phenomenon well known in the Middle Ages, of which many wondrous stories
were traditionally current among the people. In the year 1237, upward of
a hundred children were said to have been suddenly seized with this
disease at Erfurt, and to have proceeded dancing and jumping along the
road to Arnstadt. When they arrived at that place they fell exhausted
to the ground, and, according to an account of an old chronicle, many of
them, after they were taken home by their parents, died, and the rest
remained affected to the end of their lives with the permanent tremor.
Another occurrence was related to have taken place on the Mosel bridge
at Utrecht, on June 17, 1278, when two hundred fanatics began to dance,
and would not desist until a priest passed who was carrying the host to
a person that was sick, upon which, as if in punishment of their crime,
the bridge gave way, and they were all drowned. A similar event also
occurred, so early as the year 1027, near the convent church of Kolbig,
not far from Bernburg. According to an oft-repeated tradition, eighteen
peasants, some of whose names are still preserved, are said to have
disturbed divine service on Christmas Eve by dancing and brawling in the
church-yard, whereupon the priest, Ruprecht, inflicted a curse upon
them, that they should dance and scream for a whole year without
ceasing. This curse is stated to have been completely fulfilled, so that
the unfortunate sufferers at length sank knee deep into the earth, and
remained the whole time without nourishment, until they were finally
released by the intercession of two pious bishops. It is said that upon
this they fell into a deep sleep, which lasted three days, and that four
of them died; the rest continuing to suffer all their lives from a
trembling of their limbs.[62] It is not worth while to separate what may
have been true and what the addition of crafty priests in this strangely
distorted story. It is sufficient that it was believed, and related with
astonishment and horror, throughout the Middle Ages, so that, when there
was any exciting cause for this delirious raving, and wild rage for
dancing, it failed not to produce its effects upon men whose thoughts
were given up to a belief in wonders and apparitions.
This disposition of mind, altogether so peculiar to the Middle Ages, and
which, happily for mankind, has yielded to an improved state of
civilization and the diffusion of popular instruction, accounts for the
origin and long duration of this extraordinary mental disorder. The good
sense of the people recoiled with horror and aversion from this heavy
plague, which, whenever malevolent persons wished to curse their
bitterest enemies and adversaries, was long after used as a
malediction.[63] The indignation also that was felt by the people at
large against the immorality of the age was proved by their ascribing
this frightful affliction to the inefficacy of baptism by unchaste
priests, as if innocent children were doomed to atone, in after years,
for this desecration of the sacrament administered by unholy hands. We
have already mentioned what perils the priests in the Netherlands
incurred from this belief. They now, indeed, endeavored to hasten their
reconciliation with the irritated and at that time very degenerate
people by exorcisms, which, with some, procured them greater respect
than ever, because they thus visibly restored thousands of those who
were affected. In general, however, there prevailed a want of confidence
in their efficacy, and then the sacred rites had as little power in
arresting the progress of this deeply rooted malady as the prayers and
holy services subsequently had at the altars of the greatly revered
martyr St. Vitus. We may, therefore, ascribe it to accident merely, and
to a certain aversion to this demoniacal disease, which seemed to lie
beyond the reach of human skill, that we meet with but few and imperfect
notices of the St. Vitus' dance in the second half of the fifteenth
century. The highly colored descriptions of the sixteenth century
contradict the notion that this mental plague had in any degree
diminished in its severity, and not a single fact is to be found which
supports the opinion that any one of the essential symptoms of the
disease, not even excepting the tympany, had disappeared, or that the
disorder itself had become milder in its attacks. The physicians never,
as it seems, throughout the whole of the fifteenth century, undertook
the treatment of the dancing mania, which, according to the prevailing
notions, appertained exclusively to the servants of the Church. Against
demoniacal disorders they had no remedies, and though some at first did
promulgate the opinion that the malady had its origin in natural
circumstances, such as a hot temperament, and other causes named in the
phraseology of the schools, yet these opinions were the less examined,
as it did not appear worth while to divide with a jealous priesthood the
care of a host of fanatical vagabonds and beggars.
It was not until the beginning of the sixteenth century that the St.
Vitus' dance was made the subject of medical research, and stripped of
its unhallowed character as a work of demons. This was effected by
Paracelsus, that mighty, but as yet scarcely comprehended, reformer of
medicine, whose aim it was to withdraw diseases from the pale of
miraculous interpositions and saintly influences, and explain their
causes upon principles deduced from his knowledge of the human frame.
"We will not, however, admit that the saints have power to inflict
diseases, and that these ought to be named after them, although many
there are who in their theology lay great stress on this supposition,
ascribing them rather to God than to nature, which is but idle talk. We
dislike such nonsensical gossip as is not supported by symptoms, but
only by faith, a thing which is not human, whereon the gods themselves
set no value."
Such were the words which Paracelsus addressed to his contemporaries,
who were as yet incapable of appreciating doctrines of this sort; for
the belief in enchantment still remained everywhere unshaken, and faith
in the world of spirits still held men's minds in so close a bondage
that thousands were, according to their own conviction, given up as a
prey to the devil; while, at the command of religion as well as of law,
countless piles were lighted, by the flames of which human society was
to be purified.
Paracelsus divides the St. Vitus' dance into three kinds: First, that
which arises from imagination (_Vitista_, _chorea imaginativa_,
_æstimativa_), by which the original dancing plague is to be understood;
secondly, that which arises from sensual desires, depending on the will
(_chorea lasciva_); thirdly, that which arises from corporeal causes
(_chorea naturalis_, _coacta_), which, according to a strange notion of
his own, he explained by maintaining that in certain vessels which are
susceptible of an internal pruriency, and thence produce laughter, the
blood is set in commotion, in consequence of an alteration in the vital
spirits, whereby involuntary fits of intoxicating joy, and a propensity
to dance, are occasioned. To this notion he was, no doubt, led from
having observed a milder form of St. Vitus' dance, not uncommon in his
time, which was accompanied by involuntary laughter, and which bore a
resemblance to the hysterical laughter of the moderns, except that it
was characterized by more pleasurable sensations, and by an extravagant
propensity to dance. There was no howling, screaming, and jumping, as in
the severer form; neither was the disposition to dance by any means
insuperable. Patients thus affected, although they had not a complete
control over their understandings, yet were sufficiently self-possessed,
during the attack, to obey the directions which they received. There
were even some among them who did not dance at all, but only felt an
involuntary impulse to allay the internal sense of disquietude, which is
the usual forerunner of an attack of this kind, by laughter, and quick
walking carried to the extent of producing fatigue. This disorder, so
different from the original type, evidently approximates to the modern
chorea, or rather is in perfect accordance with it, even to the less
essential symptom of laughter. A mitigation in the form of the dancing
mania had thus clearly taken place at the commencement of the sixteenth
century.
On the communication of the St. Vitus' dance by sympathy, Paracelsus, in
his peculiar language, expresses himself with great spirit, and shows a
profound knowledge of the nature of sensual impressions, which find
their way to the heart--the seat of joys and emotions--which overpower
the opposition of reason; and while "all other qualities and natures"
are subdued, incessantly impel the patient, in consequence of his
original compliance, and his all-conquering imagination, to imitate what
he has seen. On his treatment of the disease we cannot bestow any great
praise, but must be content with the remark that it was in conformity
with the notions of the age in which he lived. For the first kind, which
often originated in passionate excitement, he had a mental remedy, the
efficacy of which is not to be despised, if we estimate its value in
connection with the prevalent opinions of those times. The patient was
to make an image of himself in wax or resin, and by an effort of thought
to concentrate all his blasphemies and sins in it. "Without the
intervention of any other person, to set his whole mind and thoughts
concerning these oaths in the image;" and when he had succeeded in this,
he was to burn the image, so that not a particle of it should
remain.[64] In all this there was no mention made of St. Vitus, or any
of the other mediatory saints, which is accounted for by the
circumstance, that, at this time, an open rebellion against the Romish
Church had begun, and the worship of saints was by many rejected as
idolatrous. For the second kind of St. Vitus' dance, Paracelsus
recommended harsh treatment and strict fasting. He directed that the
patients should be deprived of their liberty, placed in solitary
confinement, and made to sit in an uncomfortable place, until their
misery brought them to their senses and to a feeling of penitence. He
then permitted them gradually to return to their accustomed habits.
Severe corporal chastisement was not omitted; but, on the other hand,
angry resistance on the part of the patient was to be sedulously
avoided, on the ground that it might increase his malady, or even
destroy him; moreover, where it seemed proper, Paracelsus allayed the
excitement of the nerves by immersion in cold water. On the treatment of
the third kind we shall not here enlarge. It was to be effected by all
sorts of wonderful remedies, composed of the quintessences; and it would
require, to render it intelligible, a more extended exposition of
peculiar principles than suits our present purpose.
About this time the St. Vitus' dance began to decline, so that milder
forms of it appeared more frequently, while the severer cases became
more rare; and even in these, some of the important symptoms gradually
disappeared. Paracelsus makes no mention of the tympanites as taking
place after the attacks, although it may occasionally have occurred; and
Schenck von Graffenberg, a celebrated physician of the latter half of
the sixteenth century, speaks of this disease as having been frequent
only in the time of his forefathers.
ELECTION OF ANTIPOPE CLEMENT VII
Beginning of the Great Schism
A.D. 1378
HENRY HART MILMAN
In 1308 Pope Clement V, a Frenchman, under the influence of
King Philip the Fair, of France, transferred the papal chair
from Rome to Avignon, a possession of the holy see beyond
the Alps, in Philip's dominions. The sojourn there of
Clement and his successors, which continued until 1376, is
known as the "Babylonish captivity" of the popes.
Rome, from the first, was angry at this loss of supremacy,
and aimed at recovering her prestige; and throughout the
Christian world--France alone excepted--it was regarded as a
scandal that the chair of St. Peter should rest on any soil
but that of the Eternal City; but the French kings, and the
cardinals of France--outnumbering all others in the sacred
college--were determined to retain the pontifical seat in
their own territory.
During the pontificate of Gregory XI (1371-1378) Italy was
torn by civil dissensions; the "free companies"--bands of
organized marauders--ravaged the country with fire and
sword, plundering Guelf and Ghibelline alike. Gregory's
legates in the government of the ecclesiastical states
rendered themselves so odious to the people by their
immorality and rapacity that a league of the more powerful
political factions was formed for throwing off the yoke of
the "absentee" papal rulers. This was the beginning of the
War of Liberation (1375) that was to shake the papal power
in Italy to its very foundations.
Gregory saw that, in order to preserve even a vestige of
temporal power in the Italian states, he must act with
crushing vigor. He therefore sent the cardinal legate,
Robert, of Geneva--afterward Antipope Clement VII--into
Italy with a company of Breton adventurers dreaded for their
ferocity, and trained to plunder in the terrible wars of
France. In spite of the atrocities committed by Robert and
his hirelings, the revolt continued with unabated fury, and
at last Gregory was constrained to return in person to Italy
with the purpose of pacifying the turbulent forces. He
entered Rome, January 17, 1377; but after a year of futile
effort he died, leaving the confusion worse than he found
it.
Since, according to ecclesiastical law, the election of a
new pope must be held at the place of the last pontiff's
decease, great clamor arose among the Romans, whose demands
were seconded throughout Europe, for the election of a
Roman pope and the ending of the "Babylonish captivity." The
history of the Great Schism and election of the rival
pontiffs is nowhere to be found in better form of narrative
than that of Milman, which here follows.
Gregory XI had hardly expired when Rome burst out into a furious tumult.
A Roman pope, at least an Italian pope, was the universal outcry. The
conclave must be overawed; the hateful domination of a foreign, a French
pontiff, must be broken up, and forever. This was not unforeseen. Before
his death Gregory XI had issued a bull conferring the amplest powers on
the cardinals to choose, according to their wisdom, the time and the
place for the election. It manifestly contemplated their retreat from
the turbulent streets of Rome to some place where their deliberations
would not be overborne, and the predominant French interest would
maintain its superiority. On the other hand there were serious and not
groundless apprehensions that the fierce Breton and Gascon bands, at the
command of the French cardinals, might dictate to the conclave. The
Romans not only armed their civic troops, but sent to Tivoli, Velletri,
and the neighboring cities; a strong force was mustered to keep the
foreigners in check.
Throughout the interval between the funeral of Gregory and the opening
of the conclave, the cardinals were either too jealously watched, or
thought it imprudent to attempt flight. Sixteen cardinals were present
at Rome, one Spaniard, eleven French, four Italians. The ordinary
measures were taken for opening the conclave in the palace near St.
Peter's. Five Romans, two ecclesiastics and three laymen, and three
Frenchmen were appointed to wait upon and to guard the conclave. The
Bishop of Marseilles represented the great chamberlain, who holds the
supreme authority during the vacancy of the popedom. The chamberlain,
the Archbishop of Arles, brother of the Cardinal of Limoges, had
withdrawn into the castle of St. Angelo, to secure his own person and to
occupy that important fortress.
The nine solemn days fully elapsed, on the 7th of April they assembled
for the conclave. At that instant (inauspicious omen!) a terrible flash
of lightning, followed by a stunning peal of thunder, struck through the
hall, burning and splitting some of the furniture. The hall of conclave
was crowded by a fierce rabble, who refused to retire. After about an
hour's strife, the Bishop of Marseilles, by threats, by persuasion, or
by entreaty, had expelled all but about forty wild men, armed to the
teeth. These ruffians rudely and insolently searched the whole building;
they looked under the beds, they examined the places of retreat. They
would satisfy themselves whether any armed men were concealed, whether
there was any hole, or even drain through which the cardinals could
escape. All the time they shouted: "A Roman pope! we will have a Roman
pope!" Those without echoed back the savage yell. Before long appeared
two ecclesiastics, announcing themselves as delegated by the commonalty
of Rome; they demanded to speak with the cardinals. The cardinals dared
not refuse. The Romans represented, in firm but not disrespectful
language, that for seventy years the holy Roman people had been without
their pastor, the supreme head of Christendom. In Rome were many noble
and wise ecclesiastics equal to govern the Church: if not in Rome, there
were such men in Italy.
They intimated that so great were the fury and determination of the
people that, if the conclave should resist, there might be a general
massacre, in which probably they themselves, assuredly the cardinals,
would perish. The cardinals might hear from every quarter around them
the cry: "A Roman pope! if not a Roman, an Italian!" The cardinals
replied, that such aged and reverend men must know the rules of the
conclave; that no election could be by requisition, favor, fear, or
tumult, but by the interposition of the Holy Ghost. To reiterated
persuasions and menaces they only said: "We are in your power; you may
kill us, but we must act according to God's ordinance. To-morrow we
celebrate the mass for the descent of the Holy Ghost; as the Holy Ghost
directs, so shall we do." Some of the French uttered words which sounded
like defiance. The populace cried: "If ye persist to do despite to
Christ, if we have not a Roman pope, we will hew these cardinals and
Frenchmen in pieces."
At length the Bishop of Marseilles was able to entirely clear the hall.
The cardinals sat down to a plentiful repast; the doors were finally
closed. But all the night through they heard in the streets the
unceasing clamor: "A Roman pope, a Roman pope!" Toward the morning the
tumult became more fierce and dense. Strange men had burst into the
belfry of St. Peter's; the clanging bells tolled as if all Rome was on
fire.
Within the conclave, the tumult, if less loud and clamorous, was hardly
less general. The confusion without and terror within did not allay the
angry rivalry, or suspend that subtle play of policy peculiar to the
form of election. The French interest was divided; within this circle
there was another circle. The single diocese of Limoges, favored as it
had been by more than one pope, had almost strength to dictate to the
conclave. The Limousins put forward the Cardinal de St. Eustache.
Against these the leader was the Cardinal Robert of Geneva, whose fierce
and haughty demeanor and sanguinary acts as legate had brought so much
of its unpopularity on the administration of Gregory XI. With Robert
were the four Italians and three French cardinals. Rather than a
Limousin, Robert would even consent to an Italian. They on the one side,
the Limousins on the other, had met secretly before the conclave: the
eight had sworn not on any account to submit to the election of a
traitorous Limousin.
All the sleepless night the cardinals might hear the din at the gate,
the yells of the people, the tolling of the bells. There was constant
passing and repassing from each other's chamber, intrigues,
altercations, manoeuvres, proposals advanced and rejected, promises of
support given and withdrawn. Many names were put up. Of the Romans
within the conclave two only were named, the old Cardinal of St.
Peter's, the Cardinal Jacobo Orsini. The Limousins advanced in turn
almost every one of their faction; no one but himself thought of Robert
of Geneva.
In the morning the disturbance without waxed more terrible. A vain
attempt was made to address the populace by the three cardinal priors;
they were driven from the windows with loud derisive shouts, "A Roman! A
Roman!" For now the alternative of an Italian had been abandoned; a
Roman, none but a Roman, would content the people. The madness of
intoxication was added to the madness of popular fury. The rabble had
broken open the Pope's cellar and drunk his rich wines. In the conclave
the wildest projects were started. The Cardinal Orsini was to dress up
a Minorite friar (probably a Spiritual) in the papal robes, to show him
to the people, and so for themselves to effect their escape to some safe
place and proceed to a legitimate election. The cardinals, from honor or
from fear, shrunk from this trick.
At length both parties seemed to concur. Each claimed credit for first
advancing the name--which most afterward repudiated--of the Archbishop
of Bari, a man of repute for theologic and legal erudition, an Italian,
but a subject of the Queen of Naples, who was also Countess of Provence.
They came to the nomination. The Cardinal of Florence proposed the
Cardinal of St. Peter's. The Cardinal of Limoges arose: "The Cardinal of
St. Peter's is too old. The Cardinal of Florence is of a city at war
with the holy see. I reject the Cardinal of Milan as the subject of the
Visconti, the most deadly enemy of the Church. The Cardinal Orsini is
too young, and we must not yield to the clamor of the Romans. I vote for
Bartholomew Prignani, Archbishop of Bari." All was acclamation; Orsini
alone stood out; he aspired to be the pope of the Romans.
But it was too late; the mob was thundering at the gates, menacing death
to the cardinals, if they had not immediately a Roman pontiff. The
feeble defences sounded as if they were shattering down; the tramp of
the populace was almost heard within the hall. They forced or persuaded
the aged Cardinal of St. Peter's to make a desperate effort to save
their lives. He appeared at the window, hastily attired in what either
was or seemed to be the papal stole and mitre. There was a jubilant and
triumphant cry: "We have a Roman pope, the Cardinal of St. Peter's. Long
live Rome! Long live St. Peter!" The populace became even more frantic
with joy than before with wrath. One band hastened to the Cardinal's
palace, and, according to the strange usage, broke in, threw the
furniture into the streets, and sacked it from top to bottom. Those
around the hall of conclave, aided by the connivance of some of the
cardinals' servants within, or by more violent efforts of their own,
burst in in all quarters. The supposed pope was surrounded by eager
adorers; they were at his feet; they pressed his swollen, gouty hands
till he shrieked from pain, and began to protest, in the strongest
language, that he was not the pope.
The indignation of the populace at this disappointment was aggravated by
an unlucky confusion of names. The Archbishop was mistaken for John of
Bari, of the bedchamber of the late pope, a man of harsh manners and
dissolute life, an object of general hatred. Five of the cardinals,
Robert of Geneva, Acquasparta, Viviers, Poitou, and De Verny, were
seized in their attempt to steal away, and driven back, amid
contemptuous hootings, by personal violence. Night came on again; the
populace, having pillaged all the provisions in the conclave, grew weary
of their own excesses. The cardinals fled on all sides. Four left the
city; Orsini and St. Eustache escaped to Vicovaro, Robert of Geneva to
Zagarolo, St. Angelo to Guardia; six, Limoges, D'Aigrefeuille, Poitou,
Viviers, Brittany, and Marmoutiers, to the castle of St. Angelo;
Florence, Milan, Montmayeur, Glandève, and Luna, to their own strong
fortresses.