Frederick the Second

by Ernst Kantorowicz

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  A Cardinals’ conclave frequently takes time. An earnest, solemn assembly of reverend men, meeting in the seclusion of a luxurious room in some papal palace, to treat in peace concerning the person of a new Pope: such is it normally—but not always. The history of the Roman Church records many a meeting long-drawn-out and many marked by wild excitement, but scarce another to compare in savagery with that first real “Conclave” which took place in 1241.

  Rome and the Church were in acute danger at the moment of Gregory’s death. Emperor Frederick was at the gate “with an army like the Libyan Hannibal”; the Church lacked leaders; two cardinals were in prison since the fight at sea, Cardinal John Colonna was a deserter in the imperial camp, the remaining cardinals in Rome were split into two factions: the stronger peace-party inclining to the Emperor, the weaker war-party bent on continuing the fight. It was clear that a unanimous vote was hardly to be hoped for and that the election business would be protracted. This was little to the liking of the Senator of Rome. For the safety of Rome and of the Church he wanted a new Pope chosen with the minimum delay. The sole Senator of the day was Matthew Orsini, a papalist whom Gregory IX had helped to power, and who now ruled Rome like a Dictator. He reflected that uncomfortable quarters would promote speed, and laid his plans accordingly.

  Immediately after the Pope’s death Orsini had the cardinals seized by his myrmidons and dragged to the election like pickpockets to gaol. Their treatment was harsh enough, the cardinals were driven along with kicks and blows, one feeble man was thrown down and dragged by his long white hair over the sharp stones of the street, so that he arrived all battered and torn in the council chamber whose doors were closed on him for many weeks. The election room as on previous similar occasions was in the so-called Septizonium of Septimius Severus on the Palatine. This had been in its day a fine building with fountains and waterworks and nymphs, but it was now a ruined sort of tower which had suffered considerably in recent earthquakes.

  Only one single apartment with a kind of alcove was placed at the disposal of the ten cardinals, and the soldiers of the Senator kept the prelates so strictly in confinement that the place resembled a prison. The guards accepted large bribes, but no amount of bribery permitted the entrance of servants or of doctors, and doctors were sorely needed before long. The whole building was faulty and the rain dropped through the fissures in the roof, and not only rain but revolting filth, for the guards who were quartered at night above the conclave chamber facetiously used the faulty floor as a latrine. The cardinals contrived by improvised tents to keep their actual sleeping quarters reasonably clean and dry, but it is unnecessary to labour the insanitary conditions and the resultant stench. Add to this the fever and heat of a Roman August, inadequate food, lack of medical attendance, and an overbearing soldiery; it was not long till almost all ten cardinals fell seriously ill, and three actually died in consequence of hardship.

  The Senator’s calculations were so far correct: the cardinals were anxious to agree as soon as possible on a new Pope and quit this hell. The difficulties, however, were unusually great. The peace-party was numerically stronger, but not one of the other side would allow himself to be converted, and the necessary two-thirds majority could not be attained. The result was a dual-election: five of the peace-cardinals chose a sixth, one of their own number, the Milanese Godfrey of Sabina; three of the war-cardinals chose a fourth of their party, Romanus of Porto, a man peculiarly hateful to Frederick.

  At this point Frederick intervened. Reviving an ancient imperial right in cases of indecisive election he rejected Romanus of Porto and confirmed the election of Godfrey. The peace party might perhaps have succeeded in winning the one vote they lacked, but unfortunately one of their number, the English Robert of Somercote, died in the conclave. The conditions attending his death were disgusting, as can well be imagined. While he was still alive the soldiers flung him into a corner to die, sang mocking songs at him and spat on him and left him without medical attention or the rites of the Church. When the purgatives which he had taken began to act they dragged him on to the roof, and there in public, in full view of the Eternal City, the poor man relieved the last necessities of nature.

  The Englishman’s death removed the last hope of a two-thirds majority, and finally all agreed to choose an outsider. But the Senator Orsini would have none of him. He wanted to parade the new Pope at once before the Roman people. He began to storm and rage, and threatened if the choice did not fall on one of those present he would dig up Pope Gregory’s corpse and put it in the council chamber to complete the misery of the half-dead cardinals. Further, he would carry the Cross through the city and massacre every adherent of the imperial party. The cardinals after what they had already gone through had no reason to doubt that he was prepared to put these threats into execution, so at last after two months’ deliberation they decided in favour of the Milanese Godfrey, whom the Emperor also had supported. He ascended the papal throne as Celestin IV.

  Whatever hopes centred in the name of Celestin, “whom God himself had sent down from his table in Heaven,” as Frederick later phrased it, the Pope himself died on the seventeenth day of his pontificate, before he had even been consecrated. He had fallen ill at the conclave, and his only act as Pope was an unsuccessful effort to excommunicate Matthew Orsini.

  A new conclave was necessary. The cardinals did not wait. Terror seized them at the thought of a repetition of what they had suffered and still were suffering from. Some of them fled the town and took refuge in Anagni. The three anti-Kaiser cardinals remained, as well as Cardinal John Colonna whom the Senator had captured and imprisoned after the close of the conclave. The feud between Orsini and Colonna continued thereafter for generations.

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  The College of Cardinals was thus dispersed. Four were in Rome, four in Anagni, two still in the Emperor’s hands. How could a new Conclave be held? It was not possible to agree even on a meeting place. Negotiations on this point dragged on for months between the Anagni and the Roman group. Those in Anagni refused emphatically to return to Rome and those in Rome would not, or could not, on any terms leave the city. No progress was made, and the fault lay chiefly at the door of Senator Orsini. The world did not grasp the reason for the long delay, but noted only the fact that the cardinals were not choosing a Pope. Abuse began to be heard on all sides, contemptuous rhymes suggested that the fathers should toss for the tiara. Another suggested Frederick II as Pope. Frederick was reproaching the cardinals for not concluding the election. In the summer of 1242 the Emperor even advanced on Rome ostensibly “to free his friends the cardinals,” for since two of the pro-Kaiser cardinals had died it was important to Frederick at least to set John Colonna at liberty again. This demonstration against Rome was without result, however, and a year later the position was still unchanged.

  In these circumstances the Emperor’s two prisoner-cardinals assumed great importance. The College of Cardinals was not only scattered but sorely depleted, especially as yet another cardinal, one of the war party, Romanus of Porto, died of the consequences of the Conclave of Terror. The two groups of cardinals in Rome and Anagni joined the prisoners in demanding their release so that the election might proceed. The moment had come for Frederick to turn his valuable hostages to the best account, with practical wisdom and slow deliberation. One of the captive cardinals, Jacob of Palestrina, was a bitter enemy. The other, Otto of St. Nicholas, had begun by being hostile, but Frederick had been so successful in casting his spell upon him that Otto became, like Cardinal Colonna, an intimate friend of the Emperor. Negotiations for the release of the cardinals appear to have begun at the time of the first conclave, and Frederick was probably willing enough to release Otto of St. Nicholas on the condition, it is true, that Otto would return if not himself appointed Pope. These negotiations were now re-opened, with the result that Frederick brought himself to set Cardinal Otto free, the more readily that Colonna’s imprisonment had left the pro-Kaiser party without a lead
er. Otto was now to go and use in the Emperor’s favour his influence on the College of Cardinals; he quitted his prison richly laden with gifts.

  No conclave followed. All through the winter of 1242–3 the negotiations dragged on. In the spring the Emperor again undertook a campaign against Rome to waken up the cardinals there, but abandoned it with speed when they complained that the imperial troops were blocking the roads and preventing their joining their colleagues in Anagni. This complaint was wholly baseless, but Frederick withdrew at once to avoid even the appearance of interfering with the papal election. From the same motive he ultimately released Palestrina on receiving certain assurances from the College.

  Matters seemed now beyond measure favourable for the Emperor. In return for the release of the cardinals—“and that without ransom” as a chronicler admiringly records—Frederick was promised the immediate withdrawal of the Lombard legate Gregory of Montelongo whom he hated. They had probably also agreed on their choice of a Pope, while Frederick on his part had promised to restore the Patrimonium and release the remaining prisoners if a persona grata were elected. Frederick could anticipate the result of the election with equanimity. He had, it seemed, played his cards to the very best advantage. He was, therefore, not at all surprised to learn that at a brief Conclave at Anagni on June 25th, 1243, the Genoese Sinibaldo Fiesco, Count of Lavagna, had been unanimously elected.

  Joyfully the Emperor announced a few days later that now the general peace of the Christian world was assured, the welfare of the Empire and the friendship between father and son were guaranteed, since the chosen Pope was one “of the noble sons of the Empire, and has ever been well-disposed towards us in word and deed.” Frederick ordered thanksgiving services throughout his Sicilian kingdom and wrote in the same vein his congratulations to the new Pope, who assumed the name of Innocent IV: he was a noble scion of the Empire and was now chosen as a new father to his old friend, and his god-inspired name of Innocent was a pledge of the protection he would accord to innocence. The noblest representatives of Frederick’s Court, the new German Grand Master, Gerard of Malperg, the imperial Admiral Ansaldus de Mari, Thaddeus of Suessa, and Piero della Vigna were despatched as imperial ambassadors to convey Frederick’s congratulations in person to the new Pope.

  One of the nobler sons of the Empire! That the new Pope was, though the Fieschi could hardly be reckoned among the pro-imperialist families of Genoa. But Sinibaldo Fiesco who long ago, after studying and teaching in Bologna, had spent his early prebendary years in Parma, was intimately related to the best known partisans of Frederick II. Parma itself was always an imperialist town of which the Emperor himself was podesta. Bernard Orlando di Rossi of Parma, a brother-in-law of Pope Innocent IV, was even a godfather of Frederick’s, and might be accounted a leader of the Ghibelline party. And Sinibaldo Fiesco’s favourite nephew, Hugo Boterius, the son of a sister who was married in Parma, was devoted to the Emperor in genuine affection and admiration, till his death and after. Frederick attached at all times great importance to blood-related hostages, so that the new Pope’s Ghibelline relations carried great weight with him.

  At last Frederick saw a Pope with Ghibelline propensities in Peter’s Chair, and might with some justice consider this man, whom he himself had chosen, as a personal friend or at least no enemy. Though not like the Roman Colonna a passionate partisan of Frederick’s, this polished Genoese with his urbane manners and non-committal courtesy might certainly be reckoned as one of the friendly cardinals. Warm partisanship would have been out of character in this citizen of a seaboard trading town, who weighed in the balance the things of this world, shrewdly, with heart of ice. In addition, he was one of the most brilliant jurists of the day, extremely cultured and the author of a famous commentary on the decretals. In Frederick’s eyes all this was in his favour. The Emperor saw with relief at last a completely unbigoted priest, a man who saw things naked, as they are, without mysticism or exaggeration, a man entirely free from passion, ecstasy or fanaticism, a man the absolute antithesis of Gregory IX, who was fire and passion personified. True, Fiesco lacked also the regal bearing and gesture, the commanding majesty of Gregory; he lacked the dauntless personal courage of that indomitable greybeard. He was in his own way daring and unscrupulous enough, as a physical coward often is when he knows his own skin is safe. The motto of the wily Genoese was eminently expressive: sedens ago.

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  It is easy to understand that after a struggle of fourteen years with Gregory IX, Frederick II should have sought at all costs to avoid the election of another wild fanatic. The courteous Cardinal Fiesco, politician rather than priest, with his worldly interests and free-thinking mind seemed by contrast a friend. In all this Frederick was right. His terrible mistake lay in thinking that a sober, intellectual Ghibelline was less dangerous on the papal throne than a fanatic, that a half-friend was preferable to a whole-enemy. When he recognised this, too late, he exclaimed “No Pope can be a Ghibelline!” “Woe when the Pope is a Ghibelline!” would have been better, for the Pope now wielded the same weapons as Frederick himself. The Emperor might often have cried, as Napoleon did of Blücher “He has learnt!” It might in a sense be true to say that Innocent IV was Frederick’s most remarkable pupil. From the immensely many-sided achievement of Frederick, the Pope had broken off merely a single splinter, had copied one only of the methods of his master’s genius, but this with clear intent he practised and perfected and turned deliberately against the Hohenstaufen: the concentration of all forces to one end, unhampered by pity or piety or scruple. Whereas the Emperor’s lack of scruple was wedded to the passion of a creator building a new world, Innocent IV’s was a practical “method,” coolly devoted to the annihilation of one man, whose existence threatened to shatter the foundations of an age-old institution.

  The one-sided efficiency of the Genoese speedily brought a kind of anti-climax to the mighty struggle which had raged between Frederick and Gregory. The fight against the politician Innocent was of a wholly different quality from that against the priest, and lacked all fruitful mutually-stimulating elements. The struggle was now wholly a mundane one. All spiritual tension between Emperor and Pope gradually died out: though some survived between the Emperor and his adherents. A consequence was that the previous methods of attack failed Frederick. Other symptoms also indicated that the quarrel had entered its last phase: Frederick was suddenly driven into the defensive. His passages of arms with Pope Gregory had often enough been forced on him, but they always were fights in a cause where he was willing to fight. His finest achievements were the product of this duel which brought his gifts to their full fruition. Now, however, the Emperor found himself continually in check to his opponent, and driven to fight a battle which he had not foreseen and did not want. He lost enthusiasm and the fighting lost its meaning. He was no longer the champion of a given world-order willed by God, but was spending his strength merely in self-defence. The one thing he craved was peace; and peace was the one thing denied.

  Frederick’s delicate web of diplomacy had accomplished the forbidden thing and influenced the papal election. He now saw on the papal throne the cardinal he wanted, whose Ghibelline relations stood in some measure surety for him. It does not appear to have struck him just at first that if the Pope were able to effect a change of atmosphere in Parma these hostages might prove a Nemesis. Frederick had blunted his favourite weapons, the intellectual. For the resources of an individual are more quickly exhausted than those of a system such as the Papacy. His fantastic faith in himself as Caesar, in his unchangeably victorious star, in his divine mission, is now fraught with doom. His faith does not lose its strength, even though the mission is fulfilled, even though—to quote Goethe—“Every remarkable man has a certain mission to fulfil. When it is accomplished he has outlived his usefulness on earth… and the Fates lay for him snare after snare. So with Napoleon and with many another.”

  The name chosen by the new Pope might have given Frederick more than a hint of the l
ine that Innocent IV was likely to pursue, but it was long before he allowed himself to be convinced that Innocent was not the whole-hearted friend whom he had hoped at all costs to find. Frederick’s chief weapon had broken in his hands: he had not been fighting against Church or Papacy but against “the unworthiness of the present Bishop of Rome.” He had perhaps succeeded during his duel with Gregory IX in convincing the world that this was so; he could not hope a second time to distinguish the office from the office-bearer. If the Pope was not to be the personal enemy then he must be the personal friend of the Emperor. Frederick II flung himself into an imaginary friendship of longstanding with Sinibaldo Fiesco and enthusiastically proclaimed it to all the world, hoping thus to call a friendship into being. He wanted to be friends with the new Pope and by sheer force of will to compel him to goodwill, and doggedly he clung to the belief that this Genoese would free him from the ban and give him peace. Even when appearances looked black against Fiesco the Emperor held to his optimism, and sought the cause of unsuccessful negotiations everywhere else rather than in lack of goodwill on the part of this Pope whose election he had secured. Later, when he realised the full irony of the situation, he turned against himself the bitter wit that he loved, and penetratingly remarked that in the Cardinal he had lost a friend but thereby gained an enemy in the Pope. Without an enemy a man like Frederick II would have ceased to be.

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  It seems probable that Pope Innocent at first genuinely wanted peace. For, as recent events had testified, the war which had so heavily taxed the Emperor’s resources had pressed even more severely on the Church. A certain amount of preliminary negotiation with the cardinals had preceded the papal election, and discussion was resumed immediately after the Pope’s enthronement. We need only pick out the essential facts from these wearisome and complicated negotiations.