ventured to question him: but turning to his followers he
said, “Know ye why I weep? Truly I fear not that these will injure
_me_. But I am deeply grieved that in my lifetime they should have
been so near landing on these shores, and I am overwhelmed with
sorrow as I look forward and see what evils they will bring upon my
offspring and their people.”[11]

From the actuality of such an invasion the great Charles was spared, but in the British Isles it had already begun. In 787 the Anglo-Saxon _Chronicle_ tells us there “first came three ships of Northmen out of Haeretha-land” [Denmark?], whereupon the reeve of the Dorset port “rode down to the place and would have driven them to the king’s town, because he knew not who they were; and they there slew him. These were the first ships of Danishmen which sought the land of the English nation.” Six years later they fell upon the holy isle of Lindisfarne, pillaged the church sacred with the memories of Northumbrian Christianity, and slew the monks or drove them into the sea. In 807 they first landed in Ireland, and “after this there came great sea-cast floods of foreigners into Erin, so that there was not a point thereof without a fleet.” Then came the turn of the Continent, first along the coast of Frisia and Flanders, and then in what is now France. In 841, when the grandsons of Charlemagne were quarrelling over the fragments of his empire at Fontenay, the first fleet of Northmen entered the Seine; in 843 when they were making their treaty of partition at Verdun, the Vikings entered Nantes on St. John’s Day and slew the bishop before the high altar as he intoned the _Sursum corda_ of the mass. Within two years they sacked Hamburg and Paris. Wherever possible they established themselves at the mouths of the great rivers, often on an island like Walcheren, Noirmoutier, or the Ile de Rhé, whence the rivers opened the whole country to them--Elbe and Weser, Rhine and Meuse, Scheldt, Seine, Loire, and Garonne, even to the Guadalquivir, by which the Arabic chronicler tells us the “dark red sea-birds” penetrated to Seville. One band more venturesome than the rest, entered the Mediterranean and reached Marseilles, whence under their leader Hastings they sacked the Italian town of Luna, apparently in the belief that it was Rome.

About the middle of the ninth century the number of the Norse pirates greatly increased and their ravages became more regular and constant, leading in many cases to permanent settlements. In 855 the Old English _Chronicle_ tells us “the heathen men, for the first time, remained over winter in Sheppey,” at the mouth of the Thames, and thereafter, year by year, it recounts the deeds of the Viking band which wintered in England and is called simply _here_, the army. It is no longer a matter of summer raids but of unbroken occupation. In 878 during midwinter “the army stole away to Chippenham and overran the land of the West-Saxons and sat down there; and many of the people they drove beyond sea, and of the remainder the greater part they subdued and forced to obey them except King Alfred, and he, with a small band, with difficulty retreated to the woods and to the fastnesses of the moors.” The following year a similar band, now swollen into “the great army” made its appearance on the Continent and for fourteen years ravaged the territory between the Rhine and the Loire. Year after year “the steel of the heathen glistened”; in 886 they laid siege to Paris, which was relieved not by the king’s valor but by his offering them Burgundy to plunder instead. A century later the English began to buy them off with Danegeld. “All men,” laments a chronicler, “give themselves to flight. No one cries out, Stand and fight for your country, your church, your countrymen. What they ought to defend with arms, they shamefully redeem by payments.” There was nothing to do but add a new petition to the litany, “From the fury of the Northmen, good Lord, deliver us.”

* * * * *

To the writers of the time, who could not see the permanent results of Viking settlement, the Northmen were barbarian pirates, without piety or pity, “who wept neither for their sins nor for their dead,” and their expeditions were mere wanton pillage and destruction. Moreover, these writers were regularly monks or priests, and it was the church that suffered most severely. A walled town or castle might often successfully resist, but the monasteries, protected from Christian freebooters by their sacred character, were simply so many opportunities for plunder to the heathen of the north. Sometimes the monks perished with their monastery, often they escaped only with their lives and a few precious title-deeds, to find on their return merely a heap of blackened ruins and a desolate countryside. Many religious establishments utterly disappeared in the course of the invasions. In Normandy scarcely a church survives anterior to the tenth century. As the monasteries were at this time the chief centres of learning and culture throughout western Europe, their losses were the losses of civilization, and in this respect the verdict of the monastic chroniclers is justified. There is, however, another side to the story, which Scandinavian scholars have not been slow to emphasize. Heathen still and from one point of view barbarian, the Northmen had yet a culture of their own, well advanced on its material side, notable in its artistic skill, and rich in its treasures of poetry and story. Its material treasures have been in part recovered by the labors of northern archæologists, while its literary wealth is now in large measure accessible in English in the numerous translations of sagas and Eddic poems.

After all barbarism, like culture, is a relative thing, and judged by contemporary standards, the Vikings were not barbarians. They rather show a strange combination of the primitive and the civilized--elemental passions expressing themselves with a high degree of literary art, barbaric adornment wrought with skilled craftsmanship, Berserker rage supplemented by clever strategy, pitiless savagery combined with a strong sense of public order, constant feuds and murders coexistent with a most elaborate system of law and legal procedure. Young from our point of view, the civilization of the Vikings had behind it a history of perhaps fifteen centuries.

On its material side Viking civilization is characterized by a considerable degree of wealth and luxury. Much of this, naturally, was gained by pillage, but much also came by trade. The northern warriors do not seem to have had that contempt for traffic which has characterized many military societies, and they turned readily enough from war to commerce. In a Viking tomb recently discovered in the Hebrides there were found beside the sword and spear and battle-axe of all warriors, a pair of scales, fit emblem of the double life the chief had led on earth and may have hoped to continue hereafter! Of trade, and especially trade with the Orient, there is abundant evidence in the great treasures of gold and silver coin found in many regions of the north. The finely wrought objects of gold and silver and encrusted metal, which were once supposed to have been imported from the south and east, are now known to have been in large part of native workmanship, influenced, of course, by the imitation of foreign models, but also carrying out traditions of ornamentation, such as the use of animal forms, which can be traced back continuously to the earliest ages of Scandinavian history. Shields and damascened swords, arm-rings and neck-rings, pins and brooches--especially brooches, if you find an unknown object, says Montelius, call it a brooch and you will generally be right--all testify, both in their abundance and their beauty of workmanship, to an advanced stage of art and handicraft.