In the mean time, much had still to be negotiated between Frederic and Adrian, before the latter felt satisfied to confer on the former the imperial crown. Adrian was too well acquainted with the character of Barbarossa, not to feel it a paramount duty to require every guarantee, before adding to the power and greatness of a man who, like him, thirsted for universal sway, under which not only the State, but the Church also should bend; and who, in pursuit of his object allowed no barrier, which he could throw down by fair means or by foul, to stand against him. Thus it was that, although in his present transactions with the pope, he made plenty of fair promises, he yet would not pledge his word to them, lest by doing so he should commit his plans of future ambition; plans which, though he felt he should not hesitate to save, if driven to it at the cost of his honor, he yet would prefer to forward, if possible, without so mortifying an alternative. But, when after all his pains he found out that the pope was not to be thrown off his guard, and that the transcendent stake at issue was not to be won, except by confirming his word with an oath, he submitted to take it; and, so, swore on the gospels and on the cross, before his own and the papal ambassadors in his camp near Viterbo, that he would neither injure the pope nor his cardinals; but would protect their persons and rights against all aggression.[1]
Hereupon, Adrian felt confidence enough to leave Nepi, and repair to meet Frederic at Sutri; to which spot the latter had, in the mean time, advanced his camp. As Adrian drew near, he was encountered by a splendid deputation of German princes and bishops, who conducted him to the royal tent. As soon as the pope appeared before it, Frederic,—who was waiting to receive him,—courteously advanced to assist his Holiness in dismounting from his horse; but did not offer to render the ancient homage, usual on such an occasion, of holding the pope's stirrup. In vain did Adrian keep his seat in expectation that this homage, would be paid; the king persisted in avoiding what his pride could not brook. Terrified at such a bad omen, the cardinals of the papal suite took to flight, and sought safety in the neighbouring fortress of Castellano; leaving their lord to confront alone the danger which seemed to threaten him. But Adrian retained his courage and coolness intact. Alighting from his horse, he quietly sat down in the episcopal chair, which had been prepared for him, and suffered Frederic to approach and kiss his feet; but, when the king rose up to receive the papal kiss of peace in return, Adrian refused it, and told him that he would not give it, until the homage, due from the temporal to the spiritual power, had been paid in full.
As Frederic denied, in vindication of his behaviour, the authenticity of the homage in question, a hot controversy ensued between the parties at issue; in which the king turned a deaf ear to every argument and example that was adduced to prove his error, seeking to evade their force, now by sophistical, now by threatening representations, until the pope, disgusted at his disingenuous conduct, and tired out with a dispute, which had lasted over the next day, to no purpose, cut it short by abruptly quitting the camp. Hereupon the king, perceiving that he must again offer sacrifice to his policy, suffered the prelates, who surrounded him, and till this critical moment had so vainly sought to convince him of the justice of the pope's cause, to overrule him; and then set out for Nepi, whither Adrian had returned. On his arrival, he no sooner beheld Adrian coming forth to meet him, than, advancing reverently on foot, he held the pontiff's stirrup; who, on touching the ground, directly enfolded the king in his arms, amid the cheers of the spectators of both parties.
All these proceedings,—and the latter one, in particular,—have been held up, by many writers, as setting in the strongest light the arrogance and tyranny of the church in the middle ages. From our point of view, at this day, for estimating the relative importance of Church and State, no doubt, the result of the dispute between Adrian and Frederic was wrong; because it ought to have proved diametrically the reverse to be right. In the 12th century, however, the profound conviction of Christendom was this: that the pope literally represented on earth, in the character of vicar or vicegerent, our Saviour in heaven; and, as it may be taken for granted, that, were the Redeemer to reappear among men now, as he appeared 1800 years ago, the proudest monarch of Christendom, in the 19th century, persuaded of the fact, would,—whether catholic or protestant,—certainly not hesitate to show this honor to our Divine Lord, on receiving his visit: so the sovereigns of the middle ages did actually deem it right and honorable to pay that homage to Christ, in the person of the pope, in whom they acknowledged, from the bottom of their souls, our Lord's Regent on earth, and as such their immeasurable Superior. In requiring Frederic Barbarossa to pay him the typical homage of holding his stirrup, Adrian did plainly nothing but what was entirely in accordance with the spirit of the age, and, at the same time, with traditional usage, as then received by Christian princes.[2]But Frederic did do what was contrary to both in his refusal; and that, too, while professing to be imbued with the very faith out of which the homage in question sprang. Thus, it is no wonder that Adrian should view such an inconsistency as most inauspicious for the liberties of the church,—with which those of society were then so closely bound up,—and should, therefore, feel it imperative to pursue a line of conduct, which at first glance may appear so arrogantly exacting; but which, found, on closer examination, to have involved the assertion of the most sacred interests against a man, who was known to respect none in promotion of his ends, assumes a character calculated rather to conciliate our approval than to confirm our censure.
As soon as the friendly relations between the pope and the king had been thus far restored, they set out, for Rome, to celebrate the coronation.
In the mean time, the senate, though deeply offended at not having been consulted on so momentous an affair, sent forward an embassy to congratulate Frederic as he drew near. This it did in fulsome and arrogant terms, informing him, moreover, that the 'Queen of the world'—as the city was styled by the orator,—felt graciously disposed to confer on him, of her own good pleasure, the diadem of empire, if he, on his part, would promise to abolish the papal government, restore the ancient Republic, and make a present of 5000 silver crowns to the officers of the state. But Frederic no sooner perceived this drift of the speech,—whose tone from the beginning had greatly irritated him,—than he cut it short by an outburst of indignant sarcasm on men, who, sunk to the lowest pitch of national degeneracy, yet thought to beard with the shadow of their past, the substance of his present greatness, and to dictate terms to a prince, who came not as their servant but as their master. After having delivered himself further in the same caustic style, he asked them what answer they had to give; and, on being informed that they could give none till they had reported their reception to the senate, he haughtily bid them begone and do so.
Aware that such conduct would highly incense the Romans, and very likely urge them to revenge it by throwing obstacles in the way of his coronation, Frederic consulted the pope as to what had best be done; who advised him to send without delay a body of picked troops to occupy St. Peter's, and the Leontine quarter of the city, in which that church stood, promising that the papal guards on the spot should support the movement.
Frederic accordingly despatched during the night 1000 men on this service, which they successfully performed.
The next morning, June 18th, 1155, by sun-rise, he himself set out, preceded by the pope, for the city, and passed into it by the golden gate, before which his whole army in compact and resplendent array, drew up. At St. Peter's he was received by the pope, who, surrounded by his cardinals and prelates, awaited the king's arrival on the steps of the great door. The pontifical high mass was then sung, and, on its termination, Frederic, enthroned amidst the princes and dignitaries of the empire, was solemnly crowned Emperor by the hands of the Pope, the whole congregation bursting out, at so stirring and eventful a spectacle, into acclamations of joy and triumph.[3]
In the mean time, a squadron of imperial troops took possession of the bridge near the Castle of Crescentius—now St. Angelo—over which the road into the heart of the town led; and, by so doing, shut out the ill disposed citizens on the right bank of the Tiber, from interrupting the ceremony. When all was over at St. Peter's, Frederic issued out of the church with the crown on his head, and mounting his horse, while his suite continued on foot, rode back through the' golden gate, to celebrate in his tent, erected against the city walls, the coronation banquet.
As to Pope Adrian, he retired to his palace near St. Peter's. So far everything had turned out well. But a new scene was now to be acted. For as the emperor and his soldiers, divested of their armour on account of the great heat, were carousing under the cool shade of their tents, in honor of the day, their toasts and songs were suddenly interrupted by the alarm that the Romans had risen, and were advancing over the Tiber to attack the camp.
The truth was, that the senate and citizens, exasperated beyond measure at Frederic's treatment of their ambassadors, and at his superior generalship in occupying the city and effecting his coronation in their teeth, had met at the Capitol while he was at St. Peter's; and passed the resolution not to let so mortifying a day pass over without striking a blow in revenge.
Wherefore, as soon as the coronation was finished, and the scene clear, the furious populace burst over the Tiber; and, after first butchering what few German soldiers still lingered imprudently at St. Peter's, rushed on to the grand attack.
Frederic no sooner heard this unwelcome news, than he started from table, gave the word to arm, and sallied out to encounter the enemy. The battle that ensued was maintained on both sides with unflinching courage and varied fortunes: now the Romans drove the Germans beyond their lines; now the Germans pursued the Romans into the heart of the city. Such was the hatred which each party felt against the other, that not only the men but the women joined in the struggle. When it had thus lasted till sunset, victory declared for the Germans. The Romans fled on all sides with a loss of more than 1000 killed or drowned, and 200 captured. The emperor, as Otto of Frisingen asserts,[4]had the extraordinary good fortune to lose in such an obstinate and bitter combat only two men,—one killed and one made prisoner. "Such!" cried Frederic, as he beheld the defeat of the enemy, and recollected the terms of the senate the day before, "Such, O! Rome, is the price which thy Prince pays for thy crown; such the way in which we Germans buy our empire!"[5]
On the morrow he turned over his prisoners to Peter, the prefect of Rome; who executed some, as notorious ringleaders, on the spot; and allowed others to ransom themselves at exorbitant rates. Indeed, that stern functionary would have put the whole of them to death, had not Adrian, in whose breast this unfortunate outbreak had produced the liveliest regret, interfered in their behalf, so that it was reluctantly resolved to set them free.
Notwithstanding his victory, as no market for provisions could be opened for his army, by reason of the animosity of the Roman peasantry, Frederic was obliged to raise his camp, and seek a more friendly and fruitful neighbourhood, where the soldiers might enjoy repose after so trying a campaign. The spot he removed to was near Tivoli. Here he halted for several days, and received a visit in his quarters from Pope Adrian, who kept with the emperor the feast of SS. Peter and Paul. Both sovereigns appeared at high mass on this occasion wearing their insignia of state. After the service, Adrian solemnly absolved the emperor's troops from all guilt which the slaughter they had made of the Romans in the late conflict might appear to lay them under; the maxim adopted being that "he who fights out of obedience to his prince against the enemy of the state, must not be deemed a murderer but an avenger."[6]
And yet Frederic did not hesitate to seize an opportunity which now offered of breaking his oaths, and of repaying the pope's good offices by invading his rights. For, on the citizens of Tivoli offering him, at his secret instigation, the sovereignty of their city, which belonged to the Holy See, he accepted it; and only on Adrian's determined opposition to such an usurpation, affected to restore it with reservation of his imperial prerogatives over the place;—prerogatives which he could not define, and which meant in fact nothing more than the renewal of his aggression at the next more favourable opportunity. For now the complaints of his army, worn out by fatigue, exposed, moreover, to every vexation, through the ever increasing animosity of the Italians, and hence doubly impatient to return into Germany, from which it had been absent much longer than the terms of feudal service required, obliged Frederic to think of finishing his campaign, and marching home directly, if he did not mean to be left alone in the heart of a hostile country; a predicament into which the desertion of his men was already beginning to betray him. He accordingly took the road back into Germany soon after he had made restitution to the pope as above described; and after running many perils in his progress through regions so justly hostile to him, regained his own states beyond the Alps, not so much gratified by the acquisition of the imperial crown, as embittered by what he had gone through in pursuit of it, and resolved not to delay longer than he could help a second invasion of Italy, which should compensate the mishaps and mortifications of the first.
[1]Muratori, Storia d' Italia, vol. 7. p. 135. Leipsic, 1748.
[2]Muratori, Dissertazione sopra le Antichita Italiane, dissert. 4.
[3]Otto Frisingensis, lib. 1. cap. 23.
[4]Otto Frisingensis, ibid.
[5]Ibid.
[6]Otto Frisingensis, ibid.
While Frederic was yet fighting his way home through Italy, Adrian had to face about and confront another foe in William, the Norman king of Sicily.
William had lately succeeded his father Roger, a wise and able monarch, to whom however his son, as so commonly happens, bore no sort of resemblance; but by his incapacity and total subjection under the influence of a profligate favourite of low birth, named Wrajo, soon threw the state, which Roger had left in so prosperous a condition, into the worst disorder.
The breach between him and the pope arose out of a letter which the latter had occasion to address to the king at Salerno, in which the royal title was omitted, and that of mere lord substituted. Adrian did this because William had assumed the crown of Sicily without first asking it of the pope, who, as the feudal patron of that island by ancient compact with its Norman conquerors under Robert de Guiscard, in the time of Pope Leo IX. (A. D. 1053), justly felt his rights infringed by a proceeding which set at nought their established forms. In revenge of this pretended insult, William refused to negotiate with the ambassadors through whom it came; and, furthermore, gave orders to his chancellor Scitinius, whom he had just made viceroy of Apulia, to attack the domain of the Church, which that officer accordingly did, by laying siege to Beneventum, and devastating its territory. But as this proceeding caused a number of disaffected crown vassals of Apulia, already secretly tampered with by agents of the Greek emperor, anxious to recover his lost sway in Italy, to revolt against the Sicilian government,—many of whom in so doing marched to the relief of Beneventum,—Scitinius was soon obliged to raise the siege of that city, and turn his arms against some more vulnerable point. To this end, he passed direct into the Campagna, and there set fire to the towns of Ciparano, Barbuco, and Todi; after which, he made his retreat, demolishing by the way the walls of Aquino, and driving a crowd of monks out of their convents, which he gave up to the plunder of the soldiers.
These events had transpired while Frederic Barbarossa was yet advancing towards Rome, to demand the imperial crown, and on his arrival formed one of the heads of complaint to him on the part of the pope, who hoped to use the strong arm of the professed champion of the Church in redressing her wrongs. Frederic, indeed, expressed the warmest zeal in the pope's cause, and, none the less so, as it presented, under the appearance of a sacred duty, a prospect so inviting to his own ambition. But, as we have seen, he was reluctantly compelled by his murmuring soldiers to close his campaign and return home. He did not, however, lose sight of Sicily; which, as will be described in the sequel, gave rise to a fresh and sharper quarrel between him and the pope.
Disappointed in his hopes of assistance from Frederic, Adrian, with characteristic energy, resolved to assist himself; and rejoined to the ruffianism of William with a ban of excommunication, a proceeding which instantly decided in the pope's cause several of the most powerful nobles of Apulia, especially Robert Count of Loritelli, the king's cousin, Andrew Count of Rupi Canino, Richard Count of Aquila, and Robert Prince of Capua; men who, like the bulk of their order, were impatient to shake off the oppressive and ignominious yoke of the royal favourite Wrajo. Backed by these, who again were secretly encouraged by the court of Constantinople, Adrian followed up his ban of excommunication, by invading at the head of his troops the Terra di Lavoro, which he totally subdued, and then proceeded to Beneventum, where he fixed his head quarters.
William, who in the mean time was in Sicily, and lulled asleep to every interest under the noxious influence of Wrajo, no sooner became aware of his bad fortune across the water,—where, owing to the events just related, all his Italian possessions, with the exception of Naples, Amalfi, Sorrento, and a few other towns and castles of secondary importance, were wrested from him,—than he presently shook off his lethargy, sailed over to Salerno, and from that city sent ambassadors to the pope to negotiate a peace.
To this step he was urged all the more by finding out that Emanuel, the Greek emperor, after refusing to stand his ally at the beginning of the war, was in correspondence, through his minister Palæologus, with Adrian; trying to procure from the latter the cession of three sea-ports of Apulia in consideration of a large sum of money, and of the promise to expel the Sicilian king from his Italian dominions. The offers which William made were, namely: to pay a sum equivalent to that tendered by Emanuel; to surrender the three sea-ports in question as an indemnification for the damage done by Scitinius; and to swear fealty to the pope as the liege lord of Sicily.
At first Adrian doubted if these terms were genuine, and sent a cardinal to Salerno, to learn the truth. On being advised that all was straightforward, he declared his readiness to accept them. But a cabal in the German interest among the cardinals now put in such a strong opposition to the pope's intention, that, taken by surprise, he dropped it, and retracted his favourable answer to William.
The truth was, a reconciliation between Adrian and William, would have seriously embarrassed Frederic Barbarossa's designs on Sicily;—to say nothing of the protection which such an event would secure to the pope against those farther aggressions on the Church, which the emperor had in view.
Driven to desperation by the final decision of the pope, William, who, with all his faults, seems still to have been capable of a rash energy when real danger stared him in the face, resolved to throw himself again on the chance of war. Collecting a formidable armament by sea and land, he invested Brundusium; which, with the exception of the citadel, had fallen into the hands of Michael Ducas, the Greek general.[1]The citadel, which could not be subdued by arms, was obliged at last to yield to famine; when, in the moment that the garrison was about to close with the terms of surrender, proposed by the enemy, William came up with his army, and obliged the Greek commander, instead of taking possession of the citadel, to face about and fight a pitched battle for the town. The struggle was obstinate and bloody: fortune often changed sides; but at last declared for the Sicilians, into whose hands Ducas himself fell.
The recovery of Brundusium, which followed this victory, seasonably placed at William's disposal a number of rich Greek captives,—whom he sent to Palermo,—much ready money and precious property, besides ships and stores.
A crowd of Apulian malcontents had also the misfortune to fall into his power; on whom he did not fail to wreak his vengeance, by executing some; blinding and maiming others; and selling the rest into slavery.
Flushed with this success, he next marched to Bari. Here he met with no resistance; but, on the contrary, an affecting appeal to his mercy in the spectacle of the citizens coming out before him, dressed in sackcloth, in token of submission. So solemn a humiliation, however, could not atone in the king's eye, for their crime in having demolished the citadel of the town, because it refused to turn disloyal, when the rebellion first broke out. To their entreaties for pardon, he sternly replied, that he should deal out strict justice to them; that as they had not spared his house, he should not spare their houses. A respite of two days only was allowed them, in which to quit their homes with their goods; upon its expiration, the entire city with its walls was reduced to a heap of ruins. Struck with terror at so cruel a vengeance, the rest of the revolted Apulian towns hastened to send in their submission; whereupon, William turned his arms at once against Beneventum; where not only the pope, but also prince Robert of Capua, and several other leaders of the rebellion resided. As the king approached, the prince of Capua, seized with terror, fled; but with so little caution as to fall into an ambush set for him by his vassal and fellow rebel, Richard Count of Fondi; who took the prince his son and daughter prisoners, and delivered them to his sovereign; by which piece of seasonable perfidy, Richard atoned for his treason, and recovered the royal favour.
As to Robert, he was shipped off to Palermo, thrown into a dungeon, where his eyes were put out. In this sad condition, however, he did not long survive, as the severity of his treatment soon brought death to his relief.
With such melancholy proofs of the mutability of worldly fortune before his eyes, and viewing, moreover, the success of his enemy as a sign of the divine disapprobation of his having been so weak as to refuse terms of peace against his better judgment, Adrian now resolved to lose no time in doing what was yet in his power towards repairing his error; and began by successfully requesting the Sicilian king, to give up farther pursuit of his vengeance against the rest of the rebel chiefs, still shut up in Beneventum, and to pardon them on condition of their quitting the kingdom. He next offered to close with those terms of peace,—the rejection of which had caused the present war,—and sent ambassadors to the king on the subject. William received them respectfully and opened negotiations with them. The pope, on his part, engaged to invest the king in feoff with the kingdom of Sicily, the duchy of Apulia, the principality of Capua, Naples, Salerno, and Malfi, with the March and with all that he claimed on this side the Marsa. The king, in return, engaged to swear fealty to the pope; to defend him against his enemies; and to pay him a fixed yearly tribute for Apulia, Calabria, and the March. These formed the principal articles of the treaty now agreed to. But there were others included, in which the king took advantage of his position as conqueror, to exact terms in favour of the secular, and to the detriment of the spiritual power in his states. By these terms, the royal right to confirm canonical elections, was extended; appeals to Rome, from Apulia were restricted; while in Sicily, they were wholly abolished, as well as the right to send legates into the island.
This peace was signed in the church of St. Marcianus near Beneventum; where, in the presence of a splendid array of nobles, and of a vast crowd of people, the king of Sicily prostrated himself in homage at the feet of the pope; who then embraced his august vassal, and invested him with feoffs of Sicily, Apulia, and Capua, by presenting him with three Standards representing those states. After all was over, the king made rich presents of plate, and precious garments to the cardinals in the suite of the pope, of whom he then took leave and returned to Palermo.
Shortly afterwards Adrian published a bull, in which the peace was confirmed.
On his way from Beneventum to Rome, he visited Orvieto; a city which had for a long time stood in open rebellion against him as its prince, but had recently returned to its duty. Here he stayed some time, and received the most loyal demonstrations from the citizens, on whom he conferred many tokens of his paternal regard. From Orvieto, he proceeded to Viterbo for the winter, and then repaired to Rome.
[1]Hugoni Fracundi. Muratori, Scrip. Rer. Italic. vol. 7. page 268.
Soon after his accession, Adrian received, among other letters of congratulation, one from Henry II. king of England, who had succeeded to his crown at the same time as the pope. This letter was as follows:—
"A sweet breath of air hath breathed in our ears, inasmuch as we learn that the news of your elevation hath scattered like a refulgent aurora, the darkness of the desolation of the Church. The Apostolic See rejoiceth in having obtained such a consolation of her widowhood. All the churches rejoice at beholding the new light arise, and hope to behold it expand to broad day. But in particular our west rejoiceth that a new light hath arisen to illuminate the globe of the earth; and that, by divine favour, the west hath restored that sun of Christianity which towards the east was set. Wherefore, most holy Father, we, sharing in the general jubilee at your honors, and celebrating with devout praise the bounties of the divine Majesty, will lay open to you our desires, confiding as we do, with filial devotion, in your paternal goodness. For, if the carnal son exposeth to his father, in confidence, his carnal desires, how much more should not the spiritual son do so with regard to his spiritual one? Assuredly, among other desires of our heart, we do not a little desire, that, as the Almighty's right arm hath chosen your most reverend person to be spiritually planted, like a tree of life in the midst of paradise, and to be transplanted from this land of ours, into his orchard, you will chiefly take care to reform, by your conduct and doctrine, all the churches, that all generations may call your land blessed through your beatitude. This, too, we thirst for with a sincere heart, that the spirit of tempests, which is wont to rage furiously about the pinnacle of honor, may never wrest you from the concern of your sanctification; lest, by reason of any deficiency in you, the deepest abyss of disgrace should succeed to the highest summit of dignity. And this we ardently long for, that, as the regulation of the Church universal belongs to you, you will take care to create such cardinals, free of reproach, as shall know how to appreciate your burthen, and be willing and competent to aid you in supporting it; not regarding ties of country, quality of birth, or extent of power; but that they love God, hate avarice, thirst after justice, and burn with the zeal of souls. Nor are we slightly affected by the desire that, as the unworthiness of ministers is detrimental above all things to the Church, you will vigilantly watch, whenever your Providence shall happen to be petitioned, touching the collation of benefices, lest any unworthy person intrude into the Patrimony of the Crucified. And seeing that the Holy Land,—blest by the origin of our redemption,—consecrated by the life and death of Christ,—a land which Christian devotion holds in particular respect,—is distracted by incursions of the infidels, and polluted by their abominations, we wish from our very soul that you would provide men, of your own devout solicitude, in its defence. And, in regard of that empire of Constantinople,—once so illustrious, now so wofully desolate,—what Christian man ought not to desire that, by your care and prudence, it may receive timely consolation? For the rest, we confide and hope in the Lord, that, as you have not failed, while rising from virtue to virtue, and from honor to honor, to shine according to the exigence of each of them, so you will not fail, now that you are called to the apogee of apostolical elevation, to illustrate and inflame the subject Church, in such a manner, as shall permit no one to hide himself from your light and heat; and that, after your death, you will leave behind such vestiges of sanctity, that your native land,—which congratulates itself on your happy beginning,—will find much more glory in the Lord, in your happier end. Finally, we request of your Paternity, with full confidence, that you will be pleased to remember us, our family, and kingdom, especially in your prayers and vows."[1]
A few months after the receipt of this letter,
A
drian was visited by his renowned countryman, John of Salisbury,—afterwards bishop of Chartres,—who arrived in a diplomatic capacity, from king Henry, to procure the papal sanction to a projected conquest of Ireland, by England.
The motives to this ambitious scheme,—which William the Conqueror, and Henry I., had also entertained,—were alleged to be the civilisation of the Irish people, and the reformation of the Irish Church; both of which were represented as given over to barbaric anarchy, and the most crying abuses. And, indeed, such was the real state of civil and religious affairs in that country in the 12th century,—as will be shown lower down,—that the motives in question, derived the greatest weight from the circumstance, and induced the pope to give the sanction requested. This he did in the following brief:
"Adrian, bishop, servant of the servants of God, to his most dear son in Christ, the illustrious king of the English, health and apostolical benediction.
"Thy Magnificence thinketh, praiseworthily and fruitfully, touching the propagation of thy glorious name over the earth, and the laying up a reward of eternal felicity in heaven, when, like a Catholic prince, thou dost project the extension of the boundaries of the Church, the proclamation of the Christian faith to ignorant and rude people, and the extirpation of the weeds of vice from the Lord's vineyard; and when, to the better execution hereof, thou dost request the advice and favour of the Apostolic See. In which matter, we feel confident that, as thou shalt proceed with higher counsel, and greater discretion, so thou wilt make, under the Lord's favour, the happier progress, seeing that those things usually reach a good issue, which have sprung out of an ardour for the faith and love of religion. Certainly, there can be no doubt that Ireland, as well as all the isles, which Christ the Sun of justice hath illuminated, and which have borne testimony to the Christian Faith, are subject to St. Peter, and the most Holy Roman Church. On which account, we are all the more ready to plant therein, the plantation of the Faith, and the seed which is grateful to God, as we discover on close examination it is required of us. Forasmuch, then, as thou hast signified to us, most clear son in Christ, that thou art wishful to enter the island of Ireland, to subdue that people under the laws, and to root out of it the weeds of vice, and art wishful to pay to St. Peter, a pension of one penny a-year for each house, and to preserve intact the rights of the Church in that country; we, regarding favourably, and vouchsafing to thy petition our gracious assent, hold it to be a grateful and acceptable thing, that thou shouldst enter that island, to extend the boundaries of the Church; to stem the torrent of crime; to correct morals; to introduce virtue; to augment the Christian religion; and to execute what thy mind may have found good for God's honor, and the country's prosperity. And let the people thereof receive thee honorably, and respect thee as their Lord; the rights of the Church remaining intact, and saving the pension to St. Peter and the most Holy Roman Church of one penny a-year for each house. And, shouldst thou be so fortunate as to accomplish what thou hast planned, strive to improve the Irish nation, by good morals; and act in such a manner by thyself, as well as by those whom thou shalt employ, and whom thou shalt first have proved to be trustworthy by reason of their fidelity, their opinions and conduct, that the Church may be adorned, the Christian faith extended, and everything that belongs to the honor of God, and salvation of souls, so ordered by thee in Ireland, as to qualify thee to deserve an eternal reward in heaven, and a glorious name on earth through all ages."[2]
This famous brief, by which Henry II. of England held himself divinely authorized to conquer Ireland, is strongly disapproved of by many writers, especially by Irish ones; who will not alloy it the least excuse, but overwhelm it with abusive censure. And yet the plain truth is, Adrian meant it, as he worded it, for Ireland's good.
However false the grant of Constantine the Great,—on which the claim set up for St, Peter's dominion over the islands is founded,—may have been proved in later times to be; yet it is certain that both the grant and claim in question were in the 11th, and 12th centuries firmly believed in by all orthodox christians, just as much so as that the Pope was literally our Saviour's vicar on earth, before whose powers every other had to bow. That the king of England was secretly guided by worldly motives, while ostensibly professing religious ones, was his concern and not the pope's: whose business was to weigh the merits of the case, not by reasons imputed, but by those propounded; which, if he found them, from the religious point of view of his times, sound, he was justified in accepting.
Now, there is the best evidence in cotemporary writings, especially in those of Giraldus and St. Bernard, that Ireland was, as above said, given up in the 12th century, to the worst demoralization in Church and State, that a country, not wholly pagan or savage, could be. Giraldus, who travelled in Ireland in the suite of King John, and attentively observed its condition, expresses in his work[3]written on the subject, his surprise that a nation, in which the Christian faith had been planted so far back as the days of St. Patrick, and had gone on increasing more or less ever since, should yet in his age be so ignorant in the very rudiments of religion. "A nation" as he proceeds to describe it, "filthy in the extreme, buried in vice, and of all nations the most ignorant of the rudiments of the faith." In support of this severe censure, he accuses the Irish of "despising matrimony, of being addicted to incest, of refusing to pay tithes, and of totally neglecting attendance at Church." In another place he writes, that the people in many districts continued still to be pagans, through the indifference of the clergy. St. Bernard draws a picture not less darkly shaded. In his life of St. Malachy,[4]adverting to the state of the Irish church on the promotion of that saint to the episcopacy, he describes how the new bishop soon found out that he had to do with "brutes and not with men; how that nowhere he had met with such barbarism of every sort; nowhere found a race so perverse in their morals, so savagely opposed to religious rites, so impious towards the faith, so headstrong against discipline, so barbarous towards the laws, so filthy in their habits of life; a people, Christians in name, but heathens in practice, who paid no tithes, who contracted no lawful marriages, who never confessed their sins, who had hardly any one among them to ask or give a penance, in whose churches neither the voice of the preacher nor the chorus of the chanters was ever heard."
The political was in complete harmony with the religious state of the country. Parcelled out among petty kings and chiefs, who seemed only to subsist by devouring each other, and, in the crush and tumult of their feuds, stood so thick on the ground, as hardly to have elbow room, the whole island presented one untiring round of treacheries, massacres, conflagrations and plunderings, wholesale and retail, such as is without example elsewhere in history, with no other hope, so long as left to itself, of anything but an aggravation of the evil—if that were possible. That Adrian, with such a state of things before his eyes, should readily give his sanction to a project which, however liable to be clogged by human imperfection, could not at any rate make things worse, but haply might make them better, was surely a proceeding quite consistent with the character of a wise and zealous pope; of a pope too, who lived and thought when the crusades were at their height, and who may, therefore, be very well supposed to have viewed the condition of Ireland,—once the island of saints, but now the scene of worse than pagan abominations,—as not less calculated for the efforts of holy chivalry, than Palestine.
If then it can appear that Adrian might have acted, in his brief to Henry, just as well out of motives of religious duty, as out of those of court policy, it is a perverse thing to award him the latter rather than the former; because to do so is to make him not less absurdly than wickedly inconsistent with his previous and subsequent career:—which was marked by one unswerving purpose to defend the Church against the encroachments of secular power, to maintain her doctrines intact, and to extend her boundaries to the utmost. Besides, it should not be forgotten, that his brief was confirmed by his illustrious successor, Alexander III., who thus gave his testimony to the uprightness of intention which originated it, as well as to its proper adaptation in the spirit of that age, to the emergency which elicited it; an emergency which, from the terms used by Alexander in conveying his confirmation, would seem by no means to have diminished, but rather to have increased in the mean time. In short, it is nothing better than a logical solecism, to wish to maintain that two such popes as Adrian IV. and Alexander III., educated in the school of the sublime Hildebrand, and ranking among the very foremost of his disciples, by the intelligent and dauntless manner in which they withstood the storm of imperial usurpation, which threatened to shatter the Church under their pontificates, should deviate from their glorious career, to belie their principles,—the one, by granting out of national prejudice and court sycophancy a license of spoliation to a king of England,—and the other, by confirming it out of reasons just as unworthy.
As it was, Providence did not see fit to allow the views either of Adrian or Henry, to be carried out as originally intended. For the expedition of the king against Ireland, was put off, on account of various obstacles, for fourteen years, during which term, the papal brief was consigned to the royal archives, and there forgotten. Nor was it till six years after the actual invasion of Ireland by Strongbow, that its existence was remembered by Henry; who, anxious to consolidate his new conquest, had the authority of Adrian's brief renewed, by procuring another in confirmation of it from Alexander, and then caused both documents to be read up before the Irish bishops, assembled in synod at Waterford; by whom his sovereignty had already, without any reference to papal commands, been acknowledged.
That the English sway turned out so unjust and disastrous to Ireland, reflects no blame on Adrian, than whom no one would have more deplored the evil, and striven against its true causes, than he. Rather ought he, from the spirit of his brief,—the only fair test to apply to him,—to be regarded as the head of that small, unfortunately so very small, band of Englishmen, who have ever meant well to the sister isle; and who, to speak the sober truth, if their views might prevail, would alone be likely to promote her true prosperity, by shielding her not only against her outward, but her inward foes; to which latter,—consisting in those elements of social discord so profusely, so deeply rooted, as it would seem, in the nature of her people,—-she owes by far the worst portion of her calamities. No doubt Pope Adrian, a man of the most shrewd practical intellect, and from the circumstances of his life, of the deepest experience in human nature, saw clearly enough then,—what continues to be seen so clearly by men of his stamp now,—that Ireland could never truly prosper, so long as left to her own management, by reason of the incurable defect mentioned above; and that, therefore, to sanction her sisterly, not her slavish connection, with a nation like the English, so eminent for those very qualities of order and self maintenance, in which she is so wanting, would be a work of as great charity in itself, as of mutual advantage to the parties concerned. For the rest, it should not be forgotten, that, however much the English occupation of Ireland may, through a series of causes, not to be foreseen in Adrian's time, have turned out a curse; yet the occupation in question had the immediate effect of producing the reform of those religious abuses, which constituted the worst misfortunes of the country, and which, till Henry had actually arrived thither, continued in all their hideous deformity. This happy result took place, under the auspices of Henry, at the synod of Cashel, summoned by him at the beginning of the year 1172, and attended by all the heads of the Irish clergy.
Besides the brief in question, Adrian gave to John of Salisbury, as the latter relates in the last chapter of his Metalogicus, a gold ring set with a fine emerald, for the king his master, in token of investment with the Lordship of Ireland; which important jewel, whose rare virtues, John of Salisbury adds, were he to describe, would require a volume to enumerate, was also deposited in the royal archives.
Not only Henry II. of England, but Louis VII. of France, a year or two later, solicited Adrian's approbation of a scheme of foreign conquest, which, in this case was intended to be carried out in Spain, where the French monarch pretended he wanted to serve the Church, by expelling the Saracens. But the pope treated the application of Louis, very differently to that of Henry. For in his brief of reply[5]after awarding all praise to the religious zeal alleged by the French king as his motive, he points out the flagrant wrong which Louis would commit in gratuitously interfering in the affairs of an independent nation like Spain,—the consent of whose princes could alone justify such a step: so that until such consent should be obtained, he, Adrian, could do nothing else than totally condemn and warn, him against his project.
Adrian's conduct in this instance, was not less consistent than in the other. For as over Ireland in its character of an island, he believed himself to possess, through the supposed testament of Constantine, certain rights, and thought proper to exercise them; so over Spain, being ignorant of any such rights, he arrogated none, but acted as became him on the general principles of Christian justice.
[1]Baronius, Annus, 1154
[2]Baronius, Annus 1159; rectified by Pagi to 1155.
[3]Topograp. Hiber. Distinc. tertia cap. 14.
[4]De vita Malachiæ Episcopi, cap. viii.
[5]Bouquet's Receuil, &c. t. 15. P. 690.
It was most likely on occasion of this embassy, that John of Salisbury,—although he mentions other visits paid by him to Adrian,—held the interesting conversation with the English pope, which he reports at length, in his Polycraticus.[1]In that work, he says, he well remembers how, during a sojourn at the papal court in Beneventum, he was treated on the most familiar footing by his Holiness; whose habit it was to gather round him a few select friends, with whom he would freely discuss a variety of topics; and how, among others, he once asked John to state candidly what he knew of the people's opinion, touching the Roman Church and her head. Whereupon, the envoy of Henry, using the liberty of the spirit, told without disguise, all that he had heard in various parts on the subject. For example: that the Roman Church, the mother of all others, showed herself according to many not so much a mother as a step-mother to her daughters. That scribes and pharisees sat in her, who loaded other mens' shoulders with burdens, which they would not touch even with their fingers. That these said scribes and pharisees played the tyrant over the clergy, and bore no palpable resemblance to such shepherds as tread the true path of life; but that they heaped up rich furniture, ornamented their tables with gold and silver plate, distracted the Church with controversies and by setting the pastors and the people by the ears. That they, in no manner, commiserated the sorrows of the unfortunate; but made merry over the plunder of churches, and administered justice, not according to the truth, but the price. Then, that other people said the Roman Pontiff himself was a tyrant; and that, while the churches, which their ancestors had built, were falling to ruin, and the altars stood desolate, he appeared abroad arrayed in gold and purple. But that the divine wrath would eventually overtake such priests as lived in pride and luxury, and levied taxes on the provinces like men, who meant to equal the wealth of Crœsus: "for the Lord had said, that as they measured out to others, so would he measure out to them: and the Ancient of Days could not lie." Upon hearing this, and much more to the same effect, the pope asked John of Salisbury what he himself thought? Who replied, that the question very much perplexed him, as, on the one hand, he feared to pass for a flatterer, if he went contrary to public opinion, and on the other, to give offence, if he spoke the truth. Nevertheless, as cardinal Guido Clement had bore witness in favour of the people, he, John of Salisbury, dared not contradict him. For the cardinal had said that the Church of Rome contained a world of avarice and deceit, from which every evil sprung. This he had not said in a corner, but before all his brethren, in presence of Pope Eugenius; and yet he, John of Salisbury, would not hesitate to declare that, as far as his experience went, he had never seen anywhere clergymen of greater virtue, or more opposed to avarice, than those of Rome. Such was the gravity and modesty of many of them, that in those respects they equalled Fabricius, while, in possessing the true faith, they had the advantage over him. Then, with regard to the pope himself,—as his Holiness insisted on being plainly spoken to,—he would say, that, inasmuch as the Holy Ghost could not err, so whatever his Holiness might teach, must be followed; though, what his Holiness might do, was not always to be imitated. His Holiness was styled Father and Lord of all: but why, if he was the Father, did he require presents from his children? and why, if he was the Lord, did he not strike awe into the Romans, curb their insolence, and reclaim them to their duty? At all this the pope laughed heartily, and expressed himself well pleased at having found a man so honest and plain spoken; adding, that if ever he should hear anything further to the same purpose, by no means to omit reporting it. Adrian then proceeded to pass his own conduct in review, said many things for and against himself, and made reflections on the arduousness of the papal office, affirming that no other was so full of cares, and that no man was more wretched than a Roman Pontiff: "for his throne was set with thorns, his mantle pierced with sharp points, and so heavy as to weigh the strongest shoulders to the ground." Much sooner would he prefer never to have left his native English soil, or to have remained for ever hidden in his cell at St. Rums, than to have entered such straits; but the divine dispensation had called him, and he dared not disobey. He further said, that it had always been the Lord's pleasure, that he should grow between the hammer and the anvil; that now he prayed the Lord would be pleased to put his hand under the burden, as it was become insupportable. The pope then concluded his observations, by relating to the company, the fable of the Belly and the Members,—which the charges laid at his door suggested to him, and which John of Salisbury gives at length in Adrian's words; a fable, by the way, which assuredly has lost none of its point since those times, but remains as pregnant with wisdom for the nineteenth, as for the twelfth century.
Pope Anastasius IV. had conferred on the Knights Hospitallers of Jerusalem the privilege of exemption from tithes on their property, in consideration of its exclusive destination to the relief of pilgrims and of the poor. This privilege soon gave rise to a quarrel between the knights and the clergy of Jerusalem,—-who naturally took it ill, that so important a source of revenue, as the tithes on the possessions of the order of St. John no doubt constituted, should thus be stopped. The patriarch reproached the grand master with abusing his privilege, and, at last, grew so embittered, that he drew up a charge against him, of acts of aggression on the rights of the oriental church,—for example: "That the Hospitallers allowed all such persons to attend their church as were excommunicated by the bishops, and did not even refuse such outcasts the holy sacrament and extreme unction when dying, as well as Christian burial when dead; that when, for some great crime, silence was imposed on the churches of a town or district, the knights were always the first to ring their bells, and call the people, on whom the interdict was laid, to Mass, for no other purpose, than to get the offerings and fees, which otherwise would accrue to the parish church; that the priests of St. John did not, on their ordination, present themselves, according to ancient custom, before the bishop of the diocese, to ask his permission to do duty therein; that the bishop was never advised of the lawful or unlawful suspension of a priest; lastly, that the knights of St. John absolutely refused to pay tithes on their property." From these general charges the patriarch next descended to particular ones of affronts to himself,—for instance: "That, as the hospital of St. John stood opposite the church of the Holy Sepulchre, the knights had erected their buildings on a scale of magnificence superior to the latter church, purely out of a feeling to insult the patriarch; moreover, that, when the patriarch ascended according to traditional usage, the place of our Saviour's passion, to absolve the people from their sins and preach to them, the Hospitallers invariably set all their bells a-ringing with such violence, as plainly proved that they meant to drown his voice and interrupt him in the performance of his duty; that when he had often complained to the citizens of this misconduct, and these had expostulated with the perpetrators, the latter only replied, that they would yet play him worse turns; that they had, in fact, kept their word; for they had shot arrows at him in the church itself, while celebrating there the divine offices. These arrows he (the patriarch) had caused to be picked up, and exposed in a bundle on Mount Calvary as a memorial."[2]
With these charges the patriarch, attended by other oriental prelates, set out for Italy, to lay his case before the pope. After running many perils by reason of the war, then going on between the pope and the king of Sicily, the party at last reached Beneventum. The trial that took place lasted several days; when the result of the pleadings for and against was, that Adrian became convinced of the hollowness of the accusations, laid by the patriarch against the knights of St. John, and, therefore, refused to grant the redress sought for,—namely, to annul the patent of privileges conferred by Anastasius. William of Tyre,—who describes the transaction as a partisan of the patriarch,—plainly says that the pope took bribes to decide as he did. But Pagi[3]denies this flatly, and affirms that Adrian proceeded in this, as well as in every other act of his authority, conscientiously and disinterestedly. Indeed, it is rather unfortunate for William of Tyre, that of the three cardinals, whom he alone excepts from the charge of bribery, two, namely, Octavian, and John of St. Martin,—afterwards figured as principal actors in the scandalous schism which rent the Church after Adrian's death: the first as Frederic Barbarossa's anti- pope, under the name of Victor IV. in opposition to Alexander III. the lawful pope; the second as Victor's legate, and as chief supporter, after his death, of Anacletus III., whom the emperor next started against Alexander. Peter of Blois, too, in his letter[4]to cardinal Papiensis, describes Octavian as having passed his whole life in amassing riches wherewith to disturb the Church, and as having been but too successful in corrupting a powerful party in the Roman curia to his views.
It had always been a leading concern of the popes to heal the schism between Constantinople and Rome. Adrian did his part, though fruitlessly, towards so great a work. Shortly after his accession, he sent to the Emperor Constantine legates on the subject, who also carried a letter from the pope to Basilius, bishop of Thessalonica,—one of the most influential and well disposed prelates, at that day, in the east. This letter was to request his co- operation in bringing about the re-union of the severed Churches. Basilius made answer, that unity might easily be restored, as no essential difference of belief existed between the two communions; in both of which one and the same doctrine was taught, and one and the same Lamb, namely Christ, offered up for the sins of the world; though without doubt, some minor discrepancies existed between the two, whose removal however belonged wholly to the pope: who, as he had the will had also the power, no less than our Saviour himself, to unite intoonewhat stood now so widely separated. Basilius would thus seem, to have been of opinion that he was in no wise cut off from the Catholic Church, notwithstanding the oriental might differ in certain rites from the western Church.[5]
It was an old and gross abuse of the age, that the nobles asserted the right to seize the effects of a bishop on his death. This abuse did not escape severe censure, from several synods. But Pope Adrian, it was, who condemned it the most effectually, by his bull to Berengarius, archbishop of Narbonne, (A. D. 1156,) on occasion of Ermengarda, Viscountess of Narbonne, renouncing the abuse in favour of that prelate, which renunciation, the papal bull was issued to confirm. In the year 1150, Raymond, count of Barcelona, made a similar renunciation by charter, when about to go on a distant and perilous journey. In it he says: "I hereby promise to God, to abolish the detestable custom which has hitherto prevailed in my states,—to wit, the custom whereby my bailiffs plundered the goods of a bishop when he died:—a proceeding which I own to be contrary to divine and human laws; wherefore, I renounce the said custom, and order that for the future, if any thing be found in the house or grounds of a bishop deceased, it shall be reserved for his successor."[6]
[1]Polycraticus, &c. lib. 6, cap, 24, and lib. 8, cap. 23.
[2]William of Tyre, lib. 18. cap. 3 & 7.
[3]Brev. Pontif. Rom. Annus 1154.
[4]No. 48.
[5]Pagi, ibid.
[6]Fleury, Livre 76.