f the thirteenth century, the world
hereafter--a Heaven of wonderful delights and a Hell of brimstone and
suffering--meant something more than empty words or vague theological
phrases. It was an actual fact and the mediaeval burghers and knights
spent the greater part of their time preparing for it. We modern people
regard a noble death after a well-spent life with the quiet calm of the
ancient Greeks and Romans. After three score years of work and effort,
we go to sleep with the feeling that all will be well.

But during the Middle Ages, the King of Terrors with his grinning skull
and his rattling bones was man's steady companion. He woke his victims
up with terrible tunes on his scratchy fiddle he sat down with them at
dinner--he smiled at them from behind trees and shrubs when they took
a girl out for a walk. If you had heard nothing but hair-raising yarns
about cemeteries and coffins and fearful diseases when you were very
young, instead of listening to the fairy stories of Anderson and Grimm,
you, too, would have lived all your days in a dread of the final hour
and the gruesome day of Judgment. That is exactly what happened to the
children of the Middle Ages. They moved in a world of devils and spooks
and only a few occasional angels. Sometimes, their fear of the future
filled their souls with humility and piety, but often it influenced them
the other way and made them cruel and sentimental. They would first of
all murder all the women and children of a captured city and then they
would devoutly march to a holy spot and with their hands gory with
the blood of innocent victims, they would pray that a merciful heaven
forgive them their sins. Yea, they would do more than pray, they would
weep bitter tears and would confess themselves the most wicked of
sinners. But the next day, they would once more butcher a camp of
Saracen enemies without a spark of mercy in their hearts.

Of course, the Crusaders were Knights and obeyed a somewhat different
code of manners from the common men. But in such respects the common man
was just the same as his master. He, too, resembled a shy horse, easily
frightened by a shadow or a silly piece of paper, capable of excellent
and faithful service but liable to run away and do terrible damage when
his feverish imagination saw a ghost.

In judging these good people, however, it is wise to remember the
terrible disadvantages under which they lived. They were really
barbarians who posed as