Nothing had yet happened, but the authorities began to devise a plan for the pope to step down. Uncertainty reigned in Naples and rippled throughout Christendom for eight full days.
The Lawyers Go to Work
Celestine wanted to go, but he needed the assistance of experts in order to make his case.
Every ruler is surrounded by lawyers, and popes are no exception. The origins of canon law come from the “canons” established by the original apostles at the Council of Jerusalem circa 50 C.E. Going even further back, canon law can be traced to the tradition of expertise in Jewish law in the days of Jesus’ youth, and the Pharisees and other legal experts with whom Jesus often conversed, as is recorded in the Gospels. Some famous canon lawyers in recent history have been Pope Benedict XV (1914–22), who trained as a civil lawyer before he was ever ordained to the priesthood; and Pope Pius XII (1939–58), the holy father who reigned during the Holocaust. Just as legal experts advise presidents and prime ministers on how to interpret laws and treaties, church lawyers provide similar services for rulers who are bound by ecclesiastical laws and precedent.
Canon lawyers have been behind-the-scenes actors in many of the most crucial episodes in religious history. For instance, when King Henry VIII was attempting to divorce his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, in order to marry his second wife (and third, and fourth, etc.), he consulted with canon lawyers. They worked during the night for weeks in order to find precedent and justification for what Henry desired to do. Similarly, in December 1294 Cardinal Gaetani rapidly began to investigate how it might be possible to justify the abdication of a pope.
Faced with many opportunities, canonists had for centuries considered the possibility of removing a pope for reasons of gross heresy. Each time such a maneuver was considered, the lawyers concluded that even if a man seemed unworthy of the office, the office (the papacy) was higher than any man. In the end, it was decided that no man could properly judge that a pope should be removed from the office. But never before had canon lawyers considered a willing, self-enacted, removal.
What Celestine and Gaetani were considering is not that far removed from the events of our own time. Many may remember that John Paul II was rumored to be considering resignation for years as his Parkinson’s symptoms grew worse before our eyes. The Italian press periodically reported that his health was hanging by a thread, or that he was enduring near suffocation, or that he couldn’t breathe fully on his own, or that he was suffering from some other problem connected with his chronic malady. On one occasion the Vatican’s secretary of state, Cardinal Angelo Sodano, was asked whether or not John Paul II would ever consider resigning. The cardinal’s answer made headlines around the world:
If there is a man who loves the Church more than anybody else, who is guided by the Holy Spirit, if there’s a man who has marvelous wisdom, that’s him. We must have faith in the Pope. He knows what to do.4
A pope simply does not resign, many said. Who, after all, is “above” a pope who can accept such a resignation?5 And the same media who quoted Cardinal Sodano in February 2005 also pointed out that there was a notorious case of a previous pope who’d resigned in the late thirteenth century. There was one precedent.
But in 1294 there was no such precedent. A case had to be prepared. We no longer possess whatever briefs Gaetani prepared for the holy father, but the cause for abdication was clear. Gaetani wrote for the pope a decree stating that a papal resignation was both possible and acceptable under certain circumstances. First, it was acceptable on the very grounds that made it most shocking: if it was clearly the voluntary act of a man in charge of all of his faculties. Second, it would have to be enacted in a proper and orderly fashion. And third, it could be done if it was absolutely necessary. On this last point there was no question remaining. There was no other course to take. Eight years later, the French philosopher John of Paris would summarize these conditions this way:
If, after his election to the papacy a pope should find himself or should be discovered to be totally inept or useless or if an impediment should arise, such as insanity or anything similar, he should request to be relieved by the people or by the cardinals who in such a case represent the whole clergy and people, and he should, permission received or not, cede his high place.6
So Celestine not only had a plan of what to do but had laid the groundwork to do it. He would move forward, trusting Gaetani’s advice.
17
THE NEW ADVENT OF FRIAR PETER
The Announcement
On December 12 Celestine was resolved in his decision. And then on December 13, the Feast of Saint Lucy, he read a statement out to the cardinals who had assembled to hear news that was, by that time, already well leaked.
First, he ordered them, by holy obedience, not to interrupt him. Then he read:
I, Celestine V, moved by valid reasons, that is, by humility, by desire for a better life, by a troubled conscience, troubles of body, a lack of knowledge, personal shortcomings, and so that I may then proceed to a life of greater humility, voluntarily and without compunction give up the papacy and renounce its position and dignity, burdens and honors, with full freedom. I now instruct the Sacred College of cardinals to elect and provide, according to the canons, a shepherd for the Universal Church.1
He’d declared himself to be essentially inutilis, “useless.”
With this written resignation Celestine gave three reasons for his leaving: his old age, his desire for asceticism, and a spiritual temperament that made him a poor pope. At the conclusion of his statement, Celestine stepped down from the papal throne from which he’d stood countless times. He removed his ring, tiara, and mantle, handing them to the men who had elected him.
Then he sat down on the floor.
Within a few hours, Peter stepped back into the dress of the simplest of friars—the grey habit of a Celestine hermit—and prepared to leave. As he departed, most certainly secreted away from the crowd waiting outside, he probably felt a mix of relief and fear. The sounds of the street probably terrified him: the hum and swarms of people, sailors, servants, soldiers, merchants, horses, the clamor of wagons on rough stone streets, their barreled cargo rattling on its way to early morning destinations. He wanted neither castle nor city.
The Immediate Aftermath
Word of Celestine’s resignation spread immediately. Before he surrendered the papacy, he had told the cardinals that they were to hold a papal election for his replacement. And his replacement would, of course, be the same man who had befriended him and helped him to resign the papacy. In fact, one of our most thorough records of Celestine’s statement on December 13 comes from Cardinal Gaetani. He tells the story thirty-nine months later in one small part of his large collection of canonical rules and papal bulls, Liber Sextus (“Six Books”), using the royal “Us” and “Our” common in papal self-reference:
Some curious people have been arguing about things that are not very appropriate, and seeking rashly, against the teaching of the Apostle, to know more than it is good to know. They have seemed, without much thought, to raise anxious doubts as to whether the Roman Pontiff, even when he recognizes himself incapable of ruling the Universal Church and of bearing the burden of the Supreme Pontificate, can validly renounce his office, its burden, and honor, as in the person of Pope Celestine V, Our predecessor, who while still presiding over the government of this Church, wished to cut off all the matter for hesitation on the subject, deliberated with his brothers, the cardinals of the Roman Church, of whom We were one, and with the concordant counsel and assent of Us and of them all, by apostolic authority established and decreed, that the Roman Pontiff may freely resign.
From those first moments as Peter prepared to walk away, it appeared that Gaetani’s aid had been disingenuous. During the election in Perugia five months earlier, Gaetani was not an obvious candidate, but even before Celestine stepped down Gaetani seemed to be at the center of everything. For his part, Gaetani made known to the other cardinals the close
feelings that he shared with Celestine and how he’d been instrumental in helping the saintly man escape the responsibilities that he clearly couldn’t handle. There is even a story, later released by Gaetani himself, that the crownless Celestine came to him and begged him to correct his many mistakes.2
The Flight into Egypt
The hermit left Castle Nuovo on Christmas Eve 1294 as a free man and began his journey home to the Abruzzi. The holy man was looking to the mountains where he, again, might remember who he was and how to live his sanctified life.
By now eighty-five, the former pope had to have been accompanied on his journey by others. Most likely a retinue of the papal curia, the very few who remained faithful to the father of the Celestines, journeyed with him. As he set out in the direction of his home, people began to seek him out along the way. Enthusiasts, clergy, and the curious began to form around him. Peter made his way from the alien places surrounding Naples to the familiar locations closer to his friends and followers and home. He must have felt like a freed animal.
We don’t know exactly how long Peter’s journey north and east lasted. It couldn’t have been more than a month or two. He seems to have traveled as far as his beloved Mount Morrone, to his secluded cell of Onofrio. That’s all that he wanted—to return to his eremitic life. There he knew what he could do. There he was adored and respected. But Peter didn’t feel safe at Onofrio for very long.
The evening before Peter left, the ten-day waiting period was coming to an end and the College of Cardinals got ready to name the next pope. The gathering of twenty-two cardinals knew of Gaetani’s influence, expertise, and fierce intellect. He was outside of most of the intrigue between the competing families and the issues that usually split a conclave; and in this case, the cardinals understood the desperate need that the people were feeling for direction and firm leadership. Gathered at Castle Nuovo under Charles II’s watchful eye, the College spent only one day in conclave, beginning late on December 23. Late that evening on the first ballot they elected Matthew Orsini, who declined the honor. On the second balloting, as Peter was walking through Naples, Benedict Gaetani won the majority.
Charles II watched these proceedings closely. The French king had become so powerful that Cardinal Gaetani saw fit to secure his endorsement before his election by the cardinals was confirmed. Gaetani visited with Charles, telling him that they would jointly fight the interests of the Ghibellines, and that as pope he would do all he could to help Charles retake Sicily. The election result was then announced to the crowd outside.
Cardinal Gaetani took the name Pope Boniface VIII. He left Naples by January 1, 1295, and was crowned at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome on January 23. Afterward he immediately went to the Lateran Palace to take it for himself and his office. For the new pontiff from Anagni, born and raised in the Papal States, there would be no more Neapolitan nonsense.
Boniface VIII’s First Days
It was important to Boniface to control the narrative. The story of his friendship with Celestine was repeated in various ways. Boniface portrayed himself as the wise counselor who aided the angelic pope, and would now fix his many mistakes. Scribes and manuscript illuminators, in their own ways, commented on the shift of power. One book, housed in the Vatican Libraries, shows an image of Celestine in miniature leaving his throne in a small procession followed by eight men and a young page holding an umbrella over their heads. In the picture Cardinal Gaetani is being crowned at center left while Celestine is walking off the page in the far center right. Six of the cardinals are either holding their right hands to their hearts, or making a gesture of blessing. A decade later Giotto would paint a fresco depicting Boniface VIII Addressing the People of Rome—his first act after taking the pallium. Nothing but a fragment of this work still exists, but a seventeenth-century watercolor hanging in Milan shows what Giotto’s work depicted: Standing in red cape and tiara, speaking to a large crowd below, is the new Pope Boniface. Most improbably, Celestine stands on the dais, off to the side, witnessing his successor’s first address to the people of Rome. An orderly line of succession, the painting aims to suggest. But that was impossible. Celestine was nowhere near Rome on that day.
With Celestine far away, Boniface sat in his court and quickly began to undo much of what his predecessor had done, and to do what Celestine had left undone. But Boniface was full of uncertainties and concerned for his own authority in the eyes of the people. Would they continue to address Celestine as “holy father”? What would they call him, now that he was no longer Celestine V? Worst of all, what if the previous pope were to come back, having changed his mind?
Boniface didn’t like the idea that another man might compete with him for papal authority. Peter was still alive, even if he was wandering the woods like Nebuchadnezzar, and that meant Peter was a threat. Also stories that didn’t emerge in formal documents until a few years later were already being whispered about in the loggia of the Lateran Palace. Had Cardinal Gaetani been conniving before Celestine V abdicated? Was he the one who actually wrote Celestine’s letter of abdication? How long before Celestine abdicated did the cardinal have himself fitted for his papal robes? Many voices were giving these rumors growing credence.
One legend, begun even during Celestine’s lifetime, has Gaetani devising a scheme to trick Celestine in a way that’s worthy of a medieval thriller. While Celestine was still on the throne, Gaetani created a megaphone device that would connect to Celestine’s Castle Nuovo sleeping quarters from an adjoining room. He employed a suitably angelic voice and sent whispering, reassuring “locutions” to the foolish pope, visiting him with “divine” encouragement to resign.
Boniface, wanting to put his own fears at ease, sent word to Peter asking for a meeting. Peter knew enough about power and how it corrupts to see that such a meeting was something he should avoid. He kept moving.
Although Peter was unable to read most of the language of ecclesiastical business, there were certain Latin sentences that were imbedded in his soul. A monk dreamed and cried in words like, Deus in adjutorium meum intende! “O God, come to my assistance!” He had prayed that psalm in the darkness and early morning light for half a century (Ps. 69:1). At moments of great stress, we reach for what comforts and sustains us. This return to his hermit life was a crucial turning point in Peter’s life, and such words would have come easily. This would be his via crucis, and he knew it.
The Capture
Boniface was afraid that Celestine’s sympathies for the Spiritual Franciscans might gain him more and more followers in the mountains. And, of course, it would make perfect sense for the people to recognize the authority of this man. Being savvy, or astute, or even paranoid, Boniface feared that the people might not accept the former pope’s resignation as easily as the College of Cardinals had done.
He didn’t like the news that Peter was making himself difficult to find. However it was that he was receiving updates on Peter’s situation, Boniface soon employed agents to hunt Peter on foot through the woods of the Abruzzi. An eighty-five-year-old hermit isn’t difficult to track, and an ex-pope doesn’t exactly travel unobtrusively. The new pope’s agents traveled from village to village, mountain to mountain, sniffing out the old hermit. Peter did not suspect the extent to which Boniface would go. He may have been warned along his journey to be swift and careful, to get home to his cave as quickly as possible, and to stay there. Or perhaps he didn’t believe the rumors that he might not be safe even if he made his way toward the sea.
Nevertheless, Peter left Onofrio not long after arriving there, and headed for Apulia, preparing to flee across the Adriatic. He stayed away from the port cities of Bari and Ancona and Brindisi. He wasn’t far from Apulia, on a remote part of the shore where the coast rises and falls, shelving sharply toward the water. But the waters were rough, like the river torrents that flowed into the sea in the early spring.
The sea was known to rage, and the water was always dangerous at that time of year; there were few safe places f
or ships large or small to put in. Peter had never crossed there before, but like every man in the Abruzzi he had heard stories of dangerous crossings, aborted attempts, sunken vessels just offshore, and sailors who had been lost at sea within sight of their destinations. He also knew the legends of the leviathan that lurked in the deep. The psalmists had spoken of the awesomeness of God’s creation: “O Lord, how manifold are your works! … Yonder is the sea, great and wide, which teems with things innumerable, living things both small and great. There go the ships, and Leviathan which you formed to sport in it” (Ps. 104:24–26). On the Adriatic coast Peter waited, making preparations for a difficult crossing.
In the end, Boniface’s men found Peter rather easily on the easternmost coast of Italy. The poor ex-pope was near the village of Vieste, on the tip of the Gargano peninsula, about to begin a sea voyage to Dalmatia (part of today’s Croatia). It was the middle of the night and a violent storm was raging. If they’d successfully made it to sea, Peter and his party could have found sanctuary on any of the islands sitting just off the coast of Dalmatia, which were Venetian towns in the late thirteenth century. But instead, when he was found on May 10, 1295, Peter was, to use the Italian, inzuppato, literally “soaked in the soup.”3
Peter was taken quietly, and certainly against his will, to Anagni, the hometown of the new pope, to Boniface’s own home, where Peter was held for many days while his captors waited to learn what their next steps might be. Anagni is an ancient Roman city where Cicero had once had an estate, as did many medieval popes. It was the birthplace of Boniface VIII, and a statue of him can still be seen high on the south wall of the Cathedral of Santa Maria. Playwright Peter Barnes has the two popes meeting face-to-face in Castle Nuovo after the abdication, and Boniface saying to Celestine, “Your virtue is contagion which will destroy Mother Church.”4 But it seems more likely that such a conversation, if it ever took place, happened at Anagni, a place where Boniface felt completely in control.
The Pope Who Quit Page 16
