our time, the Middle Ages have been the object of peculiar fondness with
both criticism and erudition. We rummage all the dark corners of the
libraries, we bring old parchments to light, and in the zeal and ardor
we put into our search there is an indefinable touch of piety.

These efforts to make the past live again reveal not merely our
curiosity, or the lack of power to grapple with great philosophic
problems, they are a token of wisdom and modesty; we are beginning to
feel that the present has its roots in the past, and that in the fields
of politics and religion, as in others, slow, modest, persevering toil
is that which has the best results.

There is also a token of love in this. We love our ancestors of five or
six centuries ago, and we mingle not a little emotion and gratitude with
this love. So, if one may hope everything of a son who loves his
parents, we must not despair of an age that loves history.

The Middle Ages form an organic period in the life of humanity. Like all
powerful organisms the period began with a long and mysterious
gestation; it had its youth, its manhood, its decrepitude. The end of
the twelfth century and the beginning of the thirteenth mark its full
expansion; it is the twentieth year of life, with its poetry, its
dreams, its enthusiasm, its generosity, its daring. Love overflowed with
vigor; men everywhere had but one desire--to devote themselves to some
great and holy cause.

Curiously enough, though Europe was more parcelled out than ever, it
felt a new thrill run through its entire extent. There was what we might
call a state of European consciousness.