Jerusalem gaude nomen Domini venerare
Magnifica laude: vis ut dicam tibi quare?
Rex quia magnificus Jesus olim, nunc Fridericus,
Promptus uterque pati, sunt in te magnificati.
Obtulit ille prior semet pro posteriori
Et pro posterior sua seque prioris honore. …
Both Kings of Jerusalem, in Christian times Christ the first, Frederick the last, the Saviour and the Emperor, both thought of together as the successors of David, as the Son of God, the spirits like unto angels that mediate between God and man. Godfrey and his successors on the throne of Jerusalem had rejoiced in no such connection, but then they had not been Roman Emperors, Rulers of the World.
“Christus vincit, Christus regnat, Christus imperat,” the historic coronation cry of the Sicilian kings, dating from the earliest days of Christianity, when still-surviving paganism represented Christ in the figure of Apollo, was more than ever the watchword of the triumphant world ruler. Frederick II was fain to compare himself wielding the swords of justice and of power with the royal and victorious Christ, the hero of the Germanic peoples, as the old Saxon poem of the Heliand depicted him, the warrior Lord with his battle companions. This was Kaiser Frederick’s limit. Quite expressly this Fulfiller of the Law had been called “a token of similarity to the Only-Begotten Son as second Cherub not a Seraph. …” But the “Other” had become man once more: Francis of Assisi had again incarnated the seraphic Christ, the Redeemer, the Sufferer.
While still a boy Frederick II had offered himself to God after his first triumph in Aix. Fifteen years later in the prime of life, in his thirty-fifth year, he had in Jerusalem made good his boyish vow, and in a second triumph united himself with God. The distant future held a third triumph in store. Frederick’s triumphs were always of the kind that opened to him new spheres. A critical change is to be noted: in the Puer Apuliae the Church herself, and with her Pope Innocent III, had triumphed; in the godlike triumph of the excommunicate Emperor in Jerusalem the Church had neither part nor lot—through the fault of the irreconcilable High Priest. Not one word of Frederick’s manifesto alludes to the Church triumphant; the Victor was God, was the Saviour and through God the Emperor. Their deeds are one and the relation of the miracles bring thereof the clearest proof; they display Frederick in tune with God, much as Caesar’s tale of portents on the day of Pharsalia, showed Caesar in harmony with the Roman Pantheon. Not through the Church, but alongside and without the Church, Frederick II had consummated his triumph as it were an unio mystica. It is not irrelevant to note how the Emperor’s great antagonist, St. Francis, through deepest humiliation, achieved outside the Church his union with God. Neither the glorious triumph of the Emperor nor the unexampled humility of St. Francis could in fact find a place within the Church; as Spirits, as Cherub, and as Seraph they might serve the Church with sword and palm in her strife against infidel and heretic, but both had outgrown the mediation of the Church, and as immediately in touch with God they both were driven to create: the one a following, an Order of his own, the other a State.
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The Emperor Frederick’s self-coronation at the Saviour’s tomb serves as a tangible expression of this immediacy. He already shared the atmosphere of romance and fatefulness that surrounded the Khalifs; he now wore the divine halo of an eastern potentate. As the sibylline saying had foretold—though in far other wise than the world had understood—the rulers of East and West were united in Jerusalem in the one person of Frederick II, and the Holy City was free. With Frederick, the only emperor who in Jerusalem wore the crown of Jerusalem, the epoch of a Christian Empire was ended. A new era was dawning. Out of the East Frederick brought back not the renewal of a Christian Empire, but the birth of Western “Monarchy.” His was the last figure round which the double glory played: the old Christian majesty and sanctity and the new western secular monarchy. The Frankish-Germanic feudal kingship which sanctified blood and race, the Hohenstaufen-Roman Empire of Barbarossa, which sanctified the office, had been further exalted under Frederick II by the eastern conception of despotism which worshipped the actual wielder of power as such, the person of the ruler as the Homo Dei, a god-man, a son of God, himself divine. This fourth and last coronation marked the end of Frederick’s personal “development,” his purely individual rise to power: no further growth was possible to him as a man, save with and through his states. The question was whether he could awaken an echo in some nation, whether some people could comprehend him, us the divine power within him seemed to portend.
The eastern successes began to act with steadying force on the Emperor’s tottering position in the West; at first only in Germany, where the papal machinations had all along carried but little weight, while the reports of the Emperor’s victories had carried much. Duke Albert of Saxony immediately issued the joyous manifesto to the Germans in Reval, while Count Adolfus of Holstein dated his documents “in the year of the reconquest of the Holy Land by Frederick the unconquered Roman Emperor.”
In Sicily, on the other hand, the prospect was blacker than ever. In spite of the zeal of the Lords of Aquino, and the Chief Justice Henry of Morra and the Regent Reginald of Spoleto and the Saracens—showing for the first time their full worth—the kingdom was proving not nearly so invulnerable as Frederick had hoped, particularly in the absence of its king. The imperial forces were divided; one detachment lay in the Abruzzi, the other in Capua. The Pope’s Soldiers of the Keys, under the leadership of John, quondam King of Jerusalem, had succeeded in invading the kingdom and reducing the majority of the continental provinces. The Church played her favourite rôle of “Liberator of the Oppressed.” The yoke of Frederick II had been no light one; the Pope spread rumours of the Emperor’s death, and freed Sicilian subjects from their allegiance. These combined causes hastened the downfall of the imperial rule in the peninsula. Nevertheless, a faithful few retained their loyalty and looked for Frederick’s return as eagerly as the Papalists feared it. John of Brienne, the Pope’s general, had secretly given orders to watch the ports of Apulia and take the Emperor prisoner in the moment of landing. Suddenly in early June 1229—in spite of all these precautions—the rumour arose that the Emperor was in Apulia.
Before quitting the Holy Land Frederick had had some further unpleasant experiences. In his address to the assembled pilgrims after his coronation in Jerusalem he had been most scrupulous, in accordance with the line he had adopted from the first, to use only conciliatory phrases in speaking of the Pope. Instead of raising complaints against Gregory, which would have been easy, he took pains to find excuses for him. It was no less in harmony with the whole conduct of the Papalist party that they redoubled their hostile activities and intrigues as his success increased. The Pope had dubbed Frederick a “pirate” and refused to recognise his crusadership. The patriarch Gerold had, therefore, full assurance that none of his perfidious schemes would rouse the disapproval which Frederick had prophesied to the pilgrims. Thus it came about that Frederick’s eventful stay in Jerusalem lasted only two days: he entered on a Saturday, crowned himself on Sunday, and quitted the town on Monday. For Gerold had not only ordered a Dominican to renew the Pope’s excommunication, but had actually laid the Holy City under an interdict—to the indescribable wrath of the pilgrims. They could not offer their prayers in the holy places which the Emperor had restored to them and felt themselves befooled by Church and Pope. The Emperor forthwith left Jerusalem after a smart encounter with Templars and clergy—the Templars’ plot to betray him falls chronologically here. For the rest, his advice to the pilgrims was to join him and embark with him from Acre.
There was nothing now to detain Frederick in the Holy Land. Bad news from Sicily had reached Acre. He looked impatiently forward to the return, and had ordered his admiral, Henry of Malta, to be ready by Easter with the galleys in Acre. The wildest and most shameful scene was to come before he left Palestine. In spite of Frederick’s veto the Patriarch had enlisted troops in the Emperor’s own ki
ngdom of Jerusalem. This defiance of the imperial authority was the more flagrant that the troops could only be wanted to serve against the Emperor himself, since a truce existed with the Saracens. In retaliation the imperial troops shut up the Patriarch and the Templars in their own quarters in Acre, cut off their supplies, blockaded the town, tore from the pulpits and thoroughly thrashed a couple of mendicant monks who were preaching against Frederick and stirring up disorder. This was not all. As the Emperor on the early morning of the appointed day was preparing to embark, the populace, incited by the Papalists, pursued him, throwing filth at him and his followers. With a curse upon his lips Frederick left the Holy Land.
A few weeks later the unexpected happened in Apulia. Outdistancing the other Crusaders Frederick II landed on June 10th in Brindisi—“God keep it,” he wrote to the Amir Fakhru’d Din. His arrival was so surprising that the townspeople could not conceive what it meant when they saw the imperial standard unfurled. They had long been mourning their Emperor’s death. Not till they had seen him with their own eyes did they realise the papal treachery. Then they hastened to welcome their master with joyful acclamation. The news of Frederick’s return spread like wildfire through Sicily. The whole situation was changed. The Emperor went immediately to Barletta and issued a stirring proclamation announcing his unexpected return, exhorting the Capua detachment to hold out and preserve their loyalty. He despatched Count Thomas of Aquino to their help and promised to follow shortly in person. In the meantime he speedily assembled troops, yet avoided undue haste. His adherents poured in from all sides; Reginald of Spoleto from the Abruzzi with his detachment, the Chief Justice with his Saracens and all other Sicilians who had remained faithful. A fortunate coincidence turned to Frederick’s advantage. A severe storm had compelled a large body of Teutonic Knights to land in Brindisi on their way back from the Holy Land. They forthwith declared themselves willing to join Frederick. Some Pisans also made their appearance. If the Emperor once more pointed to the direct intervention of Divine Providence and God’s active miracles on his behalf he had every right to do so.
It was a remarkable army that assembled around Frederick II: Sicilians, German Crusaders, imperial Saracens fighting side by side against the Lombards and the soldiers of the Pope. Or, rather, prepared to fight against them; for matters did not progress so far. The mere terror of the Emperor’s name, the realisation of the Pope’s deceit in spreading false news of his death, arrears of pay, bad leadership, and in the Lombards’ case a strong disinclination to be caught in open treachery and rebellion against their overlord: all this chased the Army of the Keys in complete demoralisation back to the frontiers of the Papal States. The appearance of the Emperor, his mere name, had acted like a paralysing charm. Here and there the papal soldiers succeeded in making a stand, but when the Emperor set out for Capua at the end of August no stronghold could retain the warriors of the Holy See: without waiting to be attacked they fled across the border. In vain the papal legate seized the Church treasures of Monte Cassino and San Germano to pay the troops. What indignation when one day Frederick II did the like!
Such was the famous rout of the Soldiers of the Keys and their expulsion from Sicily. That ended the campaign and left the world full of admiration for the Emperor, who once again had won a bloodless victory. The Muslims compared him to Alexander; the Greek Emperor of Nicaea sent an embassy, and, later, costly gifts and a large sum of money for his help. Simultaneously the Emperor’s supporters in Northern Italy succeeded in conquering the Lombard League. Within four days two hundred towns had declared for the Emperor. Very few still held out. It had become important to make a deterrent example; the town of Sora, which was still in rebellion, was besieged by the Emperor in person, conquered and reduced to ashes, and was to remain uninhabited for all time. The plough should furrow the site of the faithless city as of old the site of Carthage, so Frederick later phrased it. It may easily be conceived that the Emperor exercised extreme severity towards a few traitors and faithless officials. Any who had hoped for elevation through the Emperor’s fall should now enjoy an extra lofty gallows—the chronicler tells us. As penalty for the treachery of the Templars in Palestine Frederick confiscated all the Sicilian goods and possessions of the Templars and the Knights of St. John.
What was the Pope’s attitude to it all? He was in a most difficult position: the hatred of the nobles kept him banished from Rome; his supplies of cash and war material were exhausted; the Lombards had left him in the lurch; his cries to the western kings for help were unheeded. Yet not one of the Emperor’s numerous embassies to Gregory IX met with the smallest success. It was not he, defeated though he might be, who was going to give in. The Emperor must yield. Frederick had a clear field; there was nothing to prevent his conquering the entire papal territory and compelling the Pope to make peace—as he did on a later occasion. Yet, at the frontier he halted with his forces, most prudently still preserving the unimpeachable tone of moderation and placability which he had from the first maintained. He was well aware that in the present state of affairs he did the Pope more harm by this submissive approach than by any show of violence. He made the Pope from first to last the sole disturber of the peace of Europe, and he reaped more advantage from that than from a temporary occupation of Church lands, a continuation of the ban and the martyrdom of the spiritual overlord of Christendom. Just now the Empire sorely needed new organisation and settlement. So the German Grand Master, who had already sued in vain for peace, was sent again to Gregory. A section of the College of Cardinals disapproved of the papal policy, and so a truce at least was concluded. The Pope agreed most reluctantly, though he was the sole gainer. As for Frederick, a beginning had been made towards peace.
Negotiations dragged on for the best part of a year, and throw a remarkable light on the overwhelmingly strong position of the Church. The victorious Emperor was suppliant for peace, while the defeated Pope refused every concession and sought to dictate the terms of a peace which he did not desire. This demonstrates how small an element in the Pope’s power was military strength, and how unassailable was the Head of the Roman Church. It lay in Gregory’s competence to release Frederick from the ban, or not, and Frederick remained a disobedient child of the Church until he had surrendered in every detail. Pope Gregory was entirely undisturbed by the fact that the basis of the excommunication lay in the non-fulfilment of the Crusader’s vow, and that this had now become completely meaningless. Gregory had sought to ruin the hated Emperor, and, since he had failed in his main object, the Emperor must purchase his release all the more dearly by concessions in Sicily. Thus it was the Emperor, not the Pope, who needed peace. Threats of war did not alarm the Pope: they gratified him rather. During the whole course of the negotiations Frederick displayed an incredible patience, an almost inconceivable submissiveness, and it was not his fault that war almost broke out afresh. At this point the Emperor summoned the German princes to use their influence on the Pope, and they were so far successful that they achieved an understanding, after themselves guaranteeing the Emperor’s good faith, which left Gregory no conceivable pretext for refusing peace. He was loth to lift the ban, if only because this stultified his whole previous procedure. It undoubtedly created a remarkable impression when the Pope, in the summer of 1230, again greeted as the “beloved son of the Church” the Emperor whom he had so recently condemned as a “disciple of Muhammad.” The world was not blind to the effect. One contemporary stigmatises the whole course of events that opened with the Treaty of San Germano and terminated in the Peace of Ceperano as a “disgrace to the Church.” A troubadour expressed himself still more forcibly when he cursed the Pope and breathed threats against the papal capital: “It is my comfort, Rome, that you will plunge to ruin, when the rightful Emperor comes to his own again and acts as he ought.”
It was with a view to restoring his fortune—that is: his power—that Frederick was willing to accept the terms of this most unfavourable peace. He granted an amnesty to the Pope’s parti
sans in Sicily, restored all Church property confiscated during the war, including that of the Templars and of the Knights of St. John, and these were the least of his concessions. The chief place was taken, as of course, by the questions of the Church’s personnel in Sicily, for Pope Gregory was no longer content with the Concordat of Queen Constance. It seemed to contravene all Frederick’s principles that, for the sake of escaping from the excommunication he was prepared to make the most sweeping concessions: the Sicilian clergy—with a few exceptions—should no longer be amenable to secular law, should no longer be subject to general taxation, and in the matter of episcopal elections it would seem that the Emperor went so far as to renounce the right of consent he had hitherto exercised. Very different opinions have been held about this treaty, so wholly at variance with Frederick’s victories, but historians have on the whole tended to overvalue the rights surrendered. It is clear from the quarrel with Pope Honorius III that the Emperor’s right of consent had been in practice of extremely little use; the question of taxation and secular courts for the clergy had always been points at issue. As long as the Emperor was on good terms with the Pope such difficulties could be got over. In case of war, which Frederick after his recent experiences must have felt to be very imminent, all such agreements fell to the ground. The most important thing for the Emperor at the moment was to gain time to reorganise his kingdoms, to concentrate his scattered powers, and then to subdue Lombardy. With a view to this it was vital to have even a few years of peace, and it was even of greater importance to have the Church, in spite of her collusion with the Lombard League, as a neutral, or better still an ally, in this struggle against rebels and heretics. The moment was favourable. For in the Sicilian campaign the Lombards had not supported the Pope to anything like the degree he had wished, and all Frederick’s relations to Gregory for the next few years were intended to demonstrate how immensely more advantageous in the three-party struggle was an alliance of Pope and Emperor against Lombards, than one of Pope and Lombards against Emperor. This unity of the two powers of Church and Empire was always dear to Frederick’s heart; he was wholly sincere in seeking it, and he had the world behind him: it represented the God-ordained constitution. In this outlook Frederick was completely reactionary; he sought eagerly to secure the Curia at any price, to wean her from the Lombard confederacy, to re-awaken all the aristocratic elements in the Church in order to re-establish the old traditional unity of the two powers. He might be for a time successful, and for the moment the Pope considered an alliance with Frederick useful on other grounds, for his position between Emperor and Lombards was an uneasy one. All three parties were in sore need of a breathing space, yet the more all three recovered their strength the more ominous and oppressive to the world at large was the thunderous atmosphere of threatening storm.
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