After Clement V’s death in 1314, Robert promoted the candidacy of Jacques Duèze, who had administered Provence for the Angevins, served as chancellor of Naples from 1305 and been Robert’s personal counsellor until his accession in 1309. Jacques duly became pope in August 1316 with the name John XXII, and Robert maintained a close relationship with him. This papal connection proved extremely beneficial to the Angevins and in fact Robert spent 1319–1324 in Provence to be near the pope.
John XXII canonized Louis of Toulouse in 1317 and would canonize Thomas Aquinas in Robert’s presence in 1323, and he appointed Robert vicar of all imperial territories in 1317. However, despite the two men’s long friendship there was also tension, because the ideal of apostolic poverty as practiced by the extreme ‘Spiritual’ wing of the Franciscans, and which had troubled the papacy throughout the 13th century, offended the notoriously venal papal court in Avignon. John XXII condemned the Spirituals, and burnt four of their members at the stake in May 1318. The Angevins had traditionally supported the Spirituals, and as we know Robert’s early education and affection for Louis of Toulouse made him particularly attached to the order. Given Robert’s later actions, it may be that one of his reasons for choosing to live near the pope was an attempt to influence his opinion about this vexed question. Robert’s position as a philosopher king and champion of apostolic poverty by no means reduced his interest in royal magnificence, and he enjoyed making a show. When he began his move to Avignon in 1318, the list of his attendants includes 236 names, including chamberlains, knights, squires, constables, surgeons, barbers and ‘custodians of the royal cup’.3
Robert maintained close connections to Florence at a time when it was fighting its Ghibelline enemies, particularly the Visconti of Milan, who would dominate the north of Italy throughout the 14th century. Robert was in Florence in 1310 organizing resistance to Henry VII, and he was offered the signory for five years from 1313. Although not a warrior himself, like the future Charles V of France Robert did not shy away from military conflicts. When the Ghibelline lord of Pisa invaded Tuscany in 1314, Robert sent his brother Philip of Taranto with an Angevin army to resist him. The Angevins were heavily defeated at Montecatini in August 1315, and another of Robert’s brothers, Peter of Eboli, was killed in the battle. Although Florence urged Robert to avenge his brother, he failed to respond, leading the furious Florentines to accuse him of leaving Tuscany to be overrun. Robert brokered a peace between the Tuscan cities in 1317, but Florence was now suspicious of him, and particularly believed that his vicar was interfering with the city’s republican institutions. Despite this, Florence did not end Robert’s signory until 1321, but it did so on quite bad terms.
This was a poor choice, since the warlord Castruccio Castracane now invaded Tuscany, taking Pistoia in May 1325 and defeating a Guelf army and taking Fiesole in the hills above Florence in September. The Visconti were also on the move, attacking Bologna at the same time. Florence and Bologna now appealed for Robert’s help. Robert’s response is telling, since he preached a sermon to the ambassadors about the story of Joseph, and how his arrogant and ungrateful brothers had to beg for his help in Egypt after they had wronged him. Florence again offered Robert the signory, and he sent his only son Charles of Calabria to rule the city.4
Another threat now arose in the form of Ludwig of Bavaria, who became a candidate for Emperor in 1322. Ludwig chose the traditional Ghibelline alliance in Italy and thus opposed the pope, so he attacked John XXII’s position on apostolic poverty. Although Robert himself held a different view from the pope, he entered the fray in 1322 with his first religious treatise, on the theme of poverty. Ludwig’s position hardened and he declared the pope to be a heretic in May 1324, though as we would expect only Ludwig’s allies accepted this condemnation.
Ludwig and his army entered Italy in 1327, and Florence was justifiably fearful of his intentions. The Angevins also had cause to be worried, as the memory of Conradin lived on in the Empire: Matthias von Neuenburg reports that when Ludwig passed the castle in which he believed Conradin had been beheaded (mistakenly, since he was executed in Naples), he had it razed to the ground.5 Robert seemed to believe that allowing Ludwig a free hand in Tuscany would keep him from invading the Angevin kingdom, which is quite a hard-nosed calculation for the ‘King of Sermons’, and Charles of Calabria was recalled from Florence to defend the border. Despite Charles’s generally good reputation elsewhere, this decision was met with fury in Florence, and undermined Angevin standing in the city. Giovanni Villani commented that if Charles hadn’t left Florence the city would have risen against him and expelled him, and Florence would not accept another Angevin vicar until 1342.
Ludwig reached Rome on 7 January 1328, and despite abandoning Tuscany, Robert opposed this advance just as he had that of Henry VII, and in the same way, by sending his brother John of Gravina with an army to Rome to block the coronation, but John was defeated. We do now get a very clear sense that Robert, although perfectly prepared to use military power, preferred not to lead the armies himself and delegated authority to his brothers or son. This type of kingship, where a wise king would devote himself to managing the kingdom and let other more suitable commanders lead his armies, is one that we will see again with Robert’s near contemporary, Charles V of France, who resembled Robert in many ways.
Ludwig was crowned Emperor in Santa Maria Maggiore on 17 January 1328, and followed his condemnation of John XXII by declaring his deposition on 18 April and appointing a Spiritual Franciscan as anti-pope Nicholas V on 12 May. Although John XXII was not seriously threatened, these actions do demonstrate that the Empire was returning to its levels of influence of the 12th century, when Emperors frequently appointed their own candidates as rival ‘anti-popes’. Ludwig also declared Robert a rebel on the grounds that the Emperor somehow had authority over him, but this had no basis and Robert would only be threatened if Ludwig actually found sufficient military power to attack directly. As we would expect, a Crusade was duly declared against Ludwig, though this similarly had little impact.6
Despite Florentine unhappiness with his policies, Robert the Wise used Ludwig’s invasion as another opportunity to emphasize the holiness of his lineage. Giovanni Regina, a Dominican preacher closely connected to Robert’s court, gave a sermon in April 1328, when Charles of Calabria was leading the army to defend the border against Ludwig, in which he remarked upon beata stirps. He noted that like Robert, Charles of Anjou had fought the enemies of the church and Saint Louis was part of the Angevin lineage, and especially that Robert’s own brother Louis of Toulouse was a saint.7
Charles of Calabria, despite Villani’s caustic comments, had a generally positive reputation with contemporaries, and when he suddenly died of illness in November 1328 it was a serious blow for Robert. Charles had ruled the kingdom when Robert resided in Avignon from 1318–24, and he had taken the lead in the fight against Ludwig. Like many princes who died young, Charles was perhaps credited with more virtue than he actually possessed, but the chroniclers are fairly unanimous in their praise of him. The chronicler known as the ‘Roman Anonymous’ says of Charles of Calabria: ‘He was a very judicious man and said, “King Charles our great-grandfather acquired and maintained this realm through military prowess, my grandfather through generosity, my father through wisdom. Therefore I want to maintain it through justice.” Strenuously did the duke strive to serve highest justice.’8 The Chronicle of Parthenope also reports that when Charles ruled the kingdom during Robert’s absence, he put a bell outside the royal castle that anyone could ring, whereupon he would appear and render justice to them.
In the midst of Ludwig of Bavaria’s invasion, Robert now faced trouble from an unexpected quarter when John XXII betrayed him. John, like all popes, was deeply troubled by the disturbed condition of Italy and hoped to find a stable solution. Given recent Crusades against Genoa, Venice and the Visconti of Milan, it was clear that none of the existing powers in northern Italy was to his liking, and John never suppor
ted the utopian dream of a united Angevin kingdom of Italy. Who was left? John opposed Ludwig of Bavaria’s invasion, so the Empire was not a possibility. Despite the catastrophe of Philip the Fair and Boniface VIII’s conflict, France was once again home of the ‘most Christian’ king as well as being perceived as the most powerful state in Europe. John therefore approached the current French king, Philip VI, and proposed that he should rule a ‘kingdom of Lombardy’ as the papal champion in northern Italy, basically taking over the old imperial role.
Yet as was so often the case, events overtook the pope. Even as these discussions were underway in 1330, King John of Bohemia, son of the former Emperor Henry VII and a potential rival to Ludwig, began his own campaign in Italy. He quickly took the signory of Brescia in 1330, and by 1331 he was lord of most of Lombardy. This drove Ludwig back to the Empire, an undeniably good result for Robert, but also had an unexpected consequence: the pope’s plan for a ‘kingdom of Lombardy’ had now almost come to fruition, only with a different ruler. John XXII was in a different mould to the popes of the 13th century and didn’t fall into a vendetta as his predecessors had against the Hohenstaufen. Instead the pope adroitly pivoted and recognized John of Bohemia as overlord of Lombardy, leaving Philip VI and Robert out of the equation.
John of Bohemia was aware of the pope’s initial plan with Philip VI, so he in turn began negotiations with Philip to arrange a division of northern Italy between them and then seek the pope’s approval. John XXII willingly joined these discussions, and as had happened before, talk of dividing the old imperial possessions in northern Italy quickly extended to comprise the ‘kingdom of Arles’, including Provence. The pope now agreed that John of Bohemia would rule the kingdom of Lombardy and Philip VI would rule the kingdom of Arles, completely betraying Robert in both Italy and Provence.
The one seemingly unchanging truth about Italian politics since the 1260s, the singularity of purpose between the pope and the Angevins, was thus overturned. Although technically assigning these new ‘kingdoms’ to other rulers would not dispossess Robert of anything, in fact it would deliver a fatal blow against Angevin authority. This led to an equally unprecedented political move: Robert gathered his Guelf allies and formed a previously unthinkable alliance with the Ghibelline cities of the north to resist ‘whoever comes to trouble the peace in Italy, including the Empire and the Church.’9
In the midst of this complicated situation, something utterly extraordinary happened. On the Feast of All Saints in 1331, John XXII began a sermon in Avignon in which he – quite casually – asked if saints really saw God immediately when they arrived in heaven, or if they would have to wait until Judgement Day. John developed this theme in another sermon and again challenged the doctrine of the ‘Beatific Vision’, essentially espousing heretical views himself.10
A potential imperial invasion of Italy, the church riven by a spiritual monastic movement, Guelfs and Ghibellines joining forces (like lambs and wolves, as the chroniclers said) and now a heretical pope. It did seem to be the end of days. The theological basis for this consternation over John XXII’s views was that so much church doctrine was underpinned by the Beatific Vision. The entire cult of the saints depended on the idea that saints were with God in heaven and could intercede with him, otherwise there would be no point in praying to them.
Robert intervened in a characteristic way, asking the pope if he could rebut this scandalous opinion, and he produced a treatise in two parts on the Beatific Vision. This is a fairly standard theological work, but it does demonstrate Robert’s erudition, and suggests that Petrarch’s description of him in his Letter to Posterity as ‘the only monarch of our age who was the friend at once of learning and of virtue’11 wasn’t idle flattery. Robert marshalled an impressive array of authorities to support his position, and divided the treatise into sections where he set out scholastic arguments (the saints on earth see God, Moses and Saint Paul saw God on earth, therefore the saints must also see God in Heaven) and drew heavily on the work of the recently canonized Aquinas, whose canonization he had been instrumental in securing. More interestingly from our point of view, he then included a section where he drew on pre-Christian philosophers to show that the most ancient human traditions supported his opinions, citing Seneca, Apuleius, Aristotle, Macrobius and Boethius within the first paragraph. Appealing to pagan philosophers is not so surprising, but he then referenced Avicenna and Algazel, showing a quite unexpected openness to Islamic thought. Robert concluded by appealing to Virgil’s Eclogues and Georgics, but then disarmingly admitted that he didn’t have the original works with him, so people with better memories would have to find the exact references.12
We have seen royal authors before and will see them again, but the level and quality of Robert’s output is unique. This raises the question of whether he really did write the works attributed to him, but a recent modern editor (M. Dykmans) argues persuasively that he did. Dykmans notes that the treatise on the Beatific Vision and Robert’s treatise on Apostolic Poverty have a similar idiosyncratic style; there aren’t any reasonable candidates at Robert’s court who were available to write both; and that the treatises are clearly written by a layman, with a personal quality that suggests Robert himself was the author.13 Robert duly sent his treatise on the Beatific Vision to John XXII, who received it cordially. More importantly, Robert’s ambassadors who carried the treatise to Avignon also negotiated with the pope and managed to achieve a reconciliation.
By June 1333 Robert’s Italian league had succeeded: John of Bohemia gave up his plans to rule a northern Italian kingdom, and he withdrew from Italy. Not coincidentally, Angevin support for the Spiritual Franciscans also waned, John XXII ended his persecution of the Spirituals and the traditional papal-Angevin alliance was restored. John XXII, who was nearly ninety, died in 1334 and the episode was at an end.
The events surrounding John of Bohemia and Philip VI should put paid to the idea that the Neapolitan (or indeed the Hungarian) Angevins were ‘French’ in the way that Charles of Anjou had been. The Angevins were independent and, in this case, actually opposed to France. Even after the failure of his plot, Philip VI would still buy the rights to the signory of Lucca from John of Bohemia, prompting Robert to lodge a formal protest at this intervention in Italy. Certainly Petrarch and Boccaccio viewed Robert and his successor Johanna as ‘Italian’ rulers and did not see them as foreign, and on this occasion the Angevins were acting against their traditional papal and French alliances.14
Interestingly, during the first conflict between Emperor and Angevin, some of Robert’s supporters began to agitate for Robert to become king of a united Italy, and this idea would reappear. The most famous example came in 1335–36 with the Regia carmina, a sumptuously illuminated manuscript paean to Robert prepared by the people of Prato in which a personification of Italy tells Robert that he must take her into his protection for her own safety. This is followed by personifications of Rome and Florence also pleading for his rule, as Rome has been deserted by the pope and Tuscany doesn’t have a king. The document was circulated in at least five copies, of which three survive, the best being the British Library copy with a stunning portrait illumination of Robert, which given its idiosyncrasies seems to be a good likeness. Robert’s gaunt face and prominent nose resemble Charles of Anjou’s portrait statue, and the background of fleurs-de-lys ties him to the Capetians in a way that was perhaps unwarranted.
The Regia carmina also lauds Robert as the sole hope of the entire world, not just Italy, because of his role as King of Jerusalem. Robert treasured this title, as would his descendants and other Angevins down through King René, because, empty though it was, it was such a resonant title that it gave its holder priority over other monarchs. Robert did accept that some duties came with the title, and he wrote to the sultan of Egypt to ensure safe conduct for Christians travelling to the Holy Land, and he joined in the general correspondence to the Mongol Khans and other Tatar leaders exhorting them to convert to Christianity. What he d
id not accept was any role as a leader of Crusades. When the pope called for a general Crusade in 1333 with the support of France, Venice and Cyprus, Robert agreed to provide sixteen ships, but when the expedition actually began in 1334 he only provided two. Although the Christian fleet did defeat a Turkish fleet in the east, nothing else came of the expedition and it returned having accomplished almost nothing. Still, given the situation Robert had just faced with invasions of Italy by Ludwig and John of Bohemia, it may have been too ambitious to expect him to send much support.
The timing of the Regia carmina is interesting, coming after Robert’s conflict with the Emperor, and in light of the pope taking the side of Robert’s opponents. The Regia carmina alludes to this, saying that Robert is the true saviour of Italy precisely because he led an alliance of the Guelfs and Ghibellines to oppose a papally sanctioned invasion by a foreign power. This is an explosive idea, but one which gained little momentum as Robert reconciled with the pope and seemed to have no interest in promoting his own leadership of Italy.15
That said, Robert was still interested in building Angevin power in northern Italy and the Alps. At this time, the ruler of the Dauphiné, Umberto II, was childless and had enormous debts, and was looking for someone to buy his realm. The Dauphiné is the region centred on Grenoble, west of Piedmont and north of Provence, and thus would have meshed well with Robert’s territories. Unfortunately Robert was unable to afford the 20,000 ounces of gold Umberto II needed. In 1349 Umberto eventually found a buyer in Philip VI of France, and one of the conditions of the sale was that the heir to the French throne would take Umberto’s title and be known as the ‘Dauphin’, a condition that was honoured until the end of the French monarchy.16
Angevin Dynasties of Europe 900-1500 Page 36