ments from the great store—we know of 40,000 papal letters alone previous to the beginning of the fourteenth century— that is still preserved to us.
And here let me add my voice to that of those who object to an expression, very common twenty years ago, and which has not yet entirely gone out of use—the dark ages. The darkest of all, the tenth, could produce a witty and vivid report like that of Liutprand of Cremona. There are many people sitting in high places in the realm of England to-day who could not begin to describe the nature of their functions in the compact and scholarly wording in which Richard of Ely composed his dialogue concerning the Exchequer. And those who read the other documents here translated will be astonished to see how clear and full of meaning they are.
I have chosen the middle ages because, in spite of many diversities, they have a certain great stamp of unity, and, above all, of simplicity. The Englishman of the twelfth century had much more in common with the Frenchman and the German of his day than is the case now. They were all one in one faith, and all acknowledged one supreme spiritual head. The papal court was a common meeting place for the best intellects from all lands. There was one common language for all formal interchange of thought. There was one great system which separated all Europe into classes, and made all the members of a given class akin. A nation, on the other hand, as such, had little influence on its neighbour, mingled seldom in that neighbour's quarrels. Kings went their own way, for the most part untrammelled by fear of interference. Where do we hear of coalitions like those of the Thirty Years' War, the war of the Spanish Succession, or the Napoleonic struggles? There were no permanent diplomatic relations, no resident ministers at foreign courts, who could in a moment threaten to break off friendly intercourse in the name of their
