HILDEBRAND
The historian might almost venture to say that the Papacy was not
evolved, but created. It has assuredly, in its varying fortunes,
reflected as faithfully as any other institution the changes of
its human environment, yet for each new adaptation to favouring
circumstances it has had to await the advent of a great Pope. Seven
men, one might say, created the Papacy: Gelasius I., Leo I., Gregory
I., Hadrian I., Nicholas I., Gregory VII., and Innocent III. Each one
of these deepened the foundations and enlarged the fabric of the great
religious principality. They have had illustrious successors, and, in
some respects, the frame of the Papacy has been further strengthened;
but, on the whole, the last five hundred years have been filled with a
mighty and unavailing struggle against disintegration.
Of the seven men I have enumerated Gregory VII., or Hildebrand as
historians still like to call him, was the most romantic and the
most singularly creative. He was born about the year 1025, of humble
parents, in a Tuscan village near Sovana. An uncle of his was abbot
of a monastery on the Aventine at Rome, and young Hildebrand was at
an early date sent to be educated under his direction. We recognize
in this accident the chief clue to the personality and achievements
of Gregory VII. A century earlier a group of monks at Cluny had
reformed their ways, and their stricter ideas had slowly spread from
one isolated monastery to another. The monastery of St. Mary on the
Aventine was one of these rare centres of sincere asceticism, and in
it the boy would hear talk of the appalling degradation which had come
over the Church of Christ. It seems, however, very doubtful whether he
ever made the vows of a monk. He certainly wore the monk's habit, and
no epithet is more common on the lips of his opponents than "vagabond
monk"; while, on the other hand, his admirers accept the monastic
title, and justify the "vagabondage," by various unreliable stories
about his connexion with the Benedictines. But he never describes
himself as a monk, and he is not so described in the most reliable
documents. The point is of slight importance, since Hildebrand
certainly adopted the sentiments of the monastic reformers, and I will
not linger over the extensive and conflicting evidence.[200] Gregory's
fiery and aggressive nature would not suffer him to contemplate the
triumph of evil from the remote impotence of a monastery, but he
learned his lesson from monks and would rely on them throughout life.
He went also to the Lateran School, where John Gratian, whom we
described in the last chapter as buying the Papacy from his nephew
Benedict IX., was a teacher. Gratian marked the ecclesiastical promise
of the dark and ill-favoured little Tuscan, and, when he bought the
title of Gregory VI., made him one of his _capellani_: at that time a
body of lay officials. The work suited Hildebrand, who was even more
of a soldier than a monk. The road to Rome was lamentably beset by
brigands; the houses of many of the nobles in the city itself were, in
fact, little better than the fortified dens of wealthy banditti, and
the crowds of pilgrims might have their gifts torn from their hands at
the very steps of Peter's altar. So Hildebrand organized a militia and
made some impression on the robbers.
Gregory VI. was a more religious man than his purchase of the See would
suggest. He was conspicuous for chastity at a time when, a caustic
contemporary said, it was regarded at Rome as an angelic virtue. There
is every reason to believe that he bought the Roman See with the best
of intentions. Unhappily, Benedict IX. exhausted his treasury and
returned to claim his dignity; while another faction of the Romans
set up a pretender under the name of Silvester II. Gregory ruled his
flock--there was very little Papal ruling of the _world_ in those
days--from Sta. Maria Maggiore: Silvester controlled St. Peter's and
the Papal mansion on the Vatican: Benedict held the Lateran. This
squalid spectacle must have sunk deep into the soul of the young
reformer. But there were religious men in Rome, and the virtuous Henry
III. was summoned from Germany. The remedy was almost as humiliating
as the disorder. Henry scattered the rivals and, observing that there
was no member of the Roman clergy fit to occupy the See, he put into it
one of his German bishops, with the title of Clement II.
Hildebrand went with his patron, in the King's train, to Germany, but
the more rigorous climate soon made an end of John Gratian. It is said,
but is by no means certain, that Hildebrand then went to Cluny for
a time. It is at all events certain that in 1049, the Roman climate
having killed two German Popes in two years, Hildebrand returned to
Italy in the train of Bishop Bruno. Under the name of Leo IX. this
handsome, stately, and deeply religious Pontiff spent the next six
years in a devoted effort to reform the Church. The magnitude of his
task may be measured by that appalling indictment of clerical and
monastic vice, the _Book of Gomorrha_, which Peter Damiani wrote under
Leo IX., and with his cordial approval. Leo visited the chief countries
of Europe, but he could make little impression on that stubborn age
and he died almost broken-hearted. Under him Hildebrand served his
apprenticeship. He became a cardinal-subdeacon, a guardian of St.
Peter's, and rector of the monastery of St. Paul: in which, to his
fine disgust, he found women serving the monks. He went also as legate
to France, where he dealt leniently with and learned to esteem the
chief heretic of the age, Bérenger. Hildebrand had little insight into
character and less into speculative theology. To the end of his life he
befriended Bérenger.
Leo died in 1055, and Hildebrand was sent to ask Henry III. to choose a
successor. Henry in turn died in 1056, and, as the Roman See was again
vacant in the following year and the Romans were emboldened to choose
their own Pope, Hildebrand was sent to conciliate the Empress Agnes.
We must not exaggerate his influence at this time, but undoubtedly the
new Pope, Stephen X., and his fanatical Cardinal, Peter Damiani--both
monks of the reforming school,--regarded him as one of their most
ardent lieutenants. Indeed from that time we trace the adoption at
Rome of a policy which is clearly due to Hildebrand. The Papacy began
to look to the Normans, who had conquered southern Italy, to save it
from the overlordship of the German court, and to wage a stern war
against simony and clerical incontinence. Hildebrand, who had a strange
fascination for pious women, easily won the Empress Agnes, but she was
surrounded or controlled by simoniacal prelates and nobles. Rome must
once more change its suzerain, or its sword-bearer.
In the campaign for enforcing celibacy on the clergy the monastic
reforming school provided fresh allies. There was in the city of
Milan a young priest named Anselm of Baggio, who had studied under
Lanfranc at Bec. This enthusiast for the new ideas began a notable
campaign against clerical marriage, and, when his archbishop genially
transferred him to the remote bishopric of Lucca, he left his gospel in
charge of two other enthusiasts named Ariald and Landulph. It must be
recollected that clerics did not at that time take any vow of chastity,
and there were only a few disciplinary decrees of earlier Popes to
curtail their liberty. Most of the priests of every country were
legally married, though in some places the law of celibacy was enforced
and they simply had mistresses. Against both wives and mistresses a
furious campaign was now directed by the Patarenes.[201] The vilest
names were showered on the unhappy wives and children: the priests,
who said that they would rather desert their orders than their wives,
were torn from the altars: the most lamentable excesses in the cause
of virtue were committed in the churches. Hildebrand, and afterwards
Damiani, were sent to enforce what is described as the "pacifying
policy" of Rome, and we read that Milan approached the verge of civil
war.
While Hildebrand was still inflaming the enthusiasts of the north,
Stephen X. died, and the party opposed to the Puritans at Rome at once
elected a Pope of their own school. The young subdeacon now plainly
showed his character and masterfulness. He persuaded the virtuous
archbishop of Florence to accept the title of Nicholas II., begged a
small army from the Duke of Tuscany, entered Rome at the head of his
soldiers, and swept "Benedict X." and his supporters out of the city.
The cause of virtue was to be sustained, at whatever cost: the key-note
of his life was sounded. We may also confidently see the action of
Hildebrand in a very important decision of a Lateran synod held under
Nicholas that year (1059). In future the choice of a Pope was to be
confined to the cardinal-bishops, who would submit their decision to
the cardinal-priests and deacons.[202] The rest of the clergy and
the people were merely to signify their assent by acclamation, and
the decree contains a vague expression of respect for "the rights of
the Emperor." A sonorous anathema was laid on any who departed from
this decree; and I may add at once that Hildebrand, who was probably
its author, entirely ignored it in making the next Pope and in his
own election. It was the first phase in the struggle with the Empire.
The German court was distracted by the intrigues of rival prelates to
secure the control of the Empress and her son, while the Papacy now had
the support of the Norman Richard of Capua (whom Hildebrand induced
to swear fealty to the Papacy), the troops of Tuscany, and the staves
of the Patarenes. The German court replied by refusing to acknowledge
Nicholas II.
Hildebrand rose to the rank of deacon, then of archdeacon: the
straightest path to the Papacy. Had he willed, he could have become
Pope in 1061, when Nicholas died, but the time was not ripe for his
colossal design. The anti-Puritans now sought alliance with the German
court against him, but he summoned a band of Normans and, with the aid
of their spears, put Anselm of Lucca on the Papal throne: completely
ignoring the decree of 1059. The anti-Puritans of Rome and Lombardy
now united with the Imperialists, and Bishop Cadalus of Parma was
made Anti-Pope. The war of words which followed was disdainfully left
by Hildebrand to Damiani, who, in a page of almost indescribable
invective, assures us that Cadalus was "the stench of the globe, the
filth of the age, the shame of the universe," and that his episcopal
supporters were better judges of pretty faces than of Papal candidates.
The Imperialist Bishop Benzo of Albi, a genial Epicure who united an
equal power of invective with a more polished culture, retorted heavily
on the "vagabond monks" (Damiani and Hildebrand). At last it came to
blows, and Hildebrand acted. Cadalus descended on Rome with German
and Lombard troops: Hildebrand summoned the Normans, and a fierce
battle was waged for the tiara under the very shadow of St. Peter's.
Then Godfrey of Tuscany appeared on the scene with his army, and the
decision was remitted to a synod at Augsburg. Hildebrand was content,
for a revolution had occurred at the German court, and Damiani was sent
to win the verdict at Augsburg by the ingenious expedient of being
himself counsel for both sides.
The way was now rapidly prepared for the Pontificate of Hildebrand.
Godfrey of Tuscany died, and his pious widow Beatrice and still more
impressionable daughter Mathilda were prepared to put their last
soldier at his disposal. The Patarenes were reinforced by the knight
Herlembald (whose lady-love had been seduced by a priest), and were
dragging the married priests from their churches and destroying
their homes in many parts of north Italy. At Florence the monks of
Vallombrosa lent their fiery aid, even against the troops, and one
of their number passed unscathed through the ordeal of fire before
an immense concourse of people. In the south Robert Guiscard was
expelling the last remnants of the Saracens and founding a powerful
Norman kingdom. All these forces marched under banners blessed and
presented by the Pope. One banner advanced by the side of the ferocious
Herlembald: one shone at the head of the Norman troops in Calabria:
one was seen in the ranks of William of Normandy when he made his
successful raid upon England.[203]
Alexander closed his short and earnest Pontificate on April 21, 1073.
Hildebrand, in his capacity of archdeacon, took stringent measures for
the preservation of order, or the coercion of the Imperialist faction;
yet, when the voice of the people demanded that _he_ should be Pope,
his troops made no effort to secure an election according to the decree
of 1059. He was conducting the funeral service over the remains of
Alexander, on April 22d, when the cry, "Hildebrand bishop," was raised.
He protested, but Cardinal Hugh Candidus, one of the most versatile
clerical politicians of the time and afterwards the Pope's deadly
enemy, stood forth and insisted that the cry was just. Hildebrand
was seized and conducted, almost carried, to the church of St. Peter
in Chains, where he was enthroned, as he afterwards wrote to Abbot
Didier,[204] by "popular tumult." It is not certain, but is entirely
probable, that he sought the imperial ratification. We may conclude
that he did this, since, when he was consecrated on June 30th, the
Empress Agnes and the imperial representative in Italy were present.
In the letters which Gregory issued to his friends throughout Europe
immediately after his election he observes that the strain and anxiety
have made him ill. We can well believe that when the hour arrived for
him to mount the throne of Peter, instead of standing behind it, he
felt a grave foreboding. No man had ever yet ascended that throne with
so portentous an idea of its prestige and responsibility, and no Pope
had ever confronted a more disordered Christendom. There had been good
men at the Lateran for thirty years, yet in the eyes of Hildebrand they
must have seemed idle, timid, and ineffective. A Pope must wear out
his body and lay down his life in the struggle with triumphant evil:
must smite king or prelate or peasant without a moment's hesitation:
must use every weapon that the times afforded--excommunication or
imprecation, the spear of the Norman or the sword of the Dane, the
staff of the ignorant fanatic or the tender devotion of woman. "The
Blessed Peter on earth," as Hildebrand called himself, had a right to
implicit obedience from every man on earth, on temporal no less than
on spiritual matters. Kings were of less consequence than the meanest
priests. If kings and dukes resisted his grand plan of making the whole
of Christendom "pure and obedient," why not make their kingdoms and
duchies fiefs of the Holy See, to be bestowed on virtuous men? Why not
make Europe the United States of the Church, governed despotically by
the one man on earth who was "inspired by God"? If anathemas failed,
there were swords enough in Europe to carry out his plan. That,
literally, was the vision which filled the feverish imagination of
Gregory VII. when he looked down from his throne over the world.
It was the dream of a soldier-monk, unchecked by understanding of men
or accurate knowledge of history. Such reformers as Cardinal Damiani
and Abbot Didier resented Gregory's aims and procedure: they were
most appreciated by women like the Countess Mathilda. Hildebrand
is said to have been a learned man, but we have cause to take with
reserve mediæval compliments of this kind. He knew the Bible well,
and was steeped in the congenial atmosphere of the Old Testament. He
knew Church-history and law well: as they were told at the Lateran.
Döllinger has shown that his principal lieutenants in the work of
reform--Bishop Anselm of Lucca (a second Anselm), Bishop Bonitho, and
Cardinal Deusdedit--were unscrupulous in their use of historical and
canonical documents, and that Gregory relied on these as well as on
the older forgeries.[205] I am, however, chiefly concerned with the
limitations of his knowledge, and will observe only that his letters,
written in robust and inelegant Latin, give no indication of culture
beyond this close acquaintance with very dubious history and law. The
Arab civilization had by this time enkindled some intellectual life
in Europe: men were not far from the age of Abélard. But in this new
speculative life Gregory had no share. If we find him, with apparent
liberality, acquitting Bérenger in 1049 and 1079, we must ascribe it
rather to incapacity and disinclination for speculative matters.
This restriction and inaccuracy of culture strengthened Gregory in
his peculiar ideal, and it was much the same with his poor judgment
of character, which brought many a disaster on him. Probably men
like Hildebrand and Damiani enjoyed a physical debility in regard
to sex-life, and sincerely failed to realize that the abolition of
clerical marriage would inevitably lead to worse evils. The ideal they
worked for--the establishment of a spiritual army dead to every human
affection, and therefore incorruptible--was magnificent but impossible.
Similarly, in the campaign against simony, Gregory never realized
the roots of the evil. Bishops were politicians, the supporters or
thwarters of the counsels of princes; intellectual culture was, in
fact, almost confined to bishops and abbots, and their advice was
(apart from their wealth, their troops, and their feudal duties) needed
as much as that of unlettered soldiers. Hence princes had a real and
deep interest in their appointment. The intrigue for political power
at that very time of the great prelates of Germany was notorious. If
Gregory had at least confined his strictures to simony in the strict
sense, he might have had some prospect of success, for his cause was
obviously just. But by his attack on "investiture"[206] he would take
away from princes the control of some of their most powerful, and often
most mischievous, vassals.
Yet, instead of seeking to deprive bishops and abbots of wealth and
troops and political influence, Hildebrand wanted them to have more.
He encouraged Anselm of Lucca to lead the Tuscan troops; he proposed
in person to lead the Christian armies against the Turks. Throughout
life he called for more men and more money, and he never hesitated
an instant to set swords flying if he could gain his religious aim
by that means. He was as warlike as a full-blooded Norman. Bishop
Mathew calls him "truculent," and reminds us how, before he became
Pope, Abbot Didier wanted to punish an abbot, who had gouged out the
eyes of some of his monks for their sins, but Hildebrand protected the
man and afterwards made him a bishop. Didier and Damiani were equally
shocked at his political activity. He scorned the distinction between
spiritual and temporal things--except when he was endeavouring to keep
laymen in their proper place--and argued repeatedly that, if a Pope had
supreme power in matters of religion, he very clearly had it in the
less important concerns of earth: if a Pope could open and close the
gates of heaven, he could most assuredly open and close the gates of
earthly kingdoms. He went so far as to say that "all worldly things,
be they honours, empires, kingdoms, principalities, or duchies," he
could bestow on whomsoever he wished.[207] On this ground he, as we
shall see, grasped the flimsiest pretexts for claiming a kingdom as a
fief of the Roman See, relying often on forged or perverted texts, and
he quite clearly aimed at bringing all the countries in Christendom
under the feudal lordship of the Papacy, to be bestowed for "obedience"
and withdrawn for "disobedience" at the will of the Pope. I do not
admit that he was ambitious, even ambitious for his See. He believed
that this sacerdocracy was willed by God and was the only means of
maintaining religion and morality in Europe. But there were human
aspects of these questions which Gregory ignored, and his bitter and
numerous opponents retorted that he was a fool or a fanatic.
This ideal did not merely grow in Gregory's mind in the heat of his
combats. It is seen in his earliest letters. Before he was consecrated
he wrote to remind "the Princes of Spain" that that country belonged
to the Roman See; that the Popes had never abandoned their right to
it, even when it was held by the Moors: and that the kings who were
now wresting it from the Moors held their kingdoms "on behalf of St.
Peter" (_ex parte S. Petri_) and on condition that they rendered feudal
military service when summoned to do so.[208] A few weeks later he
wrote to Duke Godfrey, referring to Henry IV.: "If he returns hatred
for love, and shows contempt for Almighty God for the honour conferred
on him, the imprecation which runs, 'Cursed is he that refraineth his
sword from blood,' will not, with God's help, fall on _us_."[209] In
June he told Beatrice and Mathilda that he would resist the King,
if necessary, "to the shedding of blood."[210] In the same month he
compelled Landulph of Benevento and Richard of Capua to swear fealty
to the Roman See. In November he told Lanfranc, the greatest prelate
of England, that he was astounded at his "audacity" (_frons_) in
neglecting Papal orders.[211] In December he wrote to a French bishop
that if King Philip did not amend his ways he would smite the French
people with "the sword of a general anathema" and they would "refuse to
obey him further."[212] A remarkable record for the first nine months
of his Pontificate.
I shall not in the least misrepresent his work if I dismiss
other matters briefly and enlarge on his attempts to realize his
sacerdocratic ideal: especially his struggle with Henry IV. His
campaign against simony and clerical incontinence fills the whole
period of his Pontificate, but cannot be described in detail. Year by
year his handful of Italian bishops--remoter bishops generally ignored
his drastic orders to come to Rome--met in Lenten synods at Rome, held
their lighted candles while he read the ever-lengthening list of the
excommunicated, and shuddered at his vigorous imprecations. Then his
legates went out over Europe, but few prelates were willing or able to
promulgate the decrees they brought, and the campaign succeeded only
where it could rely on the staves of the Patarenes or the swords of
the Pope's allies. Other episcopal functions, such as settlements of
jurisdiction, occupy a relatively small part of his correspondence. It
is enough to say that his eye ranged from Lincoln to Constantinople,
from Stockholm to Carthage.
In Italy, his chief concern was to concentrate the southern States
under his lead and form a military bulwark against the northerners.
The Roman militia was strengthened: the petty princes of Benevento
and Capua were persuaded that their shrunken territories were safer
from the aggressions of Robert Guiscard if they paid allegiance to
St. Peter: Mathilda of Tuscany did not even need to be persuaded to
hold her troops at his disposal. It would be safe to say that Italy
alone would have wrecked Gregory's policy but for the lucky accident
of Tuscany passing to the pious Mathilda. She clung to Gregory so
tenaciously that his opponents affected to see a scandal in the
association.
The chief thorn in his side was Robert Guiscard, who had founded a
kingdom in southern Italy and refused to do homage. He laid waste the
territory of the Pope's allies, and smiled at the anathema put on him.
Gregory, as usual, turned to the sword. The Eastern Emperor had asked
aid against the Turks, and Gregory summoned all Christian princes
to contribute troops. He would lead the army in person, he said:
supported by the aged Beatrice and the tender Mathilda. The northern
princes smiled, and the plan of a crusade came to naught. But it was
not merely concern for Constantinople which made Gregory dangerously
ill when his plan miscarried. Historians generally overlook his letter
to William of Burgundy,[213] in which he plainly states that he wants
the troops for the purpose of intimidating--if not conquering--Robert:
"perhaps," he says, they may afterwards proceed to the East. He was
still more irritated when Robert himself entered into an alliance with
Constantinople. Gregory angrily wrote to ask the King of Denmark to
send his son with an army and wrest the south of Italy from the "vile
heretics" who held it.[214]
He was similarly thwarted in nearly every country in Europe, and his
anathemas were terrible to hear. I have already referred to his haughty
language to Lanfranc, yet the English bishops continued, year after
year, to ignore the imperious summons to attend his Roman synods.
In 1079 Gregory wrote to Lanfranc that he understood that the King
prevented them from coming, and was surprised that the "superstitious
love" or fear of any man should come between him and his duty.[215]
Lanfranc still evaded, almost fooled, him, and, when Gregory threatened
to suspend him, affected to be engaged in examining the claims of an
Anti-Pope whom Henry IV. had set up. With William himself Gregory was
bitterly disappointed. When, in 1080, he ordered the King to collect
the arrears of Peter's Pence and acknowledge his feudal obligations to
Rome, William somewhat contemptuously replied that he would forward the
money, but would pay allegiance to no man. Gregory was so angry that
he told his legates that the money was no use without the "honour."[216]
The bishops of France were equally deaf to his annual summons to his
Lenten synods and his orders that they should punish their King. He
threatened, not only to pronounce an interdict, but that he would
"endeavour _in every way_ to take the kingdom of France from him."[217]
A similar threat of military action was sent to Spain. King Alphonso of
Leon married a relative, and Gregory wrote to the abbot of Cluny that
if the King did not obey his orders and dismiss her he would "not think
it too great a trouble to go ourselves to Spain and concert severe and
painful action [evidently military action] against him."[218] This
policy of promoting or blessing invasions and usurpations was carried
out in the case of smaller kingdoms. King Solomon was ejected from
Hungary and appealed to Rome. Gregory blessed the usurper (who craftily
promised to be a good son of the Church) and told Solomon that he had
deserved the calamity by receiving his kingdom, which had been given to
St. Peter by the earlier King Stephen, at the hand of Henry IV.[219]
Then Ladislaus of Hungary seized Dalmatia and sought to strengthen
his position by paying fealty to the Pope for it; so that, when the
Dalmatians attempted to recover their independence, Gregory denounced
them as "rebels against the Blessed Peter."[220] Lastly, when the
Russian king was displaced by his brothers, and promised to acknowledge
the feudal supremacy of Rome if he were restored, Gregory induced
Boleslaus of Poland to restore him.
If this kind of procedure incurred the censure of Gregory's great
friend and successor, Abbot Didier, we can easily understand the
violent language of his opponents. These are usually writers of the
Lombard-German faction, and we must now endeavour to disentangle from
the contradictory narratives of the partisan writers the truth about
his relations with Henry IV. The facts I have hitherto given are taken
from the authentic letters of Gregory.
Henry IV. was a boy at the time of his father's death, and it is
beyond dispute that the prelates and nobles who quarrelled for power
shamefully neglected, or consciously misdirected, his education. When
he came to the throne he was a wilful, loose-living, and imperious
young man, forced into marriage with a woman whom he disliked.
Exhortations to abandon simony and avoid evil companions fell lightly
on such ears, and, as we saw, Gregory's early letters threatened war.
Five of Henry's favourites were under sentence of excommunication,
yet the young King would not part with them. Gregory turned to the
bishops, but they flatly refused to allow his legates to call a synod
in Germany, and his excommunication of the Archbishop of Hamburg only
embittered them. Suddenly, however, before the end of 1073, Gregory was
delighted to receive a most humble and submissive letter from Henry,
and legates were sent to absolve him.
The cause of this action of the imperious young King gives us at once a
most important clue to what is called the later triumph of Gregory at
Canossa. The popular impression that that famous scene represented a
triumph of spiritual power over the passions of man is wholly wrong.
It was an episode in a political struggle. Henry's kingdom embraced
Saxony and Swabia; and the Saxons cherished a sombre memory of their
recent incorporation, while Rudolph of Swabia had a mind to make profit
by the troubles of his suzerain and astutely courted the favour of the
Pope. Gregory could not fail to grasp the situation, and his struggle
against Henry is a series of attempts by the Pope to foment and take
advantage of Henry's difficulties with his vassals, ending in the
complete triumph of the King.
Henry's submission in 1074 meant that there was a dangerous rebellion
in Saxony. The King did not, in fact, part entirely with his
excommunicated favourites, and the anathema on them was renewed at
the synod of 1075, which also laid a heavy censure on "any emperor,
duke, marquis, count, or any temporal lord, or any secular person
whatsoever," who claimed the right of investiture. Henry remained
friendly: the Saxon war dragged on. In October Henry was sending
legates to Rome to confer with the Pope, who had hinted at compromise
on the subject of investitures. But the Saxon rebellion suddenly
came to an end, and three legates were now sent with a less pleasant
message: probably a peremptory claim of the imperial crown. Henry had
not only a united Germany, but a strong party in Lombardy. Herlembald
was killed, and the Patarenes held in check. Moreover, the recalcitrant
bishops were now joined by the Archbishop of Ravenna (who had been
hastily excommunicated by Gregory for not attending the Lenten synod)
and Cardinal Hugh Candidus. Elated with this support, the young King
acted wilfully. He sent one of his excommunicated nobles to Lombardy,
crushed the Patarenes, and set up a third Archbishop of Milan,
Tedald.[221]
Gregory was alarmed at this combination and at first temporized.
He invited Tedald to come to Rome for a polite discussion of his
claims; he sent Henry a "doubtful blessing" and would compromise on
investitures and consider his further demands, if he abandoned the
excommunicated nobles.[222] But he gave Henry's envoys, to whom he
handed the letter, a verbal message of a more drastic nature. He
threatened to depose Henry for his "horrible crimes," and there is
good reason to suppose that these "crimes" were, in part at least, the
slanderous fictions of Henry's enemies.[223] Both were men of fiery
and indiscreet impulses, and this impolitic act of Gregory kindled the
conflagration.
Meantime a remarkable experience befell Gregory at Rome, and it is
not unlikely that he held Henry responsible for it; though it is
practically certain that Henry was wholly innocent. The increasing
difficulties of the Pope encouraged the anti-Puritans at Rome, and
one of them, Cenci, a notorious bandit, burst into the church of Sta.
Maria on the Esquiline while Gregory was saying midnight mass there
on Christmas day (1075). His men scattered the attendants, and one of
them struck the Pope with a sword, causing a wound on the forehead.
Gregory was stripped of his sacerdotal robes, thrust on a horse behind
one of the soldiers, and hurried to Cenci's fortified tower. Some
noble matron was taken with him--one of the strangest circumstances of
the whole mysterious episode--and she bound his wounds as he lay in
the tower, while Cenci threatened to kill him unless he handed over
the keys of the Papal treasury. It is fairly clear that the motive was
robbery. Meantime the bells and trumpets had spread the alarm through
Rome, and the militia beset the tower and relieved the Pope. This
remarkable picture of a winter's night in the capital of Christendom
ends with Gregory, who cannot have been severely wounded, calmly
returning to the altar and finishing his mass.
Henry's envoys had left Rome before Christmas, and it is therefore a
mistake to suppose that the message they brought from Gregory had any
reference to the violence of Cenci. They reached the court at Goslar on
January 1, 1076, and we can easily believe that they would not moderate
the offensiveness of the oral message. Gregory had a deliberate policy
of preferring oral to written messages. There may at times have been
an advantage in this, but in the present instance it was gravely
imprudent. Henry's friends urged him to avenge the insult, and three
weeks later a synod of twenty-six German bishops, with a large number
of abbots, met at Worms and declared Gregory deposed. The irregularity
of his election, the despotism of his conduct, and what was described
as his scandalous association with women, were the chief reasons
assigned for this action. The decree was sent to the insurgent bishops
of north Italy, who met in council and endorsed it, and a priest of
the church of Parma volunteered to serve the sentence on Gregory. He
reached Rome at a moment when Gregory was presiding at a large synod
in the Lateran Palace, and boldly read the sentence to the assembled
bishops. Lay nobles drew their swords upon the audacious priest, but
Gregory restrained them and bade them hear the words of Henry. His
intemperate and insulting letter--so intemperate that the Pope could
easily remain calm and dignified--could receive only one reply. The
King and all his supporters were excommunicated, and Gregory issued a
not unworthy letter "To All Christians"[224] informing them that the
subjects of King Henry of Germany were released from their allegiance.
There can be no doubt that Henry IV. had merited a sentence of
excommunication, and it is a nice point whether a King could continue
to rule his territory when he was thus cut off from communication with
his subjects. We may, at all events, gravely question whether the
Pope was either politic or just in going on formally to depose the
King, and, as the news of this unprecedented action spread through
Christendom, even religious prelates shook their heads. Throughout the
rest of his life Gregory had repeatedly to defend his conduct, not
against the partisans of Henry, but against some of his own supporters.
His chief apology is contained in a letter to the Bishop of Metz[225]
and is invalid and illogical. He relies on a forged letter of St.
Peter, and he appeals to the excommunication of Theodosius by St.
Ambrose and the "deposition" of Childeric by Pope Zachary in 753; the
former was in no sense a precedent, and in the latter case the Pope
merely confirmed the design of Pippin and the Franks. There was no
precedent whatever for deposition, and Gregory is severely censured
even by modern writers for not observing the canonical forms in his
excommunication of Henry.[226]
Gregory at once prepared for war. The Duchess Beatrice died in April,
and the devoted Mathilda, who was so pointedly insulted, though not
named, in her royal cousin's manifesto, put the troops of Tuscany at
the Pope's disposal. Gregory also tried to reconcile the Normans with
each other and weld them into a common army for the defence of Rome.
But his chief reliance was on the Germans themselves. He knew well,
when he excommunicated Henry, that the embittered Saxons would leap
with joy at the fresh pretext of rebellion, and the intriguing Swabians
would secretly welcome the censure. Henry found himself very soon on
the road to Canossa. He summoned two councils in rapid succession, but
their defiance of the Pope brought him little pleasure when he noted
the small number of his supporters. Saxony threw off his yoke at once,
and prelates and nobles began to fall away from his cause. Gregory
pressed his advantage with fiery energy, showering letters upon the
German clergy and people, and in the middle of October a large body of
the nobles and prelates (chiefly Saxon and Swabian) met at Tribur, near
Darmstadt, to consider the position of the kingdom. Two Papal legates
and Rudolph of Swabia presided, and Henry watched the proceedings from
the other side of the river.
From this stage onward we are compelled to consult the contemporary
chroniclers, and it is almost impossible to disentangle the truth from
their contradictory and mendacious statements. It is clear that for
seven days the Diet held long debate on the situation. Undoubtedly
they wished to depose Henry, but, apparently, they were unwilling to
recognize in the Pope this dangerous power of deposing kings, and the
Diet seems to have ended with an injunction to Henry to make peace
with the Pope. According to the monk Lambert of Hersfeld, who seems
to have gathered into his _Chronicle_ all the wild cloister-gossip
of the time, the Diet decided that, according to the "Laws of the
Palace,"--there were no such laws at that time,--Henry forfeited his
crown if he remained excommunicated a year and a day, and commanded
him to retire into private life at Spires until Gregory should come to
Germany and decide the case. The Gregorian writer, Bishop Bonitho,[227]
contrives in this instance to improve on Lambert; he tells us that,
if Henry submitted, the nobles would accompany him to Rome, where he
would receive the imperial crown, and they would then sweep the Normans
out of south Italy. One suspects that in this the Bishop of Sutri is
betraying a design of Gregory which was certainly not endorsed by the
Diet.
The most authentic evidence is the _Promissio_ (or Letter of Apology)
which, at the dictation of the Diet, Henry submitted to the Pope.[228]
He expressed regret for any affront he may have put on the dignity of
the Pope, promised obedience on spiritual matters, and declared that
on certain other grave matters he would vindicate his innocence. When
this short and dry letter was eventually handed to the Pope by one of
the chief prelates of Germany, Gregory was outraged to find that its
concluding sentence ran: "But it befitteth thy Holiness not to ignore
the things repeated about thee which bring scandal on the Church, but
to remove this scruple from the public conscience and provide in thy
wisdom for the tranquillity of the Church and the kingdom." Gregorian
writers insist that this was added by Henry to the draft approved by
the Diet, but this is by no means certain. Henry was not a broken man.
He had a considerable force with him, and Rudolph of Swabia evidently
found that it would be no easy task to displace him. The edict which
Henry published at the same time, declaring that he had been misled
when he obtained a censure of the Pope, gives one the same impression.
He had still a powerful following, and it was agreed to avert civil
war by reconciliation and by inviting Gregory to preside at a Diet at
Augsburg.
Gregory, in spite of the advice of his friends (except Mathilda, who
spurred him on), at once set out for the north. His impetuous journey
was, however, arrested in the north of Italy by the news that the
German nobles had failed to send an escort for him, and that Henry
himself was crossing the Alps with a large army. Mathilda persuaded him
to retire to her impregnable fortress of Canossa, and there, about the
end of January, Henry enacted his historic part of penitent.
Here the chroniclers are hopelessly discordant, and the full
picturesque narrative of Lambert of Hersfeld, on which some historians
still implicitly rely, has been riddled by modern critics.[229] It
is clear that Henry wished to keep the Pope out of Germany, and he
there-fore hastily crossed the Alps in the depth of winter. It is
clear that a "vast army" (in the words of Lambert himself) gathered
about him in rebellious Lombardy, but he pushed on with a few followers
(incidentally admitted by Lambert) to Canossa. It is clear that
Gregory, on the other hand, was desperately bent on presiding over
a council in Germany, and shocked his friends by his obstinacy in
refusing to be reconciled[230]; he had condemned Henry without trial,
but he would not absolve him without trial. And, obviously inaccurate
as the narrative of Lambert is,[231] it seems to me certain that Henry
went through the form of penance on the icy platform before the gate of
Canossa. In the letter written immediately afterwards to the nobles and
prelates of Germany,[232] Gregory describes Henry as doing penance for
three days, in bare feet and woollen robe, before the gates. However
impolitic and irritating it was for Gregory to write such a letter, Dr.
Dammann seems to me to fail to impeach its genuineness. Indeed in his
great speech to the Roman synod of 1080, when he excommunicated Henry a
second time, Gregory says that in 1076 Henry came to him "in confusion
and humiliation" at Canossa to ask absolution.
Thus the scene which has ever since impressed the imagination of Europe
is in substance authentic; though we are by no means compelled to
think that Henry literally stood in the snow for three whole days. But
the common interpretation of the scene is quite false. It was not a
spiritual triumph, but a political pseudo-triumph. In reality, it was
Henry who triumphed; and one can imagine him jesting merrily afterwards
about his bare feet and coarse robe of penitence. He promised to amend
his ways, and then proceeded to make a tour of Italy in light-hearted
confidence and with all his old wilfulness. He refused to interfere
when a Papal Legate was thrown into prison at Piacenza; and he refused
to provide Gregory with an escort when the Germans invited the Pope to
come and preside at their new Diet.[233] Gregory soon realized that the
war had merely passed into a new and more difficult phase, and we must
follow it swiftly to its tragic end in the utter defeat of the Pope.
Gregory sent two Legates to the Diet of Forchheim on March 13th, where,
with their consent, Rudolph of Swabia was declared King of Germany.
The Papal Legates exacted that he should not claim the succession for
his family--apparently Germany was to be the next fief of the Roman
See--and should abandon investiture. When Henry pressed the Pope to
excommunicate Rudolph, he replied that he had not yet heard Rudolph's
case--an "unworthy subterfuge," Bishop Mathew justly remarks--and
Henry set out for Germany. In the three-years struggle which followed,
the Pope adopted a policy which few historians hesitate to condemn.
He sent Legates repeatedly, claiming that he alone was the judge:
that "if the See of the Blessed Peter decides and judges heavenly
and spiritual things, how much the more shall it judge things earthly
and secular."[234] He even promised the crown to whichever of the
combatants should respect his Legates: a remarkable test of the justice
he promised to administer. He evidently hoped that Rudolph would win,
but feared that the victory _might_ fall to Henry; and, above all, he
desired to judge the princes of the earth. At last the Saxons in turn
began to abuse him. His Legates, they said, were offering his verdict
to the highest bidder--assuredly without his knowledge--and his policy
was unintelligible. Bishops were saying that the Papacy had become "the
tail of the Church."
At the Lenten synod of the year 1080 representatives of both princes
came before Gregory and his bishops, and the great decision was taken.
Henry was found guilty of "disobedience," and, after a long and
eloquent speech, Gregory excommunicated him once more and confirmed
Rudolph in the kingdom of Germany. Bishop Bonitho[235] tells us that
Henry had sent an ultimatum: if Gregory did not at once condemn
Rudolph he would appoint another Pope. This is, apparently, the real
inspiration of the synod and of Gregory's fiery speech.[236] Henry's
partisans retorted by excommunicating Gregory and consecrating Guibert
of Ravenna as Anti-Pope, and, as Rudolph fell in battle in October,
the Gregorian cause was in a lamentable plight. Gregory had, in his
extremity, overlooked all the crimes of Robert Guiscard--"for the
present" he quaintly said in the treaty--and made an alliance with
him, but Robert was still engaged in the East, and Henry's troops
made great havoc in Mathilda's dominions. Yet Gregory repeated his
excommunication of the King, and wrote letters all over Europe to
defend his action and obtain money and troops.
Several years passed in this indecisive warfare, Henry wearing down the
Tuscan troops and cutting off supplies from Rome. At length, toward
the end of March, 1084, the Romans, weary of the long siege, opened
their gates to Henry, and Gregory shut himself in the impregnable
fortress of Sant' Angelo. From the windows, for two dreary months,
Gregory had to watch the progress of the victorious Imperialists and
the triumph of the Anti-Pope, Clement III. In May he was elated by the
message that Henry had fled and Robert Guiscard was marching to Rome
with a large force. But his joy was brief. A brawl with the Romans
let loose the half-barbaric Normans, and the city was visited with
one of the most pitiless raids in its eventful history. Thousands of
the Romans were sold into slavery: sacred virgins and matrons were
savagely raped: large districts of the city were burned to the ground.
For this the infuriated Romans cast the whole blame on the Pope, and
he was forced to retire with Robert. In penury and impotence he rode
into the abbey of Monte Cassino, where Abbot Didier would hardly fail
to remind him that they who appeal to the sword are apt to perish by
the sword, and then on to Salerno. Surrounded by the shrunken remains
of his supporters he made a last appeal to the Christian world to
espouse his cause, and he feebly cast forth his last anathemas. But
the fight was lost, and he wearily drew his last breath on May 25,
1085. "I have loved justice and hated iniquity, therefore I die in
exile," he said. It was not wholly true. He was exiled by the people of
Rome, whose devastated homes made them heap curses on his iron policy.
History honours the purity of his ultimate aim, the heroism with which
he pursued it, the greatness, with all its defects, of his character;
it sternly condemns the means he employed, the tortuous and dangerous
character of his reasoning, the appalling claim that kingdoms were toys
in his hand. He failed; but he had, in reality, so strengthened the
frame of the Papacy that it would take an earthquake to shake it.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 200: The two ablest recent writers on Hildebrand, the Right
Reverend Dr. A.H. Mathew (_The Life and Times of Hildebrand_, 1910)
and Dr. W. Martens (_War Gregor VII. Mönch?_, 1891, and _Gregor VII._,
2 vols. 1894--an invaluable study), hold that he never took the vows.
The chief biography of Hildebrand on the Catholic side is now the Abbé
O. Delarc's _Grégoire VII. et la Réforme de l'Église au XI siècle_
(3 vols., 1889). Slight but excellent sketches will be found in F.
Roquain's _La Papauté au moyen âge_ (1881) and _Hildebrand and His
Times_ (1888) by W.R.W. Stephens. Older writers like Voigt, Gfrörer,
Villemain, and Bowden are now of little use. The original authorities
are as numerous as they are unreliable. The partisans of Gregory
(chiefly Bonitho and Donizo) are scarcely more scrupulous than the
partisans of Henry (Benzo, Benno, Guido, etc.), or those of Rudolph
(Lambert, Berthold, Bruno, etc.). Fortunately we have a large number of
Gregory's letters, and, as usual, I rely chiefly on these.]
[Footnote 201: The reformers of Milan worked chiefly among the poor,
especially in the "old-clothes quarter," or _Pataria_. Hence the name
of the party.]
[Footnote 202: The word "cardinal" occurs occasionally in early
ecclesiastical literature in its literal meaning of "important," and
is applied to clerics of various orders. After the fifth century it
is restricted at Rome to the first priests of each of the _tituli_
(quasi-parishes) into which the city was divided. They numbered
twenty-eight in the eleventh century. In the course of time the name
was also given to the seventeen leading deacons of Rome and the seven
suburbicarian bishops.]
[Footnote 203: In this last case we have the assurance of Hildebrand
himself that he dictated the Papal policy. Years afterwards he wrote
to William (_Ep._, vii., 23) that, when the Norman envoys came to
ask Papal approval of his design, it was generally censured as an
unjustifiable raid, and Hildebrand alone induced Pope Alexander to send
the Normans a banner: on condition, he adds, that William secured the
payment of Peter's Pence by the reluctant English and in other ways
promoted the interests of Rome. But even William did not dream that his
acceptance of the banner made England, in Hildebrand's opinion, a fief
of the Roman See!]
[Footnote 204: _Ep._, i., 1.]
[Footnote 205: _Das Papstthum_ (1892), ch. ii., § 2. See also F.
Roquain's _La Papauté au moyen âge_. Roquain observes, leniently, that
Gregory was "not entirely exempt from reproach in the use of means to
attain his ends" (p. 127) and fell into "excesses unworthy of his great
soul" (p. 131). In his famous letter to the Bishop of Metz (viii.,
21) Gregory omits an essential part of a passage which he quotes from
Gelasius and materially alters its meaning. When we further find him
writing (ix., 2) that "even a lie that is told for a good purpose in
the cause of peace is not _wholly_ free from blame," we fear that he
was not far from the maxim that the end justifies the means.]
[Footnote 206: The secular ruler had long been accustomed to bestow the
crozier and ring on his nominee for a bishopric, and this was known as
"investiture." The practice undoubtedly led to much simony and to the
appointment of unworthy men, but, as the event proved, a compromise was
possible.]
[Footnote 207: Speech to the Roman synod of the year 1080 (Migne, vol.
cxlviii., col. 816). Compare _Ep._, viii., 21.]
[Footnote 208: _Ep._, i., 7.]
[Footnote 209: _Ep._, i., 9.]
[Footnote 210: I., 11.]
[Footnote 211: I., 31.]
[Footnote 212: I., 35.]
[Footnote 213: I., 46.]
[Footnote 214: II., 51.]
[Footnote 215: VI., 30.]
[Footnote 216: VII., 1.]
[Footnote 217: II., 5 and 32.]
[Footnote 218: VIII., 2.]
[Footnote 219: In both statements of fact Gregory was wrong. Stephen
had merely accepted a consecrated banner from the Anti-Pope Silvester
II.; and Solomon had voluntarily chosen Henry as his suzerain.]
[Footnote 220: VIII., 4.]
[Footnote 221: There was a Gregorian archbishop in exile. The actual
prelate may not have been zealous enough for Henry.]
[Footnote 222: Iii., 10.]
[Footnote 223: A good deal of controversy has been expended on the
question whether Gregory did or did not threaten at this stage to
depose Henry. Gregory's letter xxvi. (not in his Register, but of
undoubted authenticity) to "the German People" expressly admits, or
boasts, that he did. For further evidence see Dr. Martens, _Gregor
VII._, i., 86-91.]
[Footnote 224: iii., 6.]
[Footnote 225: Viii., 21.]
[Footnote 226: See C. Mirbt's special study of the conflict, _Die
Absetzung Heinrichs IV._ (1888), p. 103.]
[Footnote 227: _Liber ad Amicum_, 1. viii.]
[Footnote 228: A translation may be read in Delarc, iii., 252.]
[Footnote 229: One recent student, Dr. Albert Dammann (_Der Sieg
Heinrichs IV. in Kanossa_, 1907 and 1909), goes to the other extreme,
and concludes that Henry blockaded Canossa with a large army and
compelled the Pope to withdraw his censure, without a single act of
penance.]
[Footnote 230: _Ep._, iv., 12.]
[Footnote 231: For instance he describes a dramatic scene in which
Henry shrinks from receiving the sacred host, whereas Gregory says
(_Ep._, iv., 12) that he admitted Henry to communion. His story is full
of contradictions.]
[Footnote 232: Iv., 12.]
[Footnote 233: Gregorian writers said afterwards that Henry's royal
dignity was not restored at Canossa. In point of fact he actually
signed his promise of reform as "king" and he refused to take an oath
on the express ground that the word of a king of Germany sufficed.
Gregory made no complaint on this score until years afterwards, though
Henry resumed his royal character the moment he left Canossa.]
[Footnote 234: Iv., 24.]
[Footnote 235: Bk. ix.]
[Footnote 236: It may be read in Migne, vol. cxlviii., col. 816. It
includes the imprecation on Henry, "May he gain no victory as long as
he lives," and again asserts that all honours and powers are at the
disposal of the Pope.]