The Thirteenth, Greatest of Centuries — Edition Insights

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In Category - Medieval Society

Authors: Walsh, James J. (James Joseph), 1865-1942 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2012 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Civilization, Medieval -- 13th century; Universities and colleges -- History Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 201,929

Reading time 878 min

Text sections 25

The catalog record for The Thirteenth, Greatest of Centuries — Edition Insights provides practical reading context through 201,929 words, 14 hr 38 min estimated reading time, and 25 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 28.1 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Civilization, Medieval -- 13th century,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #38680

Walsh argues that the 13th century, not the Renaissance, was the true apex of Western civilization, using evidence from universities, cathedrals, and drama. This editorial note examines the author's rhetorical strategy, his use of the Oberammergau Passion Play as a case study, and the tension between popular and elite culture in his argument.

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Walsh opens his chapter on medieval drama not with a scholarly definition but with a modern spectacle: the Oberammergau Passion Play, which he calls “one of the world's greatest spectacles.” He notes that half a million people traveled to the Tyrolese Mountains to see it, many from “distant America and Australia.” This choice is revealing. Walsh uses a living tradition—a play still performed in the early twentieth century—to argue for the vitality of thirteenth-century culture. He claims the villagers, though “not particularly noted for their education,” produce wood-carving that “approximates very interestingly the Thirteenth Century peoples.” The logic is associative: if modern amateurs can create art through tradition, medieval craftsmen could have done the same. Walsh is not writing a neutral history; he is building a case for continuity and popular genius.

The Oberammergau Analogy

Walsh’s use of Oberammergau is the most concrete evidence in the excerpt. He describes the play as “the only example of these mystery plays which is still left to us,” and he treats it as a living relic. The villagers are chosen from a population of fourteen hundred; they are not professional actors. Walsh emphasizes that “no one who went up to see the Passion Play came away dissatisfied.” This is not a neutral observation—it is a rhetorical move. By praising a modern performance, he implies that the medieval originals must have been equally powerful. He also draws a direct line from thirteenth-century mystery plays to Shakespeare: “mystery and morality plays continued to hold the stage down almost, if not quite, to the time of Shakespeare's early manhood.” The argument is genealogical: medieval drama did not die; it evolved into Elizabethan greatness.

Everyman as Evidence

Walsh singles out Everyman as “probably as great a play as there is in English,” comparing it to Shakespeare, Marlowe, and Jonson. He notes that its author “only took the four last things to be remembered—Death, Judgment, Heaven and Hell” and wrote “with such artistic effectiveness.” This is a key move: Walsh uses a play that survives and is still performed to stand for the lost corpus of medieval drama. He does not quote from Everyman or analyze its language; instead, he treats it as proof of quality. The logic is that if one medieval play is this good, the others must have been too. Walsh also stresses the “educational value” of the mystery plays, claiming that “the Bible itself … entered for a time into the very lives of these people.” He argues that English speech became “saturated with biblical thoughts and words” because of these performances.

Popular Participation and Lost Texts

Walsh acknowledges that most mystery plays “have disappeared by time's attrition during the centuries before the invention of printing, when they were handed round only in manuscript form.” This admission is crucial: his argument rests on fragments. He compensates by emphasizing the participatory nature of the performances. The plays were acted by craftsmen—guild members—not by professional troupes. Walsh claims that “too much can scarcely be said of the educational value of such dramatic exercises.” He draws on his own experience with amateur theatricals, asserting that “anyone who has ever had any experience … will be able to realize how much more thoroughly every quality … entered into the hearts and minds of those who took part.” This is a personal appeal, not a documented fact. The section reveals Walsh’s method: he fills gaps in evidence with assertions about human nature and tradition.

Walsh’s editorial strategy is to treat the surviving fragments—Oberammergau, Everyman, a list of play cycles—as windows onto a lost whole. He does not analyze the plays’ language or staging; instead, he argues from their supposed effects on audiences and participants. Readers should note how often Walsh relies on analogy and personal testimony rather than primary sources. The book is less a history of thirteenth-century drama than a defense of medieval culture using whatever evidence comes to hand. To evaluate his claims, one must distinguish between the plays he describes and the uses he makes of them.

Leafing through Walsh’s medieval argument, I kept thinking how every age builds its own stage for truth, much like the Oberammergau players. That tension between grand belief and plain human telling carried me strangely to The Chronicles of Enguerrand de Monstrelet, Vol. 03 [of 13] — Background and Themes, where monuments fade but the quiet voices of witnesses remain achingly present.