The Origin of the Idea of Crusade: Foreword and Additional Notes by Marshall W. Baldwin 9780691197647, 0691197644

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THE ORIGIN OF THE IDEA OF CRUSADE

CARL ERDMANN

Translated from the German by Marshall W. Baldwin and Walter Goffart

Foreword and additional notes by Marshall W. Baldwin

PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS

Copyright © 1977 by Princeton University Press Published by Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey

In the United Kingdom: Princeton University Press, =

Guildford, Surrey | oe

Translated from Die Entstehung des Kreuzzugsgedankens (Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Geistesgeschichte, 6. Band), W. Kohlhammer Verlag, Stuttgart, 1935 All Rights Reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data will be found on the last printed page of this book This book has been composed in Linotype Baskerville

Printed in the United States of America a by Princeton University Press, Princeton, New Jersey _ ,

TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER WHO LOST A PROFESSORSHIP AT DORPAT [TARTU] IN 1893 FOR REMAINING TRUE TO HIS MOTHER-TONGUE

AND OF MY TWO BROTHERS

WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES IN 1914 AND 1916 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH UNSHAKEN FAITH IN THE FUTURE OF THE GERMAN SPIRIT

CONTENTS

Translators’ Note 1X

Abbreviations x1 Foreword to the English ‘Translation XV Author’s Preface XXXII

Introduction 3 I. Holy Banners 35 II. Peace of God, Church Reform, and the

Military Profession 57

a Crusade 95

III. Wars against Heathens and First Plans for

IV. ‘The Early Days of the Reform Papacy 118

V. Hildebrand 148 VI. Vexillum sancti Petri 182 VIL. Militra sancti Petri 201

VIII. For and Against Ecclesiastical War 229

Idea of Crusade 269

IX. The Further Development of the Popular

X. Urban II and the Crusade 306 Appendix. Byzantium and Jerusalem: The Motive

and the Objective of the First Crusade 355

Bibliography: Section A 373

Index 429 Section B 410 vu

TRANSLATORS’ NOTE

When Die Entstehung des Kreuzzugsgedankens appeared in 1935, its author, Carl Erdmann (1898-1945), was already a recognized scholar. He had published several articles and two significant books, Papsturkunden in Portugal—under-

taken at the direction of Paul Kehr, who had brought him some years before to the staff of the Preussisches Institut in Rome—and Das Papsttum und Portugal im ersten Jahrhundert der portuguesischen Geschichte.1 In 1934 he joined the

faculty of the University of Berlin and became associated with the editorial staff of the celebrated collection of German medieval sources, the Monumenta Germaniae historica. Erdmann was then still young and would normally have been in line for further scholarly distinctions and academic promotions, but since he had made no secret of his distaste for the new National Socialist regime in Germany, his academic appointments were withdrawn and additional distinctions denied him. When finally the professorial title was conceded him, he remained true to his principles and declined to accept. He did, however, retain his position on the staff of the Monumenta, and consequently was able to devote his entire energies to the research for which he was so eminently suited. Being of delicate health, he had done only a brief term of civilian service in the first World War. In World War II, however, he was conscripted and served as an interpreter with the German troops in the Balkans, where, after an illness, he died in 1945.

The present English edition? has been prepared by 1 The following details are taken from a biographical sketch by Friedrich Baethgen prefacing a posthumous collection of Erdmann’s studies (see Bibliography, section B). ‘The book also includes a complete list of Erdmann’s publications. 2 Translated from the original edition of Kohlhammer Verlag, Stuttgart, 1935 (Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Geistesgeschichte, vol. 6), 1X

TRANSLATORS’ NOTE Marshall W. Baldwin, Professor Emeritus of New York Uni-

versity, and Professor Walter Goftart, of the University of Toronto. Professor Baldwin is responsible for the Foreword,

the translation or adaptation of the original notes and bibliography, and the provision of the supplementary notes which appear in brackets following the appropriate originals, and a supplementary bibliography of pertinent works published since 1935. Each translator has made suggestions

and corrections in the work of the other, but each, of course, remains responsible for any errors which may appear in his own part. Professor Goffart acknowledges with thanks that an English version by Ellen Goffart made a notable contribution to this volume. He is also indebted to Judith Finlayson and William Churchill for assistance. The translators express their gratitude to William McGuire of Princeton University Press, who has overseen the entire work from its beginnings. It is the hope of all three that this English edition will make available to a larger circle of readers a seminal work which,

since its publication, has been constantly cited and dis-

cussed by historians.

M.W.B. W.G.

reissued in an unrevised photographic reprint, 1965; reprinted by the Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, Darmstadt, 1974. The work is com-

plete except for the omission of four appendixes, of interest only to specialists. These are entitled (1) Benedictions for Times of War, for Weapons, and for Knights; (11) On the Textual Transmission of the Peace of God Councils; (11) The Satire of Adalbero of Laon; and (iv) Gregory VII as Feudal Lord of Aragon. A fifth appendix has been

retained. ,

X

ABBREVIATIONS

AA.SS. Acta Sanctorum quotquot orbe coluntur, 67 vols. (Antwerp, Tongerloo, Paris, Brussels, 16431940)

Abh. Abhandlungen of the Akademie der Wiaissenschaften of Berlin, Munich, etc., as indicated

AHR American Historical Review (New York, 1895-) Akad. Akademie, see ADh. ASI Archivio storico italiano (Florence, 1842-) ASL Archivio storico lombardo (Milan, 1874-) BLE Bulletin de littérature ecclésiastique (Toulouse, 1899-)

BZ Byzantinische Zeitschrift (Leipzig, 1892-) CHR Catholic Historical Review (Washington, 1915-) CMA Cambridge Medieval History, 8 vols. (Cam-

bridge, 1911-36) | Coll.de Collection de textes pour servir a Vétude et a ‘Textes Venseignement de Vhistotre, 51 vols. (Paris, 1886-1929)

CSEL Corpus scriptorum ecclestasticorum Latinorum (Vienna, 1866-)

CSHB Corpus scriptorum historiae Byzantinae, 50 vols. (Bonn, 1828-97)

DA Deutsches Archiv fiir Geschichte des Mittelalter (Weimar, 1937-43); ibid. fiir Erforschung des Mittelalters (Cologne-Graz, 1950-)

EHR English Historical Review (London, 1886-) FDG Forschungen zur deutschen Geschichte, 26 vols. (Gottingen, 1826-86)

FSI Istituto Storico Italiano per il medio evo, Fonti per la storia d'Italia (Rome, 1887-)

GR Gregory VII, Register. See Bibliography, section A, for full entry. Xl

ABBREVIATIONS

H]b Historisches Jahrbuch der Gérres-Gesellschaft (Cologne, 1880-)

HZ — Historische Zeitschrift (Munich, 1859-) JEH Journal of Ecclestastical History (London, 1950-) JL.,JK., P. Jafté, Regesta pontificum Romanorum ad a.

JE. 7z98. Second ed. S. Loewenfeld, F. Kaltenbrunner, and P. Ewald (Berlin, 1885-88)

MGH Monumenta Germaniae historica (1826-)

AA. Auctores antiquissimt Const. Constitutiones et acta publica imperatorum et regum (Legum sectio IV)

Ep. Epistolae

Langob. Scriptores rerum Langobardicarum et Italicarum saec. VI-IX

Libelli Libelli de lite tmperatorum et pontificum saec.

XI et XII conscripti ,

Schrif- Schriften der MGH (monograph series) ten

SS. —- Scriptores (in folio) SS. Scriptores rerum Merovingicarum Merov.

SSns Scriptores rerum Germanicarum, nova series MIOG~ Mitteilungen des Instituts fiir Osterreichische Geschichtsforschung (Graz-Cologne, 1880-)

MPG J. P. Migne, Patrologiae cursus completus. Series graeca (Paris, 1867~76)

MPL Ibid. Series latina (Paris, 1841-64) NA ~~ Neues Archiv der Gesellschaft fiir altere deutsche Geschichtskunde (Hanover, 1876—). Continued by DA

QF Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken (Rome 1898-)

RH Revue historique (Paris, 1876-) RHC Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres, Paris. Recueil des historiens des croisades, 16 vols. (Paris, 1841-1906)

Arm. Documents arméniens X11

ABBREVIATIONS

Occ. Historiens occidentaux |

RHE Revue @histoire ecclésiastique (Louvain, 1900-) RHEF ~ Revue dhistoire de lVéglise de France (Paris, 1910—)

RHF M. Bouquet, Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France, 24 vols. (Paris, 1738-1904). New ed., I-x1x (Paris, 1868-80)

RIS L. A. Muratori, Rerum Italicarum scriptores, 25 vols. (Milan, 1723-51)

RISns Istituto Storico Italiano. Rerum Italicarum scriptores, new series (Citta di Castello, Bologna, 1900—)

SHF Société de I’histoire de France, Paris (1835-) S2tz. Sitzungsberichte of the Akademie der Wissenschaften of Berlin, Munich, etc., as indicated SS. Germ. Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum ex Monumentis Germaniae historicis recusi (Hanover, 1839-)

1876-) |

ZKG Zeitschrift fiir Kirchengeschichte (Stuttgart, ZSSRG = Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung fiir Rechtsgeschichte

Germ. Germanistische Abteilung (Weimar, 1863—) Kanon. Kanonistische Abteilung (Weimar, 1911-)

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FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

In tracing the origins of the “idea of crusade’”’ Carl Erdmann

investigated a subject that had not been particularly emphasized by earlier historians. He was concerned less with the political, religious, and economic developments which

produced the First Crusade than with the growth of a concept. What was in the minds of the men who planned

and carried out that famous expedition? How had their ideas developed out of the policies and thinking of previous generations? ‘Ihe answers to such questions involve not only what was envisaged by Urban II when he preached his ser-

mon at Clermont in 1095, but the attitudes of those who responded. Moreover, if, as many historians believe, the response was far greater than had been anticipated, it 1s at least possible that the pope’s original plans were adjusted to meet this response. Thus, there developed a popular crusade idea, related to, but in many ways distinct from,

the official papal concept. |

As Erdmann and many others have noted, defining the “idea of crusade” is further complicated by the fact that the term “crusade” was unknown at the time of the First Crusade. Contemporaries used such words as iter, expeditio,

or peregrinatio. In fact, there was no clearly formulated definition of crusade even during the twelfth century, not until European conditions had changed and with them many characteristics of later expeditions. Therefore, as the term ‘‘crusade’’ came into use, its meaning inevitably reflected the attitudes of the decades and centuries following the initial venture. Finally, the relatively modern preoccupation with the history of ideas added a new dimension to historical research, a dimension especially relevant in the present context. It is not surprising, therefore, that scholars

| XV

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION now tend to be cautious 1n their use of the terms “‘crusade”’ and “idea of crusade.”’

Interpretations of the facts of crusade origins as well as of the later impact of the crusades on the medieval world also reflect changing modern attitudes. Some historians, for example, have stressed the religious motivation, although

they have not always agreed on a definition of specific religious goals. Was the principal objective the recovery of Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulcher, or was it aid to Eastern Christians and empire? Other historians have viewed the crusades as primarily political and diplomatic, reflecting in

some measure the controversies between the church and the European monarchies, in particular the empire during the Investiture Controversy—the much debated question of the influence of Cluny enters into this discussion. In fact, the crusades have sometimes been styled “the foreign policy

of the papacy.” The states founded in the Levant by the crusaders were sometimes called “‘colonies”’; and if this interpretation did not seem to fit precisely into a modern conception of imperialism, it was, nevertheless, an example of the increasing emphasis on such economic factors as Medi-

terranean commerce and the need for land experienced by an expanding population.1 Note: Works cited briefly in the footnotes are given in full in the Bibliography. 1 John La Monte, “Papauté,” pp. 157-67, summarizing the views then

current on crusade origins, found the following four themes to be pre-

dominant: (1) the desire to liberate the Holy Land and return the Holy Sepulcher to the hands of the faithful; (2) the use of the crusade against the Saracens in order to support the Byzantine Empire and promote ecclesiastical unity; (3) the establishment of an ecclesiastical state in Palestine, or a feudal state dependent on the papacy; (4) the papal urge to demonstrate power and to influence the course of events in the Investiture Controversy by a large-scale utilization of military and moral forces. La Monte himself tended to emphasize the last two of these points, and the burden of his article was a substantiation of the politicodiplomatic interpretation of papal policy which later was to be directed against the enemies of the papacy in Europe. See also La Monte’s review of Erdmann in Speculum, pp. 119-22. P. Rousset, Origines, pp. 13-21, also briefly summarized the “Etat actuel de la question.” The “colonial” theme originated in R. Grousset, Histoire, which apXVI

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Recent scholarship has sought means of judging the relative importance of these various and sometimes conflicting viewpoints. Much has been learned of such particular eco-

nomic factors as agricultural, property, and population problems in specific areas of the West, problems of currency and credit, the needs of different Mediterranean ports. The meaning of the term “feudalism” has provoked a discussion among historians comparable to the arguments regarding ‘‘crusade’’; and such a discussion is bound to affect any appraisal of Erdmann’s emphasis on the role of the church in enlisting the support of the nobility. In addition, recent analyses have suggested that crusade “colonialism”

might be viewed as a cultural as well as an economic phenomenon; and that “colonies” need not necessarily be linked with a “mother country” politically.?

In considering the policies of the church there is a tendency now to stress more the growth of its inner structure and the development of canon law, and to emphasize less its struggles with empire and kingdoms. As a conse-

quence, the First Crusade is less likely to be regarded simply as a politico-diplomatic maneuver on the part of the papacy. Considerable progress has also been made in analyzing an aspect of medieval life which may be called “pop-

ular religion,” the religious attitudes of the layman. Admittedly, this is an elusive subject; yet it is crucial to any understanding of the crusade. It is also an area of investigation to which Erdmann’s book made a valuable contribution. Underlying all interpretations of the “idea of crusade’’ peared too late for inclusion in Erdmann’s bibliography. Grousset also classifies the Byzantine recovery in the tenth century by the Macedonian

dynasty as a “crusade,” an interpretation shared by H. Grégoire, in CMH, tv (2d ed.), 149-50, and with some reservations by S. Runciman, History, 1, 32-33. Both views have been questioned by later historians. J. A. Brundage has collected brief selections from a number of modern writers on crusade motivation in Crusades. 2¥For a summary of recent discussion of feudalism, E.A.R. Brown, “Tyranny of a Construct,” pp. 1063-88. A recent interpretation of the crusader states as colonies is J. Prawer, Crusaders’ Kingdom. XV11

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

there remains the fundamental question: to what extent was

the First Crusade an official papal project; to what extent was it popularly conceived and directed by laymen? Finally, the uniqueness of the era of the First Crusade in the history of Western Europe is more clearly understood. The final decades of the eleventh century gave increasing

evidence of ebullient energy in all fields of human endeavor. Population growth necessitated economic expansion in both commerce and land exploitation. If secular government lagged somewhat behind the more sophisticated advances in ecclesiastical administration and canon law, as the difficulties in maintaining law and order reveal—the Peace of God movement which Erdmann discusses is but one in-

dication—there was progress on local as well as central levels. ‘The Investiture Controversy, it is true, was to prove

a setback for central Europe. Nevertheless, all this movement produced an aura of confidence. For this was the era that witnessed the beginnings of the reconquista in Spain, a successful amphibian expedition against England, the capture and occupation—at least temporarily—of North African ports, the taking over of former Byzantine territories in southern Italy and the conquest of Sicily from

the Moslems, even a brash attack on the heart of the

“Roman” empire across the Adriatic. In the south, the key elements in these undertakings were the papacy, the west-

ern Italian ports, and the Normans, while in Spain the French presence was increasingly evident.

When finally renewed Moslem challenges appeared in Spain and in the East, the peoples of Western Europe were capable of meeting them. Moreover, since the challenges coincided with, especially in France, a genuine, if somewhat

naive, religious revival, the answer took the form of a religious war instituted by a rejuvenated papacy.

It was never to be quite the same again. The First Crusade, it 1s true, was the first of a series of major undertakings which occupied the attention of Europeans for two centuries and more. Certain features of the original expediXV1l1

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

tion kept reappearing. Although fervor seemed in general to diminish, the maintenance or, after its capture by Saladin in 1187, the recovery of Jerusalem continued to engender in the minds of Western Europeans a sense of religious obligation. ‘There were never wanting individuals ready to dedicate their lives to the cause. Papal concern remained and papal efforts to retain direction, formalized by crusade bulls beginning with that of Pope Eugenius II in 1145, continued, albeit with varying and generally diminishing success. Nevertheless, the contrasts with the First Crusade became more evident as the years passed. Not only did no subsequent venture achieve comparable success, but each mirrored the changed conditions of a rapidly developing Western Europe. A notable feature, for example, of the First Crusade had

been the predominance of the feudal nobility. No doubt this predominance resulted in part from the fact that the kings of Europe in 1095 were otherwise occupied and three

were under excommunication. But it was also the consequence, as Erdmann and others have emphasized, of the status and the socio-religious attitudes of eleventh-century feudal lords, especially in France. Even before the First Crusade the church had begun to channel the warlike propensities of the nobility into holy causes, and this was cer-

tainly a major factor in the First Crusade. But the predominance of the nobility was later to pass. Not all the later

crusades were directed by kings, but their participation increased steadily, as did the importance of intra-European diplomatic maneuverings. _ Finally, as the classic crusade era drew to a close in the

late thirteenth century, Western Europe was entering the early stages of a prolonged economic and demographic decline. Far from being caught up in confidence and enthusiasm it was afflicted with a kind of malaise. Since all these

changes affected current concepts of what constituted a crusade, it seems clear that the First Crusade must be examined apart from all the rest. ‘To explore its origins is to X1X

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

analyze that unique coincidence of religious, political, social, and economic movements which culminated in the later decades of the eleventh century. It is in this context that the “idea of crusade” as Erdmann defined it must be viewed.

Erdmann’s principal theme is the concept of holy war, war sanctioned by ecclesiastical authority for a sacred cause,

and the development of this concept from the early Middle Ages. The church, originally hostile to war in general, gradually moved to St. Augustine’s idea of ‘‘just war’’ where

armed conflict was regarded as morally justifiable under certain circumstances, then to acceptance of ‘‘mission war,” if not to force individual conversions, at least to create con-

ditions where conversion was possible, and ultimately to promotion of war in its own defense or in defense of Christian society. As the nobility became increasingly prominent

in Western society during the eleventh century, the church’s promotion of holy war was facilitated by the military potential of the knighthood. This was especially true in France, the region destined to provide the great majority of crusaders.

A notable feature of Erdmann’s analysis of the holy war concept is his emphasis on symbols. In earlier studies he had indicated his interest in religious symbols such as ban-

ners and the like, and it is, therefore, not surprising that two chapters in Die Entstehung pursue this subject further in the context of holy war and crusade. ‘The emphasis recurs

frequently throughout the book. | 7

‘The high point in the development of the concept of war

for religious ends came with the popes of the reform era, especially Leo IX, Alexander II, and Gregory VII. The advances of Islam in the late eleventh century in both Spain and the East provided an objective which concerned the entire church, East and West, not just local areas such as the

papal lands or the east German frontier. ‘Thus, aid to beleaguered Eastern Christianity, especially Byzantium, was in Erdmann’s view the primary goal of the First Crusade. XX

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

The conquest of Jerusalem, long hallowed as a place of pilgrimage and acquiring new significance during the eleventh century as a focus of popular religious veneration, he saw as a subsidiary aim, added by Urban II because he recognized its universal appeal. It was destined to

become the center of attention after the expedition had been launched. As a consequence, pilgrimage, which seemed

to many historians to lie at the root of the entire undertaking, was not given special emphasis by Erdmann. To paraphrase his own often-quoted words: Jerusalem was the immediate goal of the campaign (Marschziel), but liberation of Eastern Christianity from the infidel remained the

fundamental aim of the war (Kampf- or Kriegsziel). The First Crusade, therefore, remained within the tradition of holy war. The limited aid to Byzantium which had been considered tentatively at the Council of Piacenza (March 1095) matured in the succeeding months and was fully elaborated at the Council of Clermont (November 1095) into a major enterprise. Regardless of divergent views on specific matters, notably Erdmann’s contention that the roots of the crusade lay virtually exclusively in the development over the preceding

centuries of the concept and practice of holy war, and his relegation of Jerusalem to a secondary role as a war aim, reviewers were unanimous in recognizing his book as a significant contribution to the understanding of the First Crusade and its relation to contemporary society.* Its importance was further accentuated through frequent citation

in subsequent works, not only those dealing with the crusade, but in studies devoted to the church and war, papal history, and popular religion. For, among other things, it provided a veritable mine of documentation on a 3 For the more important reviews see section B of the Bibliography, under the following names: Beaudouin de Gaiffier; F. Bock; L. Bréhier;

Z. N. Brooke; A. Fliche; L. Halphen; K. Hampe; W. Holtzmann; H. Kampf; J. L. La Monte. See also review by J. R., in DA 1 (1937), 62-63. M. W. Baldwin, “Some Recent Interpretations,” is a review article.

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FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

number of related subjects. In the continuing series of studies on the idea of crusade Erdmann’s conclusions figure prominently, often providing the starting point for further discussion. A brief resumé may not only help in understanding Erdmann’s contribution, but will also indicate the directions in which later scholarship has moved. In 1941 Etienne Delaruelle published the first installment of his “Essai sur la formation de l’idée de croisade,” a study

which, perhaps because it appeared in sections several

years apart, has not always received the attention it deserves.* ‘The treatise had originated as a thése tor the doctorat at the Institut Catholique de Paris in 1935, and the appearance of Erdmann’s book first raised some doubts in the author’s mind about publishing his own findings. He had been careful not to repeat what Erdmann had already taken up in detail. More important, Delaruelle’s approach was different. He is primarily a historian of religious life, in fact, one who has made many significant contributions to

the understanding of the quality of medieval French religion.

In his analysis of the holy war concept, Delaruelle attaches great importance to its association with the liturgy and with art. For the participants it was to be a means of attaining eternal salvation. While, as with Erdmann, the Carolingian period figures prominently in his thinking, he stresses more the decades following Charlemagne, especially the pontificate of John VIII. The eleventh century is critical; and with Gregory VII as well as in the preceding years, there was developing a deeper understanding of the societas christiana. Fay more than in earlier periods, the official church was reaching out to embrace the lay element in society. Holy war, whether on the Eastern frontiers or—at least as viewed by the reformed papacy—in Sicily and Spain against the Moslems, was becoming the function of the nobility, not, as in earlier times, of royalty. * BLE 42 (1941), 24-45, 86-103; 45 (1944), 13-46, 73-90; 54 (1953), 226-39; 55 (1954), 50-03. | XX1

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

This was, of course, in large measure owing to the decline of royal authority. But Delaruelle places great emphasis on the ardent desire of Gregory VII and even more of Urban II to absorb laymen into the life of the church. Defense of the church indeed remained an objective, but participation in a holy war was also envisaged as a means of attaining eternal salvation. For the hierarchy, this was an aspect of its change from an inward and negative view toward the world into an out-

ward and positive one. The church was to become less exclusively spiritual, more conscious of its place in and its obligations to the external world. Finally, in proclaiming

the First Crusade, it was Urban II’s genius to have conceived a “myth” that would appeal to those who took the cross and in a state of grace marched as a new people of Israel to deliver Jerusalem, perhaps even to suffer martyrdom.

Two works on subjects closely related to Erdmann’s theme also made their appearance during these years. M. Villey, La croisade: Essat sur la formation dune théorie juridique, treats the development of the crusade ideology and its ultimate juridical definition in the period after the First Crusade. Villey does, however, analyze the precrusade holy war tradition and stresses the new aspects which, he feels, distinguished the First Crusade from previous holy

wars. It was a distant campaign, not a frontier problem. Equally novel were the connection with Jerusalem and the indulgence. While Villey agrees that aid to the Eastern churches, not Jerusalem, was the principal objective, he does maintain that Erdmann underrated these new elements.

In his Les origines et les caractéres de la premiére croisade, P. Rousset addressed himself to a problem somewhat different from that of Erdmann. For he is mainly concerned with the idea of crusade that was to come down through history, more especially as it appeared to men of the early twelfth century. As a consequence, he concentrates on the XX111

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sources from 1095 to about 1145, the period of the launching of the Second Crusade, sources which included not only the narrative chronicles, but also charters, letters, and the

excitatoria or treatises composed to stimulate crusade enlistment. Rousset does, however, consider the question of origins in sections devoted to what he calls the “precrusades.”” His term “‘caractéres’’ includes a number of related ideas: cause, goal, holy war, Jerusalem and the Holy Sepul-

cher, crusaders as members of an elect, a new children of Israel, in short, the entire complex of religious attitudes which appeared in the vocabulary of the day. Thus, he attempts to explore. not only the ideology of the crusade but also the psychology of the participants.

Rousset’s views, manifestly religious in emphasis, give rise to a number of questions. For example, do the sources he uses mirror the attitudes of the period before the crusade, or do they reflect the views of educated clerics who wrote later and who were influenced by the events of the crusade itself? Further, to what extent are these sources,

especially the excitatoria, rhetorical or exaggerated? Erdmann certainly had doubts about the validity even of early twelfth-century sources, in the context of the original

crusade idea, and used them sparingly only in the final sections of his book. The question needs further analysis. For although popes and magnates may have laid specific plans which can to some extent be dated, popular feelings transcend chronological limits. T'welfth-century statements

conceivably reflect attitudes which existed earlier, but which had yet to be formally expressed.° 5 La Monte, in his review of Origines, questioned Rousset’s psychological interpretation and contended that the older religious view of the crusade was out of date. La Monte’s comments illustrate the controversy then current regarding the political versus the religious emphasis. For a favorable estimate of Rousset, see the review by L. Bréhier in REH. Rousset pursued further his analysis of the development of the crusade idea into the twelfth century in “Idée de croisade.” See also his “Laics dans la croisade,” in I laici nella ‘societas christiana.’ XXIV

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The emphasis on popular psychology was pursued further by P. Alphandéry in what might be termed a socio-

logical analysis of the idea of crusade: La chrétienté et Vidée de croisade; the first volume was edited and a second volume completed by A. Dupront after Alphandéry’s death. Alphandéry’s conclusions have provoked considerable discussion. Unlike Erdmann and those historians who directed

their attention mainly toward papal policy, holy war, and the like, Alphandéry deals with the concept of crusade primarily as it entered into the consciousness of the masses. Far more than any other modern author he sees the crusade as essentially a collective movement. ‘Thus, in treating the eleventh-century origins of the crusade (see especially ch.

1, and ch. 1 to p. 135, and Dupront’s summary, vol. 1, 273ff), he emphasizes not only the remarkable growth in the veneration for Jerusalem evidenced in pilgrimage, but also in the development of an eschatological attitude toward the holy city. This was at first associated mainly with memories of the Old Testament. But even after the image of the Holy Sepulcher gradually came into greater prominence, the Old Testament tradition endured. The earthly Jerusalem came to be a figure of the new “heavenly Jerusalem.” The popular urge to prepare for the end of all things by an act of penitence, predominantly individual at first, but increasingly

viewed as a collective rite, Alphandéry finds reaching a climax toward the end of the eleventh century. In fact, so strong and widespread was this popular feeling for Jerusalem that whatever plans Pope Urban may have had, and Alphandéry agrees that they cannot be reproduced definitively, were overshadowed as all these sentiments coalesced during the First Crusade. The First Crusade, therefore, was

more a spontaneous popular movement concentrated on Jerusalem than an official ecclesiastical project. ‘This “religion of the crusade,” dramatized by occurrences during the expedition such as the Holy Lance episode and the action of the pauperes at Marra in forcing the march toward JeruXXV

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION salem, came to be reflected in the writings of the chroniclers who emphasized the importance of poverty, suffering, and

privation.® | | ,

Taken together, the works of Rousset and Alphandéry constitute additional evidence of the shift away from the political or diplomatic interpretation of the First Crusade to one giving prominence to the religious mentality of the individual crusader. As was remarked above, this change in emphasis was accompanied, indeed made possible, by a deeper understanding of the religious attitudes. which appeared in eleventh-century lay society. As these viewpoints appeared, so also did criticism. Nevertheless, although ques-

tions have been raised on a number of specific matters, recent scholarship seems generally to have accepted the emphasis on the religious feelings of the masses.

Meanwhile, the conflicting interpretations of crusade origins that continued to appear were often echoed in general works on the history of the crusades.’ The Introduction 6 One reviewer (A. des M.) characterized the sociopsychological generalizations of Alphandéry as “a bit vague,’”’ mingling entirely justifiable

suggestions with unscientific allusions to comparative religion. In an article discussed below, Blake pointed out that Alphandéry relied overmuch on the account of Raymond of Aguilers, which did not necessarily reflect a universally accepted view. Moreover, the coalescing of various attitudes and impressions formed in the course of events was often later

expressed by historians and chroniclers who were for the most part clerical. For a favorable view of Alphandéry’s work, see the review by E. Delaruelle in RHEF. Norman Cohn, in Pursuit of the Millennium, also emphasizes the role of Jerusalem and its appeal to the poor. See, e.g., the selection cited by Brundage, Crusades. 7 Runciman has an extended section on the background of the First Crusade in the first volume of his History. Though mainly concerned with events, he does discuss briefly the development of the idea of holy war in the West, and in considerable detail the growth of pilgrimage (see also his section in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, 68-78). Runciman, a Byzantinist, also gives prominence to the relations between the Eastern church and empire and the eleventh-century papacy. Nevertheless, he feels that when Urban II set out for France after Piacenza, he began to consider a much larger project. In a lengthy introduction (ch. 1) to his Kreuzztige, A. Waas analyzes the character of the crusade and the formation of the crusade idea. He XXVI1

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

to Jean Richard, L’esprit de la croisade, a selection of sources intended for the student and general reader, is a perceptive and critical analysis of his own ideas and those of others, especially Delaruelle, Rousset, Alphandéry, and Erdmann. Richard deals with the crusade idea as it developed from 1095 through the thirteenth century, but he does consider in some detail the origins of this crusade esprit. In the appeals of Gregory VII and Urban II, Richard finds an essential theme to have been fraternal charity, the call to Western Christians to aid their Eastern brethren. Moreover, this paralleled the emergence of the concept of Western Christianity as a fatherland, a response in large measure to the new external pressures of Islam.

A second theme, even more profoundly rooted in the attitudes of Western crusaders and antedating the crusade, was veneration for the holy places and especially Jerusalem.

Finally, the indulgence evoked what Richard calls the “strongest feeling’ in the formation of the idea of crusade, the consciousness of sin. The pilgrim, and now the armed pilgrim, was not to undertake his journey as any ordinary traveler; and Richard has noted that more than one papal legate was named by the pope to take charge of the spirit-

ual welfare of the crusaders as well of the unarmed pilgrims who went along. Moreover, while each “pilgrim” traveled to expiate his own sins, the journey was also looked upon as an act of collective penitence.

A recent general work on the crusades which discusses extensively the entire problem of crusade origins is H. E. stresses the religious quality of the movement. He critizes the ‘“colonial”’ interpretation of Grousset and what he considers the overly secular slant of History of the Crusades, ed. Setton. For Waas, the essential feature was the religious attitude of the feudal knight [Ritterfrommigkeit] with its idea of the knight as God’s vassal, an emphasis which, however, some felt to be too narrow. See the reviews by A. C. Krey, T.S.R. Boase, W. von Steinen. See also Waas, “Heilige Krieg.” There are also brief treatments in J. J. Saunders, Aspects of the Crusade, and F. Cognasso, Storie. I have not seen F. Cardini, Crociate; see review by A. S. Atiya. XXVI11

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Mayer’s Geschichte der Kreuzzige. An English translation by J. Gillingham appeared in 1972 with a number of references by the author to subsequent publications. Chapter 2,

“The Origins of the Crusades,” is a summary with additional comments on the various views presented to date, including several references to Erdmann’s conclusions. Erdmann’s well-known distinction between Jerusalem as

Marschzel and aid to the Eastern empire and church as Kriegziel Mayer finds to be “perhaps an oversubtle interpretation.” He attributes considerable importance to the growth of veneration for Jerusalem and, contrary to Erdmann, to the pilgrimage movement that burgeoned in the eleventh century. In referring to Erdmann’s treatment of the church’s appeal to the knightly class in the development

of holy war, he adds that armed pilgrimage became an especially strong element in the knight’s religious attitude.

Wars against the Saracens in Spain were undoubtedly significant, but the idea of a military expedition to the East

was an essentially critical innovation. Mayer notes that Erdmann was the first to call attention to the significance of Urban’s Tarragona appeal, where he offered the same spiritual rewards, the indulgence, as could be obtained for the pilgrimage to Jerusalem. But, unlike Erdmann, he also finds the Tarragona appeal to be evidence that the pope’s crusade idea was based on pilgrimage.

Finally, Mayer places an especially strong emphasis on the indulgence, rather more, in fact, than do most scholars. In text and notes he discusses at considerable length recent viewpoints, particularly those of Poschmann and Brundage. And while he agrees with many modern writers that among the crusaders there were skeptics and those whose motives were obviously material, he does regard the popular faith of the day as a major factor in the thinking of the average crusader. In the English edition of his book, Mayer discusses a 1970 article by H.E.J. Cowdrey, ‘““Pope Urban II’s Preaching of

the First Crusade.” In considering the hypothesis that the XXV1ll

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

pope was not primarily concerned with Jerusalem, but rather with the Eastern empire and church, Cowdrey makes the unusual suggestion that Erdmann’s views so strongly influenced subsequent historians—Mayer is mentioned prominently—that they were unable to throw them off entirely. Cowdrey then develops further an idea mentioned briefly by Rousset that when all available material,

not simply the chronicles, is considered it points inescapably to the conclusion that Jerusalem was from the beginning at the heart of Urban’s thinking. Mayer remains unconvinced by the evidence Cowdrey adduces. He does admit, however, that “things might have gone the way he suggests’; and if so, papal oriental policy would need to be restudied.®

Additional observations on the way the “crusade idea” has been treated by scholars during the years since Erdmann who “first set up the subject as capable of disciplined study’ have been made by E. O. Blake, in “The Formation of the ‘Crusade Idea.’”” Blake is of the opinion that insuf-

ficient attention has been paid to the “actual process of growth by which the complex of ideas which makes the ‘crusade’ capable of definition, recognition and continuous life by the end of the twelfth century has developed from initial tentative formulations.” In other words, scholars in seeking for origins in the decades or centuries anterior to

the First Crusade, and of course Erdmann is the prime example, have often, and perhaps inevitably, tended to stress preliminary events and ideological developments which only assumed the characteristic shape of “crusade” after 1095.

Blake suggests further that the two chief elements which eventually made up the accepted definition in the twelfth century, the popular and the official, pilgrimage and meritorious war on the one hand, and papal policy on the other,

were gradually linked together. Since scholars have stressed one element or the other, the dichotomy between 8 Crusades, p. 291 n. 26. XX1X

FOREWORD TO THE ENGLISH TRANSLATION

the two has occasionally been overemphasized. The merging of the two elements first took place most strikingly in Urban’s granting of the pilgrimage indulgence to a papally directed war, thus uniting a popular movement with an official policy.

The process of merging was enormously strengthened by

the close association of warrior and cleric during the dramatic events of the First Crusade. As a consequence, in the literature of the First Crusade there began to develop a concept of what “crusade” signified. ‘The biblical refer-

ences and implications and comparisons may well have resulted from clerical interpretation and preaching rather than from something inherent in the popular consciousness, as Alphandéry tends to emphasize. From these examples of research on crusade origins since

the publication of Erdmann’s book, it is evident that he defined a historical problem which has continued to elicit the attention of scholars. Moreover, to the long-standing questions regarding motives and direction, politico-economic vs. religious, papal-official vs. popular, there have been added new areas of investigation, notably the attempt to analyze more deeply the concept of holy war and the effort to understand the character of popular religion. _ Certainly, the entire problem of the “idea of crusade,’ its development ideologically and within the framework of

events leading up to the First Crusade, its more precise enunciation thereafter, and finally its survival into modern times retains an absorbing interest for all students of history. Moreover, it is evident that controversies over the concept “‘crusade” remain. In their efforts to resolve these controversies, historians continue to regard Carl Erdmann’s

researches as essential to any analysis. | :

| M.W.B.

XXX

Publisher’s Note Marshall W. Baldwin died suddenly on July 4, 1975, in New

York, after he had completed his share of the work on this book in all important respects, but before the publisher’s editorial phase had begun. Professor Baldwin had expected to participate in that process and to subject the notes and

bibliography to such further checking and correction as might prove necessary. Consequently, his colleague, Walter Goffart, assumed much of the burden of those procedures, in close cooperation with the staff editor for Princeton Untversity Press.

AUTHOR’S PREFACE

Two forces affecting the human spirit came into play in the crusading movement: the idea of pilgrimage to the sites of primitive Christianity and the idea of holy war—knightly

combat in the service of the church. Each has a distinct history, and whoever inquires into the origins of the idea of crusade may consequently follow two different routes. The view that has prevailed up to now has concentrated on the pilgrimage aspect. Scholars have indeed referred, for the sake of completeness, to the hierarchical tendencies of the papacy and to the wars against the heathens in southern

Europe, but their main argument is that the peaceful pilgrimages to the Holy Sepulcher that had long been taking place eventually turned into expeditions of armed conquest. As a result, pilgrimages have been closely researched, and special efforts have been made to discover the events in the East that would have caused the objective to change from

pilgrimage to conquest. The prehistory of the crusading idea has acquired, therefore, either an Eastern cast or one determined by East-West relations, whereas the many crusades undertaken in other theaters—against heretics and opponents of the papacy, as well as against heathens—have

been regarded as “aberrations” or degenerations of a “genuine” idea of crusade. This view is erroneous. The “aberrations” had long been

there, and the ‘‘genuine” crusade proceeded from them far

more than from a supposed change in the condition of pilgrims and of the city of Jerusalem. The central, historically essential process was the evolution of the “general” idea of crudade, which was oriented to ecclesiastical objectives as such and not tied to a specific locality, such as Jeru-

salem. Unlike earlier investigations, this book pursues the

second component of crusading—the idea of Christian XXXIil

AUTHOR’S PREFACE

knighthood and of holy war. It is obvious that the roots of this idea should not be sought in Palestine; its emergence coincides with the total development of the Christian peoples. We are concerned with the problem of “the church and war” and, by the same token, with the historical foundations of the Western ethic of war and soldiering.

The present work, therefore, is not meant to illuminate the origins of the crusading movement from every direction. Rather, it is confined to the zdea of crusade and its development up to the First Crusade. Otherwise, attention

would also have to be paid to the social, political, and economic conditions that obviously formed the external presuppositions for crusading; a characteristic illustration is that mercenary troops began to appear in the West simultaneously with military and colonizing expansion. But what

set in motion the soldiers of the High Middle Ages was not only the prospect of payment, booty, and new land, but also that of heavenly reward and the forgiveness of sins. In

attempting to grasp the latter fact in isolation, we do not mean to close our eyes to all conditions other than those purely affecting the human spirit. Since the idea of crusade was given form by the church, account has to be taken of those social, constitutional, and political circumstances that

conditioned the attitude of the church and the papacy toward the issue. But it would be vain to attempt to ascertain in precisely what proportion ideological and material motives were combined in the crusaders. While the thesis that the church’s call was their only motive is self-evidently false, the opposite view that its call was ineffectual and a mere facade is equally untrue. The ecclesiastical idea of

crusade was a historical force: that much is clear. Our

object here is not to determine how psychologically effective 1t was by comparison with other, competing influences,

but to investigate how the idea took shape and what transformations it underwent. The problem has been posed before. It has always been XXXIV

AUTHOR’S PREFACE

accepted that the crusades cannot be explained apart from the “religious exuberance’ of the age. There have also been frequent suggestions that the crusades must be related in some way to the church reform of the eleventh century and to the Investiture Contest. Yet, as far as I can see, no one has pursued the matter. We are presented either with gen-

eralities or, when precision is attempted, with distorted images. In my view, the best words on the prehistory of the

crusading idea are in the second chapter of volume eight of Ranke’s Universal History, where he makes a fundamen-

tal distinction between the hierarchical and the popular ideas of crusade: they paralleled one another for some time

and only merged under Urban II. Though Ranke too closely identified the popular idea of crusade with the idea of pilgrimage, he nevertheless pointed out the route along which the essentials of the story may be discovered. The Introduction to the present work was written in 1930. Its first half originated in Rome, where I was able to work

at it concurrently with my activities at the Prussian Historical Institute. For permission to do so, as well as for other

encouragement, I am grateful to Geheimrat Paul Kehr. Chapters 1-111 and Appendices 1-111 were presented as my

Habilitationsschrift to the Philosophical Faculty of the University of Berlin in the summer of 1932. On this occasion, the two referees, Professor Erich Caspar and Professor Robert Holtzmann, supplied me with a number of suggestions that I have gratefully used. The preparation of the later chapters, and the publication of the entire work, were made possible by a research grant and a publication sub-

sidy for which I owe thanks to the Notgemeinschaft der Deutschen Wissenschaft. Until his death, Erich Caspar lent his friendly assistance to my work; I am indebted to him for

its acceptance in the series of Forschungen zur Kirchenund Gertstesgeschichite. ‘The manuscript divisions of the Bibliotheca Vaticana, the Staatsbibliotheken of Berlin and Munich, and the Bibliothéque nationale in Paris assisted me XXXKV

AUTHOR’S PREFACE

by sending photographs and helpfully answering many questions. Finally, I thank my colleagues in Berlin, Drs. D. von Gladiss, K. Jordan, T. E. Mommsen, and H. Schlechte,

who most kindly shared with me the pains of correcting proof.

Berlin, July 1935 CARL ERDMANN

XXXVI

THE ORIGIN OF THE IDEA OF CRUSADE

INTRODUCTION

A holy war, in the broadest sense of the term, is any war that is regarded as a religious act or is in some way set in a direct relation to religion. Holy wars were fought under the aegis of the ancient cults, especially in the Near Fast. ‘The national god personally led his people to victory over the god of other peoples; his shrine was carried into battle, and the spoils were all his. Holy war of this kind is

no different from profane war, for when the protagonists themselves bear a sacred stamp, all wars become holy by virtue of being the communal action of a sacred people. Similar

conceptions were shared even by the European peoples in pagan times. Ihe crusades, however, were holy wars in a quite different sense. The general idea of crusade, far from being confined to wars actually directed toward the Holy Land, could be found in the most varied theaters of combat, and acquired its clearest expression in the knightly orders. Here, religion itself provided the specific cause of war, unencumbered by considerations of public welfare, territorial defense, national honor, or interests of state. ‘This is why the call to arms did not go to a specific people or even, at first,

|3

to heads of state. It was addressed to Christian knighthood as a body. The present study will look at religious war in

this specific form. | |

The Christian religion was unfavorable at first to holy war. The special character of Christian ethics was not the

principal obstacle. To be sure, the love of neighbor

preached by Jesus is very different from the spirit of war; but since the Gospels contain no specific condemnation of war, theology was gradually able to reconcile the contradiction, as part of the progressive transformation of Christian ethics. A much stronger deterrent to holy war was that Christianity, from its very beginnings, was a universal and

INTRODUCTION

missionary religion. If all peoples were equally called to honor the only true God, then the cause of a single warring people might no longer be unequivocally equated with God’s cause. Moreover, the idea of a religious war against the unbelievers conflicted with missionary duty. All sophis-

ticated religions demand that conversion be a spiritual process freely undertaken. On this point the Islamic doctrine of holy war is characteristic. The Jihad, as Mohammed declared it, had as its aim the enlargement of the temporal sway of the Moslem community. The holy war was not to

convert unbelievers but to turn them into tributaries, that is, political subjects. ‘This also served to give glory to Allah and was consequently a holy deed. Although conquest might result in the acceptance of Islam by the conquered, conver-

sion was not the immediate purpose of the Moslem holy war. For Christianity, however, a religious war of this sort was of doubtful value. The mere subjugation of heathens occasionally passed as a holy deed even in Christian lands, but this was by no means the rule. ‘To regard the belief that Christianity was destined to world domination as the root of the crusading idea is an exaggeration;! nor is it true that the crusading idea had a comparatively direct and uncomplicated development.’ 1H. Prutz, Kulturgeschichte der Kreuzztige, p. 13.

2On the attitude of the church toward war there are detailed works only for the first three centuries, above all, the classic study of Harnack

on the Militia Christi. For the following period until about the year 1000, there exist, to my knowledge, only short surveys; though differing

from them in many details, I have consulted them with profit: L. Gautier, Chevalerie, pp. 2-14; A. Gottlob, Kreuzablass, pp. 13-36; G.C.W. Gorris, Denkbeelden, pp. 9-11; H. Pissard, Guerre sainte, pp. 1-3; W. Kohler, “Amnestie,” pp. 138-43; H. Finke, Gedanke, pp. 15ff; E. Maschke, Deutsche Orden, pp. 3-8; W. Erben, Kriegsgeschichte, pp. 53-57. I have also gathered some references from the Dissertatio de antiqua disciplina christiana militiae of C. Lupus, Opusc. post., pp. 94ff. ‘The discussion to follow attempts to attain a deeper understanding of these difficult developments, but it too has the character of an introductory survey, with no claim to finality.

[See now J. Dauvillier, Temps apostoliques, pp. 685-88, and J. Gaudemet, Eglise dans Vempire romain, pp. 706-9, both with bibliographies. The review article by J. Fontaine, “Christians and Military Service,” pp. 58-64, mentions among the earlier works: R. H. Bainton, 4

INTRODUCTION

To early Christians the idea of a holy war encouraged by their religion would have seemed absurd. ‘They knew only

profane wars, conducted for the good of the state, and doubted the propriety of participating in them.? ‘The question early Christianity posed was not whether religion was

a valid basis for war, but whether it was possible for a Christian to fight at all. Ecclesiastical teachers of the first centuries, such as Tertullian and Origen, answered even this question in the negative. In their view the barrier between Christianity and the military profession arose not only from the fact of bloodshed, but also from the association of the army with pagan cults and from the generally un-Christian life of the soldier. General practice, however, was based on the apostolic principle that everyone should remain in the state of life in which he was when called to Christianity. Even before Constantine, the army contained

many Christians. But there could be no question of the church’s having a warlike role in an age when the state was still pagan and Christianity was at best tolerated. The situation changed with Constantine. The new state church declared military service to be unobjectionable* and “The Early Church and War,” pp. 189-212, also in R. M. Jones, Church, Gospel and War, pp. 75-92 (see now the same author’s Christian Attttudes, chs. I-vi1); E. A. Ryan, “Rejection of Military Service,” pp. 1-32; H. von Campenhausen, “Kriegsdienst,” pp. 255-64; H. Karpp, “Stellung der alten Kirche,” pp. 496-515; B. Schépf, Tétungsrecht bei den fruhchristlichen Schriftstellern. See also G. S. Windass, ““The Early Church’s

Attitude to War,’ who comments on remarks, especially concerning Tertullian and Origen, in a previous article by J. Newman, with Newman’s replies; S. Gero, “Miles gloriosus,” pp. 285-98; John Helegeland,

“Christians in the Roman Army,” pp. 149-64. There is also a brief summary in R. M. Grant, Augustus to Constantine, pp. 273-74.| 3 The following is according to Harnack, Militia Christt.

4 There are always exceptions; e.g., Paulinus Nolanus, Ep. 25, ed. Hartel, pp. 223ff. Canon 3 of the Council of Arles, which appears to threaten desertion with excommunication, is often cited, but must be used with caution because the existing text is by no means clear; cf. Harnack, p. 88. As long as no real parallel to this regulation is shown to exist, I cannot regard it as credible. In any case, Canon 11 of the Council of Nicaea and a letter of Leo I (JK. 544, para. 10) have an altogether different sound! Later ecclesiastical penalties against deserters may have originated from the fact that the znfamia incurred by deser5

INTRODUCTION

quickly grew accustomed to invoking the state’s means of

enforcement. Legislation was set in motion against the pagans, and some Christians, hike Firmicus Maternus, even demanded that paganism be rooted out by fire and sword. The closer the alliance between state and church became,

the more the church aligned its ethical demands and liturgical prayers with the military functions of the state. In the Eastern Roman Empire, where state control of the church prevailed, the church did not long delay in lending moral support to the conduct of war. In fact, religion and nation in Eastern Christendom drew so closely together again, in the manner of pre-Christian religions, that to this day a special declaration of “holy war” is not required in emergencies.> Characteristically, the cult of military saints developed comparatively early in the Greek church. Such saints as Demetrius, Theodore, Sergius, and George were commonly believed to take a personal part in battles and to change the course of a conflict by miracles for the benefit

of their protégés.6 The contradiction between war and Christianity was no longer felt in the East.

The Western development took a different course. To be sure, the Latin church also entered into an alliance with the state and countenanced its military activities, on the understanding that the territory of the state was co-terminous with that of Christianity. But because the Roman church

never became quite so dependent as the Greek upon the

emperor, it was able to retain a measure of aloofness toward the state and war.’ For many centuries, military tion in civil law entered into the Pseudo-Isidorian collection; see the Preface to Canon 12 of the Council of Toledo (681) and Benedictus Levita, 11, 326; Decretales Pseudo-Isidorianae, ed. Hinschius, pp. 182, 231. 5 Harnack, p. 5. [On the Greek warrior saints, below, ch. Ix.]

6E. Lucius, Anfdnge, pp. 2o0nff. For a different view, H. Delehaye, Légendes grecques, pp. 1ff.

7 The position of the Visigothic national church in Spain is atypical. See below, ch. I, p. 39; also the Mozarabic hymn, In profectione exercitus (ed. Blume, Analecta hymnica, XXVH, 269). A. L. Mayer’s view of these

matters (“Altchristliche Liturgie,” pp. goff), is, in my opinion, somewhat oversimplified. 6

INTRODUCTION

saints were unknown to the West;® only very rarely do we hear of a saint appearing in battle to protect his church or

the faithful. The experiences of everyday life miulitated against a belief in the active help of saints in war. The Western Empire became less and less able to defend itself

against the onslaught of barbarians. Far from evoking thanks for heavenly assistance in war, such events as the sack of Rome by the Goths occasioned reproaches against Christianity of the kind that urged Augustine to reply in The City of God. Augustine himself charted the course of the Western ethic of war, and exercised the most lasting influence in shaping its complexities.1°

Writers of the first centuries had taken into account only the military service of individual Christian soldiers; their perspective did not yet extend to the ethics of a state making war or to the ethics of the ruler of that state. Augustine, however, grappled with the socio-ethical problem of war on a much more basic level. Above all, he asked whether and when a war was permissible or sinful. He did not admit

that there was an autonomous justification for war as a 8 Lucius, pp. 246ff.

9I know of only one example from the period of the early church— the report in Augustine De cura pro mortuis gerenda, c. 16 (19) (Opera 5-3-652), that St. Felix appeared when Nola was being defended against

the barbarians. Some examples from later times are provided in H. Ginter, Legendenstudien, pp. 110f. Personal participation of this kind

should not be confused with the general belief that God and the saints determine the outcome of battles.

10 The Augustinian passages on war that would be standard in the later period are best compiled in Gratian’s Decretum, Pars Ul, C. 23, ed.

Friedberg, 1, 889-965. Also on this J. Mausbach, Ethzk des hl. Augustinus, 1, 313, 337, 345, 426f; O. Schilling, Staats- und Soziallehre des

hl. Augustinus, pp. 86ff. Attention should also be given E. Bernheim, Mittelalterliche Zeitanschauungen, and P. Monceaux, “St. Augustin et la guerre”; yet their accounts differ sharply from one another, and I do not agree with them on every point. [For a full discussion of Augustine’s views on war, H. E. Deane, Political and Social Ideas of St. Augustine, ch. v; P. Brown, “Religious Coercion,” pp. 283-305, and ‘St. Augustine’s Attitude to Religious Coercion,” pp. 107-16; Bainton, Christian Attitudes, ch. vi; F. van der Meer, Augustine the Bishop, ch. VI, esp. pp. 93ff.] 7

INTRODUCTION

means of settling disputes between states. War, for him, arose only from wickedness and was always an evil. There is such a thing as “‘just war [bellum justum],” but the crucial point is that it can be “just” only on one side: at least one of the contenders must have brought about the conflict by injustice, for only self-defense and the recovery of stolen property constitute just causes for war. In this way Augustine introduced the idea of war-guilt into Christian history and made it a cornerstone of the European theory of war. For a millennium its validity was unquestioned, and it remains very weighty even today. The righteous may fight only from necessity, and their objective in doing so should always be peace and ultimately even the well-being of the opponent. Aggressive attitudes were thus condemned, and

the Christian ethic of peace, which Augustine was thoroughly conscious of, was brought into harmony with the existence of war. On a practical level, Augustine stipulated

that the individual soldier did not sin by participating in an unjust war if he did not have a clear awareness of the injustice of his cause. By implication, basic responsibility for

war fell on the head of state and not on the army. The ethics of war, now almost wholly divorced from the soldier, were a matter for the prince, who had to show whether his cause was just or unjust and, accordingly, whether the war

was licit or unjustified. Moreover, Augustine’s teachings specifically distinguished between aggressive and defensive

wars. This distinction, though very difficult to make and often based on fiction, remained decisive for Christian doctrine.

Bellum justum was not at first a war of religion, but a moral war. The further elaboration that Augustine’s doctrine on the subject acquired resulted from the special circumstances of his life. The Donatist schism had long been bringing grave troubles to the North African church. In the face of this situation, Augustine, like many churchmen after

him, found himself in a dilemma: while Catholic ec8

INTRODUCTION

clesiology demanded that church unity be maintained, the doctrine that faith was voluntary forbade the use of force.

At first, Augustine sought to eliminate the schism by a purely intellectual combat waged with literary weapons. Experience soon proved the limited effectiveness of this approach. As a result, he was led to invoke the aid of the state against the Donatists. Well aware that this was a departure

from early Christian precepts, he drew comfort from his

reflections on history: the position of the church had changed, its potestas had increased, once the head of state had accepted Christianity. What was now taking place was just an exercise of internal discipline within the church and within the state. The dictum “compel them to come in [coge intrare],” which Augustine then applied to the Donatists’ entrance into the church, might in itself have been used to justify even the forcible incorporation of pagans. Augustine avoided this course by limiting its application to heretics and schismatics, who were regarded as merely fallen away and, therefore, still theoretically subject to the discipline of the church.

All this seems to have little to do with the ethics of war. But it should be noted that neither Augustine’s theory nor medieval teachers distinguished internal discipline from foreign relations, or criminal law from the law of nations. No essential difference was yet seen in whether the state exercised the “right of the sword [ius gladit]”” over its own citizens or over other peoples. Moreover, the suppression of Donatism called for military measures, the more so since the Donatists and their close allies, the so-called Circumceel-

liones, themselves assumed a warlike posture and devastated the land as alleged soldiers of Christ. Augustine came to regard the state’s persecution of the Donatists as a war, and he expanded his theory of war in order to take into account the present conflict with the heretics. Over and above the “‘just war,” he now spoke of holy war, “war sanctioned by God [bellum Deo auctore],” in which the general 9

INTRODUCTION

and the soldiers rank in a special way as servants of God." ‘The two parties to such a war cannot be judged according to the same yardstick: one side fights for light, the other for darkness; one for Christ, the other for the devil. Augustine’s

teaching about the city of God was all that was further needed to give this holy war its specific stamp.

What made a war of this kind holy was that the church of a Christian state was using force to maintain its unity. An aggressive war of religion for the expansion of Christen-

dom was still out of the question. It was Gregory I who moved Christian doctrine in this dubious direction. As an advocate of the principle that high: taxes might be used to force stubborn non-Christians into conversion, he did not shrink from placing weapons in the service of missionary activity.1? He praised Gennadius, the exarch of Africa, for

seeking out battle in order that Christianity might be preached to the conquered. In this way the principle of an

indirect missionary war was first enunciated. The immediate aim of the war was only the subjugation of the pagans, but this was regarded as the basis for subsequent 11 The two principal passages on this point are in Quaest. in Hept. VI, 10 (Opera 3.3.428f) and De civitate Dei 1, 21 (Opera 5.1.39f). The concept of the bellum Deo auctore appeared in Augustine’s earlier writings, but acquired full significance only in his stand regarding heretics.

[On Augustine’s change from the idea of persuasion and argument only, through a transitional view of admitting state protection against Donatists, to the full acceptance of state power against schismatics and heretics, see Deane, pp. 185-220.

With regard to the period immediately following Augustine, Professor Walter Goftart has called my attention to the fact that Erdmann overlooked Fl. Vegetius Renatus Epitoma rei militaris, written ca. 440, which he regards as an important document in the Christian attitude toward war; it is the first military treatise to be explicitly Christian and was used throughout the Middle Ages as the standard authority on warfare. |

12 Gregory I, Registrum, 1,73 (MGH Ep. 1.93): “you are often eager for wars ... for the sake of expanding the Empire, where we see that

God is reverenced ..., so that, by preaching of the faith, Christ’s

name may be heard everywhere among the subjected peoples [bella vos

frequenter appetere ... dilatandae causa rei publicae, in qua Deum coli conspicimus ..., quatenus Christi nomen per subditas gentes fidei praedicatione circumquaque discurrat].” Cf. Reg. Iv, 26 (zbid. 1.261). 10

INTRODUCTION

missionary activity that would be protected and promoted by state authority. Augustine and Gregory thus gave holy war a dual intellectual basis: war against heretics within, to preserve the purity of the church; missionary wars without, to extend the faith. To suppose, however, that these principles were the most essential components of the later idea of crusade would be

a mistake. The line of development was anything but straight.

Augustine’s teachings on war against heretics could not acquire major importance in the early Middle Ages, since

there were few occasions to put them into practice. The Arianism of the East Germanic peoples in the fifth and sixth centuries might appear to have offered a great opportunity for developing the notion of a holy war against heretics. In fact, the account Gregory of Tours gives of Clovis’s Visigothic war points in this direction. ‘he motive

he attributes to the Frankish king, a convert to Catholic Christianity, is that he would no longer endure the rule of Arian heretics in Gaul. Gregory gives the war a semireligious character, by mentioning miracles and the special devotion exhibited by Clovis’s side to St. Martin.13 But the Catholic Church managed to absorb Arianism in the course

of the sixth and seventh centuries; the ecclesiastical unity of the West was restored and stood unshaken until a new sort of sectarianism made its appearance in the second millennium. In the interval the idea of war against heretics was irrelevant.

Conditions were more favorable for the Gregorian idea

of missionary war. At first glance this appears to be a Christian counterpart of the Islamic Jihad, for while preserving a purely religious objective, it serves missionary

aims not by the direct imposition of the faith but by the detour of political subjugation. ‘The external conditions for such a missionary war were, of course, present at all times. But the concept suffered from an internal contradiction: the 18 Gregory of Tours, ul, 37 (MGH SS. Merov. 1.99; 2d ed., 1.85). 11

INTRODUCTION

attitude needed in war toward an opponent is so basically different from missionary preaching that no army can ever be inspired by a vision of evangelical service. As a rule, missionary war is essentially a profane war of conquest. Religious considerations may well serve to supply it with

a theoretical justification, but they can never become a driving force for the warriors. ‘To be otherwise, the war must be transformed into a stark issue of belief, in which the opponent is peremptorily raced with the alternative of death or baptism, and in which the killing of a heathen is held to be a deed pleasing to God. ‘This view was only rarely tolerated in the church and never became accepted doctrine. It is little wonder, then, that even the idea of a missionary war failed to acquire a general following. Many ecclesiastical teachers, perhaps even the majority, took the view that the moral command to maintain peace should be

kept toward Christians and pagans alike. Religion had nothing to do with it: war against pagans was regarded as justified only if they were the aggressors and fell upon the Christians with pitiless hostility.14

For a long time, therefore, the two forms of holy war envisioned by the Western fathers failed to have any practical purpose. Moreover, the forces of restraint were con-

siderably strengthened by the disapproving attitude that the church assumed toward warfare itself. The concept of “the armed service of Christ [militia Christi] illuminates this relationship more clearly than anything else.

The earliest Christians were familiar with the idea that Christian life is a war.15 Many metaphors and images in the

Pauline letters are derived from warfare. The apostle was 14 See for example, Oliva of Wich, MPL 142.603; Alexander II, JL. 4528, 4533. Of course, there are other kinds of pronouncements, but in my opinion, no decisive importance should be attributed to them. 15 The following is according to Harnack, pp. 12-44. The (originally Augustinian) concept of ecclesia militans can be entirely disregarded; it has nothing to do with war-making, but only signifies the living church (on earth) as distinct from the church triumphant (in heaven). On the concept of the miles, see also H. Fitting, Peculium, pp. 437ff, 507ff. 12

INTRODUCTION

convinced he was writing about a real battle: the opponents

are the demons or the sins within men. Practical consequences were very soon drawn from the idea of spiritual combat. A soldier of Christ should not let himself be preoccupied with wordly affairs‘*—a principle that has been cited time and time again and has acquired universal significance. It contributed to the development of a distinct

clerical class and of monasticism, and it repeatedly contrasted secular life with the life of true militia Christi? Meanwhile, very different answers were given to the question of who composed the ranks of those who truly fought

for Christ. Since Paul applied the title primarily to the apostles and missionaries, the logical extension was that it should later devolve upon clerics. Other authors believed that the martyrs were the true “soldiers of Christ [mzlites

Christi]; and throughout the Middle Ages the word was most often applied to monks. Finally, all centuries since Antiquity shared the conception that every Christian should

be a warrior of God, a notion that is still found in the Roman Catechism.

The Catholic Church was initially adamant on the point that heavenly warfare was purely spiritual and that military

service in the world stood at the opposite pole from the Christian ideal. Militia spiritualis was synonymous with the

expressions militia Christt, militia Det, militia coelestis, militia christiana, etc.1® An interesting example is the appeal

addressed by the young William of Dijon (before ggo) to

his father, an old veteran, to enlist in the spiritual war

of monastic life:19 even the cloister had no dearth of battles, namely those against Satan and his minions, and there 169 Tim. 2:3-4: “Labor as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. Let no one, soldiering for God, entangle himself in temporal affairs [Labora sicut bonus miles Christi Jesu. Nemo militans Deo implicat se negotiis saecularibus].”

17 Especially detailed in the pastoral letter of Fulgentius Ferrandus, MPL 67.928. See also Fitting, pp. 439f n. 10. 18 Typical examples are the two homilies, De militia spiritali and De militia christiana, of Chrysostom (in Latin only) Opera 5.98b. 19 E, De Levis, Willelmi Divionensis opera, p. 72. 13

INTRODUCTION

too, as in the army, the rule of obedience reigns supreme.

An obvious corollary to such thinking was that the real military life, the militia saecularis, epitomized a life distant from God, dangerous to the welfare of the soul. “If I were not afraid to bore by repeating what is well known, I might adduce many ringing testimonies distinguishing the militia Dei from the militia saeculi’”’: this statement by Gerhoh of Reichesberg may serve as our own.?°

A glance at the early medieval cuit of saints in the West offers the same picture. ‘I’o be sure, some saints like Sebastian, Maurice, George, and Martin had been soldiers. But far from having distinguished themselves by pious feats of arms, they invariably achieved holiness in opposition to their military profession.” The Acts of Sebastian relate that the saint hid his Christianity under a soldier’s cloak in order that he might, in this way, secretly aid and strengthen his

fellow Christians during the persecutions.?? ‘he legend praises St. Maurice and his Theban legion because, although they were soldiers, they refused to carry out the imperial order to persecute Christians.”* ‘The extremely popular biography of St. Martin by Sulpicius Severus attributes to him the unambiguous words: “I am a soldier of Christ, I must not fight,” and has him leave the army on account

of his Christianity. The oldest life of Boniface points in the same direction when it relates that the saint forbade 20 MGH Libelli 3.248. 21 On St.-George, below, ch. Ix.

22 Acta s. Sebastiani, c.1 (AA. SS., Jan., 1, 6209). , 23 Passio Acaunensium martyrum, c. 4ff (MGH SS. Merov. 3.34ff). 24 Sulpicius Severus, Vita s. Martini, c. 4: Christi ego miles sum, pug-

nare mihi non licet. Since the passage can be neither modified nor explained away, it has occasioned vehement debates even in recent times. See also ibid., c. 3. [E. Griffe, “En relisant la “Vita Martini’ de Sulpice Sévére,” pp. 184-98, notes that Sulpicius Severus spent over twenty years in military service. A. J. Visser, “Christianus sum,” pp. 5-19. The new edition of Sulpicius Severus, Vita s. Martini, by J. Fontaine, Sources chrétiennes, fasc. 13335 (Paris, 1967—1969), includes a commentary on the militia Martini (134, Pp. 428-538). 14

INTRODUCTION

his followers to fight the pagan Frisians who had attacked

them.2>

The first consequence of this attitude was that the clergy

was forbidden to have anything to do with warfare; the prohibition included not just fighting but also the bearing of arms. Ambrose had asserted that clerics should hold

themselves far from the use of weapons.? This view acquired the character of a legal norm at an early date and was enacted by councils. The popes of the eighth and ninth

centuries frequently issued the same command, and the Frankish kings incorporated it into their capitularies. ‘The prohibition expressly included war against pagans.?? Only in cases of the strictest necessity could it be considered permissible for clerics and monks to join with laymen in defense against pagan raids. Folkvin of Laubach relates an incident of this kind during a Hungarian raid in the year

954, but he does not omit to add that the use of weapons by clerics is in itself forbidden.?* ‘The many cases in which

this prohibition was ignored should not deceive us. From the standpoint of ecclesiastical doctrine these were violations of clerical discipline, which conscientious churchmen often lamented. Equally lamentable from this standpoint was the conduct of certain tenth-century popes, such as John XII, whose leadership of armies serves as illustration

of the moral decay of the papacy and not as proof that ecclesiastical theory was developing. 25 Vitae s. Bontifati, ed. Levison, p. 49. 26 Ambrose Ep. 20 (Sermo contra Auxentium), MPL 16.1050: often cited in the Middle Ages (e.g., Atto of Vercelli, Ep. 1, MPL 134.98) and also in the Decretum of Gratian, C. 23 q. 8 c. 3, ed. Friedberg, 1, 954. A passage from Gregory I, Registrum v,6 (MGH Ep. 1.287) was applied in

tifiably. ,

the same sense by Gratian Decretum ibid. c. 20, p. 958, but not jus27 The sources are in M. Hofmann, “Militarfreiheit,” pp. 452ff; Koeniger, Militdrseelsorge, pp. off; and W. Erben, Kriegsgeschichte, pp. 55f. See also Gratian C. 23 q. 8, ed. Friedberg, I, 953ff. On war against pagans, see esp. JE. 2275.

28 Folcvin, Gesta abb. Lob., c. 25 (MGH SS. 4.66). There is a similar account in Radulf Glaber, Historia, 11, 9, ed. Prou, pp. 44f. 15

INTRODUCTION

Of greater importance than this special rule for the clergy was the reticent attitude adopted by the church toward the secular profession of arms. The long pastoral letter of Fulgentius Ferrandus to the general Reginus was meant as an exhaustive discussion of the Christian duties of the milites saeculi; yet it includes not one word about the purpose of war or about actual military activity.2® A sort of military pastorate existed in the Carolingian Empire,

but its activity was mainly cultual, celebrating mass and carrying relics; the ethical element was still in the distant background.®° We hear even less about preaching to the army. The only ancient military sermon that we possess has

nothing to say about the positive duties of warriors or the purposes of war.*! At all times it was stressed that the warrior must confess and do penance, but a notable contradiction is found precisely here: killing in battle was considered a defilement for which penance was due. To be sure, kill-

ing an enemy in open battle was not equated with other types of killing, but the majority of penitential books still 29 MPL 67. 928-50.

30 On this, Koeniger, Militdrseelsorge, who organizes the material with exceptional erudition. In my view, however, his judgments are overininfluenced by modern circumstances and exaggerate the devotional element. His conclusion (p. 51) that “special admonitions regarding battle

and war, bravery and heavenly reward” were customary sermon material is inadequately supported by the sources. For the Vita Oudalrici, c.12 (MGH SS. 4.401f), which stems from the end of the tenth century, is misplaced in both time and substance, and the Epistola consolatoria is not a sermon; see the following note. 31 Published in Koeniger, Militdrseelsorge, pp. 68-72; according to J. M. Heer, Missionskatechismus, p. 60, the sermon does not have its own title in the manuscript (Munich, lat. 14410, f. 81%), but is joined with the preceding under the same title, De execrandis vitiis. The words on the acies Christi etc. are to be understood in a spiritual sense, as the context shows. Heer conjectures (p. 62) that the sermon was composed for the Avar war, apparently inferring this from the fact that the mission catechism immediately preceding in the manuscript was clearly intended for the Avar mission (see also J. Schmidlin’s review of Heer, p. 258); this point, however, does not necessarily follow. The second ‘military sermon” cited by Koeniger (pp. 51f) is actually a letter, for the title Epistola consolatoria ad pergentes in bellum appears in the manuscript; see W. Schmitz, ““Tironischen Miszellen,” fig. 10. See below, n. 68. 16

INTRODUCTION

assign to it a penance of forty days.3? Hrabanus Maurus expressly condemned the idea that no penance was re-

quired for killing in a war commanded by the prince. Moreover, a provision was in force that penitents should not bear arms and should never again participate in war after having completed their penance.*+ The professional warrior was thus excluded from the penitential order of the church. The discordance is more understandable when one

observes that, as yet, the ethical theories propounded by churchmen generally failed to take into account “professional life,’ whether that of a class of warriors or anyone else’s. In a book like the Mirror of the Laity by Jonas of Orleans, which claims to discuss the whole of practical morality, one looks in vain for a word about the practical morality of the warrior.*5 This is all the more remarkable at a time when the leading elements of society consisted

primarily of warriors. Of course, the general duties of Christians applied also to men at arms; beyond this, the Christian ethic for soldiers was simply expressed by the never outdated saying of John the Baptist (Luke 3:14), “Be 82 According to H. J. Schmitz, Bussdisziplin, the Poenttentiale Valtcellianum I (p. 264), the Poenit. Valic. II (p. 356), the Poenit. Casinense (p. 402), the Poenit. Bedae (p. 559), the Poenit. Cummeani (pp. 633 and 655), and the Poenit. Parisiense (p. 687) have a penance of forty days,

the Poenit. Arundel (p. 441), a penance of one year. Only the later additions to the Poenit. Romanum (p. 485) prescribe freedom from

punishment for killing in self-defense. On the origin of these penalties in Basil the Great, see ibid., p. 43. The forty-day penance also occurs in the Poenit. Capit. Iudiciorum: Schmitz, Bussverfahren, p. 219. [According to E. Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), p. 44, and n. 105, Erd-

mann’s view of the severity of the church’s stand on war should be modified. He notes that certain penitentials cited are not applicable to

the Carolingian period. See also C. Vogel, “Pélerinages pénitentiels,” pp. 113-45, a review article with bibliography. ] 33 MGH Ep. 5.464, repeated in the Poenit. Hrabani, c. 4 (MPL 110.471), and from there in Regino, I, 50; Burchard, vi, 23, and Ivo of Chartres, Decretum, X, 152.

34 Koeniger, pp. 53f, correctly emphasizes that these rules could not be implemented in wartime, even though he still does not mention that there was a special penance for killing in war. 35 Jonas of Orleans, De instit. laicali, MPL 106.121ff. 17

INTRODUCTION

content with your pay [contenti estote stipendis vestris],” as we still know it from the Capuchin’s sermon in Schiller’s Wallenstein. Robbery and plunder were the sins of the warrior; if he avoided them there was little more to tell him.*¢

Hincmar of Rheims wrote a tract against the robberies of soldiers, and even he did not waste a word on other aspects of military morality.27 When Rather of Liege discussed the duties of all classes one after the other and began by speaking of the milites, he also confined himself to a prohibition

of murder and robbery, especially the plundering of churches; his tract, like the others, emphasizes the negative

aspects of soldiering, without offering the least hint that this calling might have a positive side.°* Atto of Vercelli said much the same: the general laws of God apply as much to warriors as to others; for the rest, warriors should maintain the fidelity they have sworn to the king and not transgress their own law.*® By this law, Atto meant the existing secular law. The church for its part still had nothing special to say to warriors. Atto, in his enthusiasm for the ban upon clerical arms-bearing, was once aroused to say: to defend

oneself with weapons, to acquire booty, to devastate the land, to kill men and mutilate them—these are not the works of priests but of devils.*° This sounds like a very basic

condemnation of war. Although Atto, like all others, surely did not intend to forbid just and necessary war, he found it difficult to reconcile the contradiction between the service 86 A passage from a Pseudo-Augustinian sermon is often cited (Maxi-

mus of Turin, MPL 57.517f): “It is not wrong to perform military service, but to serve for booty is sinful [Militare non est delictum, sed propter praedam militare peccatum est’’]. Cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 1 ¢. 5, ed. Friedberg, I, 893. 87 Hincmar, De coercendis militum rapinis (MPL 125.953-56). 38 Ratherius, Praeloquiorum, I, tit. 2: De militibus (MPL 136.149). 39 Atto of Vercelli, Ep. 1 (MPL 134.103). The passage on the exordium

of the law is a rather clear reference to the Edictus Rothari. 40 Atto, zbid., col. 98. What we have here is, presumably, the combination of an exaggerated Augustinism with an excessively sharp antithesis between the civitas Dei and the civitas diaboli. 18

| | INTRODUCTION of God and the service of arms. Nicholas I most clearly expressed the same opinion: war is permissible in cases of inescapable necessity for the defense of one’s life and country, but in itself it is devil’s work, and deserters should therefore be indulgently treated.*

By comparison with the ecclesiastical teaching of late Antiquity, such utterances might be regarded as regressive. Yet it should not be forgotten that the entrance of the Ger-

mans into Christian history had created an entirely new situation. War was the life-style of the Germanic peoples who increasingly formed the most important element in the

church’s constituency.t? The moral precepts that accom-

panied them from their pagan past were completely oriented to war, focusing on heroism, famous deeds on the

part of the leader, loyalty on the part of the followers, revenge for those killed, courage unto death, contempt for a comfortable life at home. For them, war as such was a form of moral action, a higher type of life than peace. All

this stood at the opposite pole from Christian morality, which is based on love and readiness for peace and can dis-

cuss war only with reference to aims and duties. The acceptance of Christianity could not possibly cause the old Germanic mode of thinking to lose its power overnight. This mentality took centuries to overcome,*® and still has some appeal today. Characteristically, the stories of the

conversion of the Frank Clovis and of the Lombard 41 Nicholas I, Ep. gg, c. 22f, 46 (MGH Ep. 6.581, 585). I cannot share

Erben’s view (Kriegsgeschichte, p. 54) that these assertions were occasioned only by the special purpose of this letter directed to the newly converted Bulgars. [For a discussion of Nicholas I’s letter, R. E. Sullivan, “Khan Boris,” pp. 58ff.]

42 On the following, G. Neckel, “Kriegerische Kultur,” pp. 17~44; K. Weinhold, Betirdge, pp. 555-67. Also pertinent is J. Haller, Papsttum, 1, off.

ae Also interesting in this connection is a passage in Adam of Bremen, il, 56, ed. B. Schmeidler, p. 201, where the love of bloodshed is mentioned as one of the sins still common among the heathen. 19

INTRODUCTION

Romuald represent God’s guidance of the fortunes of battle

as the decisive element in the turning to Christianity.‘*4 Moreover, ethics and religion were separate in Germanic

paganism, so that the supplanting of the pagan by the Christian cult did not simultaneously imply a change in the realm of ethics. The church was therefore confronted with a massive bar-

rier of pagan ways, which for centuries were beyond its power to master. In these circumstances, it is hardly surprising that the church took a more unfavorable view of warfare than before. Since the Germans regarded the killing of another man in honorable combat as a special occa-

sion, the high point of life, it was a natural reaction for the church to set a penance upon any killing, even killing that, from an objective standpoint, did not constitute a sin. The church had always taught that a warlike mentality was

reprehensible; when it now found this mentality most strongly developed, it set itself in resolute opposition. Nevertheless, the Germanic mentality also exercised a positive influence upon the development of the ecclesiastical morality of war. When the church encountered pagan elements that it could not suppress, it tended to give them a Christian dimension, thereby assimilating them. This hap-

pened to the ethics of heroism.*® The whole crusading movement may justifiably be seen from this perspective; Christian knighthood cannot otherwise be understood. ‘This

evolution began in earnest only around the year 1000, as will be shown in the next chapter, but prefigurations of it do, of course, appear earlier. ‘Io some extent, the development of the Christian cult of the archangel Michael symbol-

izes the process.*¢ Michael, a biblical figure, was first 44 Gregory of Tours, 1, 30 (MGH SS. Merov. 1.91; 2d ed., 1.75); Vita Barbati ep. Beneventant, c. hf (MGH SS. Langob., p. 559). 45 See G. Neckel, “Kriegerethik,” pp. 233-38. 46 For the following, E. Gothein, Culturentwicklung, pp. 41-111; F. Wiegand, Michael; W. Lueken, Michael; A. Gerlach, Michel; O. Rojdestvensky, St. Michel.

[On the origin of the Michael cult and its transference to the West, 20

INTRODUCTION

venerated in the East, but it was in Germanic lands that he acquired a special significance. It may or may not be true that Michael partly inherited the characteristics of the god Wotan, that many churches of St. Michael were built in places where Wotan had been worshiped, or that components of Germanic mythology were transferred to the archangel. What is certain is that, out of the various threads of late Judaic and early Christian ideas about Michael, the West especially preserved those traits associated with war.

In the basic legend of Michael’s appearance on Mt. Gargano, the archangel is represented above all as a leader in battle, who brings down a storm from on high and slays the enemy with lightning from heaven. This characteristic was

retained for centuries, so that the archangel long was the favorite patron of war. His image was found on the stand-

ards that Henry I and Otto the Great bore against the Hungarians, and the same epoch celebrated a mass of St. Michael as an aid to victory.47 Of course, Michael continued

to be the slayer of the dragon, that is, of Satan, as depicted in the Apocalypse. Churchmen were always conscious that

his battle had a spiritual significance. Here, for the first time, we have a synthesis of heavenly and earthly military service, of militza Det and militia saecularis, indicated in a

symbolic way at least. As prince of the heavenly hosts, princeps militiae coelestis, Michael led warriors into battle, as well as monks into the spiritual combats of the soul.*® especially in southern Italy, W. von Rintelen, ‘‘Legendwanderung,” pp. 471~100. For the origins of the cult and pilgrimage at Monte Gargano, see

A. Petrucci, “Aspetti,” pp. 145-80. See also L. Réau, Iconographie, ui, 43ff; and L. Ebersolt, Orient et occident, pp. 45ff. The popularity of Eastern saints in early medieval Rome is noted by P. Llewelen, Rome in the Dark Ages, pp. 137, 197; and by H. Fichtenau, ‘“Reliquienwesen,” . Go.

7: 47 Tedmann, “Kaiserliche Fahnen,” pp. 2off (also mentions the Byzantine model of the St. Michael’s standard); MGH Const. 1.5 (Synod othe passage in William of Dijon cited above, n. 19, provides an example of the archangel’s being brought into the complex of ideas surrounding the militia spiritualis.

oO ‘

21

INTRODUCTION

A detailed account cannot be given here of how this dichotomy began in fact to be reconciled in the first millen-

nium and how, in this way, the development of Christian knighthood and holy war was initiated and pursued. We shall elaborate only two main directions.

A first and very important step was the Christianization of the state. ‘his process, already completed in the Roman Empire, had to be repeated with respect to the Germanic kingdoms. A decisive stage was the alliance of the papacy

with Pipin, by which the king of the Franks directly assumed the duty of fighting for the Roman church. The conditions of the Frankish period are well known, and do not need detailed examination here.*® A glance at the high

point of this development under Charlemagne suffices to illustrate the influence that the idea of the Christian state had on the formation of the ethics of war.®° 49 Most of all, I disregard the conditions in Visigothic Spain, which differ from the main course of development; see below, p. 39. 50 From the literature, I cite: H. Lilienfein, Anschauungen; A. Werminghoff, “Firstenspiegel,” pp. 193-214; H. von Schubert, Christlichen Kirche; F. Kampers, “Rex et Sacerdos,” pp. 495-515; E. Rosenstock, “Furt der Franken”; K. Heldmann, Kaisertum, pp. 48ff; E. Pfeil, Romidee; T. Zwolfer, Sankt Peter; H. Hirsch, “Kaisergedanke,” pp. 1ff; A. Brackmann, Anfdnge, pp. 72ff. Owing to its singular character, I omit the noteworthy eulogy of war by Sedulius Scottus, De rectoribus christtanis, Cc. 16, MPL 103.323, without deciding whether it embodies Germanic ideas or reminiscences from classical literature.

[Among the recent general works on the Carolingian empire, D. Bullough, Charlemagne, esp. ch. v1; W. Brauenfels, ed., Karl der Grosse, esp. vol. 11, Geistige Leben; Jedin-Dolan, Handbook of Church History, 11. Bullough has also prepared a comprehensive bibliographical survey, “Europae Pater,’ pp. 59-105. Of especial significance for the theocratic empire are: Erdmann, Forschungen, pp. 16-31; R. Folz, Idée d’empire;

K. Morrison, Two Kingdoms. An important, but controversial, work is W. Ullmann, Papal Government, esp. chs. 0, 1. Certain of Ullmann’s conclusions regarding the origins and development of what he designates as the church’s hierocratic structure have been questioned in de-

tail by F. Kempf, “Pdpstliche Gewalt,” pp. 117-69. Delaruelle, “Essai’”’ (1941), pp. 24-25, discusses the formation of the Carolingian at-

titude toward war more fully than does Erdmann, and emphasizes the religious and especially the biblical orientation of Carolingian government and society. He finds there the beginnings of a true Christian solidarity [populus Christianus] vis-a-vis the non-Christian, especially 22

INTRODUCTION

Such political theory as there was in the Carolingian age applied, of course, to the person of the ruler and not to the abstract state. The profession of the ruler was the only element to be immediately Christianized—a step facilitated by

the idea of priest-kingship that had long had a certain influence. But an ecclesiastical conception was now also developed for such real royal duties as leadership of the army and the maintenance of peace. ‘The defense of Christendom and, often, its extension were held to be the foremost duties of the ruler. First popularized by the popes in their frequent appeals to the secular arm, this teaching was

soon taken up by the king of the Franks and his theologians.*! It was given prominence by the Carolingian alliance with the papacy, which occasioned repeated wars in the interests of the Roman church; but the state church within the Frankish kingdom pointed as emphatically in the same direction. ‘The most notorious example is that of the

Saxon wars, which were conducted on the principle of forcible conversion—an act that was conceivable only because baptism was the essential prerequisite for complete inclusion into the Frankish state. In such cases as that of the Moslem, world, including holy war, liturgy, cult of saints, etc. but entirely concerned with the West. See also R. Manselli, “La Respublica christiana e |’Islam,” L’Occidente e Vislam nell’alto medioevo. Settimane

di Studio del Centro italiano di Studi sull’ alto medioevo, xu. Spoleto, 1965, 121ff. On the papal lands, P. Partner, Lands, esp. pp. 29-41.] 51 Codex Carolinus, nos. 7, 24, 26, 32, 35 (MGH Ep. 3.491, 528, 531, 539, 543); the letters of Charles and Alcuin: MGH Ep. 4, nos. 93, 171, 202, pp. 137, 282, 336. The train of thought in the Alcuin passages clearly accords with a letter of Gregory I, Registrum, 1, 72 (MGH Ep., 1.92). I doubt whether Haller, Papsttum, 1, 380f, is right in citing Cod. Carol. no. 5 (MGH Ep. 3.488) on this subject. In that letter, Stephen II writes to the Frankish magnates: “What you have done in struggles and for His (God’s or Peter’s) holy church, your spiritual mother, may your sins be forgiven by the Prince of the Apostles himself [quod per certamen, quod in eius (Dei or Petri) sanctam ecclesiam, vestram spiritalem matrem, feceritis ab ipso principe apostolorum vestra dimittantur peccata, etc.].” Since the pope is speaking, the combat referred to might be interpreted in the old spiritual sense. [E. Duckett, Alcuin, pp. 130ff.]

23

INTRODUCTION

Slavs of the Elbe, whose complete incorporation was not envisaged at first, a missionary war was not undertaken. Since almost all of Charles’s opponents were either pagans

or persecutors of the papacy, the state church did not hesitate to bless his wars. The situation closely resembled that of the ancient Near East, where religion coincided with the state or nation. We encounter phenomena altogether comparable to ancient Israel: as Yahweh did then, so now did St. Peter, the special patron of the Frankish king, regularly decide battles in his favor; as the Israelite priests and prophets, so now did the Frankish bishops and priests pray

to heaven for victory; and as once the Ark of the Covenant, so now were relics borne in combat as a pledge of victory.

All this, however, fits the category of holy war only to a very limited extent. Religion makes its appearance not as

an independent element, but as an attribute of the state. The state’s pursuit of power remains decisive. No sooner were these conceptions devised than they experienced a lasting disturbance: the Carolingian Empire broke up, and the various Christian kings began to turn their weapons against one another.*? Moreover, the religious aim had most often been related only to the state as a whole, that is, to the king, and not to the individual soldier.*? An example of this is the famous Old German Ludwigslied of 881.5 The poem 52 The polemic of Agobard of Lyons against the conduct of Louis the Pious (833) is very revealing in this respect (MGH SS. 15.1.275f). [Delaruelle, “Essai’’ (1941), pp. 86-87, contends that the sense of populus Christianus continued after Charlemagne, despite political divisions. |

53 Typically, Hincmar’s treatise on the office of the ruler (De regis persona et regis ministerio, C. 7-13, MPL 123.84off) includes a collection

of Augustine passages on war. This treatise is based on older Capitula diversarum sententiarum pro negociis rei publicae consulendis; see G. Laehr and C. Erdmann, “Firstenspiegel Hincmars,” pp. 120ff. 54 See G. Ehrismann, Literatur, 1, 220ff; the text of the song is in W. Braune, Lesebuch, p. 150, no. 36. [Bullough, “Europae pater,’ p. 66, cites Erdmann, Forschungen, pp. 21-25, on the importance of the epic and the problem of the date of 24

INTRODUCTION

describes at length how King Louis III of the West Franks, dedicated to God’s service, received a divine commission to fight the pagan Northmen who were molesting the Christians, and how he was victorious by God’s power. His men, however, owed no military obligation to God. Even though they are called godes holden [fideles dei] and answer the king’s battle hymn with a “Kyrie Eleison,” the king promises them only temporal rewards 1n his address before the battle and refrains from speaking of religious aims.*

Nevertheless, the Carolingian state was an important stage in the inclusion of war into the ethics of the church. It was particularly significant that, as the state was Christianized, ecclesiastical organs increasingly assumed state functions and rights. The more the bishops and abbots became feudal lords and heads of fiefs, having to govern their own territories, the more difficult it was for them to remain aloof from warfare. ‘The popes above all were frequently

faced with such involvement. Gregory I had already assumed considerable responsibility for provisioning and leading the Roman troops, setting an example whose effects

were felt long afterwards.** In 849, Leo IV accompanied the Roman army that advanced at his command against the Moslem pirates at the mouth of the Tiber.57 John X acted likewise in 915 at the Garigliano.®* As long as weapons were

not actually used, such acts of leadership could be reconciled with the ecclesiastical prohibition of military service by the clergy, although only with the help of careful

distinctions, such as the ones Gratian later made with composition; also H. Beuman, in Erste Jahrtausend, ed. V. Elbern, 1, 296-31°7.|

55 But addresses to the army in the midst of war against the North-

men can have a different tenor. See n. 62.

56 Gregory I, Registrum, Ul, 7, 32-34 (MGH Ep. 1.106 and 128ff). 57 Liber pontificalis, ed. Duchesne, I, 118; also Leo IV, Ep. 1 (MGH Ep. 5.585), dated 82. [On Leo IV, see also Partner, Lands, pp. 58-60.] 58 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, 1, 52 (MGH SS. 7.616); on this, see now O. Vehse, “Biindniss,” pp. 181-204. [Partner, pp. 81-82.]|

25

INTRODUCTION

success.°? A necessary consequence, however, was that the aversion of the church toward the profession of arms began to wane. Afterwards as before, to be sure, the church’s oppo-

sition in principle endured and was newly formulated by Nicholas I.®° But a certain tension arose between theory and practice and, with it, an incentive toward change in the assessment of war.®

This connection between church and state was accompanied by a second element, partly a corollary and partly

independent: the idea that the defense of the church against pagans and robbers was a good deed particularly encouraged by God and the saints. Obviously, the idea itself was old and basically self-explanatory; it need not be illustrated by individual examples.®? Nevertheless, it acquired great importance from the historical events of the ninth and tenth centuries. The invasions of the Northmen and Hungarians, and the raids of Moslem pirates, created a crisis in the West that made military service a dominant necessity of life. The church could not remain unaffected by these struggles. Quite apart from the occasional partic59 Gratian, Decretum C. 23 q. 8 p. HU, mi, ed. Friedberg, 1, 954-59. 60 Nicholas I, Ep. 38 (MGH Ep. 6.309). 61 The Apologiae of Archbishop Bruno of Cologne in Ruotger, Vita Brunonis, c. 23 (MGH SS. 4.263) and Widukind 1, 31, ed. Kehr, p. 38, are interesting in this connection. 62 Particularly notable, however, are two passages illustrating trains of thought that combine spiritual and martial combat: in Cod. Carol., no. 8 (MGH Ep. 3.498), Abbot Warneharius is given the title athleta Christi, formerly reserved for saints, on account of his combats in defense of Rome; ibid., no. 10, p. 503, the passage 2 Tim. 2:5 is applied to the battles of the Franks. Also interesting is Arnulf’s address in Annales Fuldenses a. 891, ed. F. Kurze, p. 120, in which the Germanic idea of vengeance is combined with Christian concepts: “we attack our enemies in God’s name, avenging the affront not to us but to Him who is all powerful [non nostram, sed eius, qui omnia potest, contumeliam vindtcantes inimicos nostros in Dei nomine aggredimur].” Later, a speech in

Richer, 1, 8, ed. G. Waitz, p. 77, shows a mixture of classical with Christian ideas: “it is honorable to die for the fatherland and to give (our) bodies over to death for the defense of Christians [decus pro patria mori egregiumque pro Christianorum defensione corpora morti dare].” Cf. also zbid., 1, 45, p. 28; IV, 39, pp. 193f.

26

INTRODUCTION

ipation of clerics in armed combat, the church felt bound to strengthen the laity’s powers of resistance by moral support. ‘This is clearly indicated by the leadership in defense

that was now attributed to the saints as patrons of the

church. The idea that a saint defended his church and its clerics, and repelled or punished transgressors, had been

current at the beginning of the Middle Ages,® but it acquired special prominence during the invasions of the ninth and tenth centuries.** Christian sensibility was no longer offended when, in such cases, the saints actually participated in a battle in clerical garb. A French source of the late ninth century relates that, in a battle with the Northmen, an almost invisible monk of venerable appearance, namely St. Benedict, led the horse of the Margrave Hugh and killed many enemies with his staff.6° Moreover, the meritoriousness of defending the church was strongly stressed. Leo IV and John VIII gave assurances of everlast-

ing life to those who fell in combat while defending the church against Moslems and Northmen.* This was not a 63 See Gregory of Tours, De virtutibus sancti Martini, 1, 14 and 29 (MGH SS. Merov. 1.597, 602); De passione sancti Juliani, c. 7 and 13 (ibid., pp. 567, 560f); Gregory I, Dialogi, 1, 4, ed. Moricca, pp. 38f. 64 J note here as examples: John the Deacon, Translatio sancti Severini, c. 8 (MGH SS. Langob., p. 458: St. Peter in Rome); Liutprand, Antapodosis, c. 4-6, ed. J. Becker, pp. 76f: St. Syrus in Pavia; Miracula s. Gorgonii, c. 20f (MGH SS. 4.245: St. Gorgonius in Gorze); Miracula s. Germani, c. g0f (MGH SS. 15.1.16). 65 Adelerius, Miracula s. Benedicti, MGH SS. 15.1.499. 66 Leo IV, Ep. 28 (MGH Ep. 5.601); John VIII, Ep. 150 (ibid. 7.126f). A. Hatem, Poémes, pp. 34-40, exaggerates a great deal when he attributes the character of a crusade to these Roman combats against the Moslems. He is particularly wrong in stating that John VIII’s promises of salvation went further than Urban II’s; it is more correct to say that Urban also promised salvation to those who fell on the crusade. [Delaruelle, “Essai” (1941), pp. 86-103, regards John VIII as a key fig-

ure in the development of holy war. He feels that Erdmann, being overly concerned to connect the crusade with eleventh-century reform movements, insufficiently emphasizes the texts anterior to the eleventh century. He also concludes (p. 103) that John VIII did in fact proclaim an indulgence substantially like that of Urban II and did enlarge on the concession of Leo IV. But A. Noth, Heiliger Krieg, pp. 95, 104, thinks that the letters of John VIII and Leo IV cannot be interpreted as official 27

INTRODUCTION

novelty, for promises of heavenly reward had been made

at an earlier date for good though warlike deeds;* but, besides contradicting the penitentials, the idea that those falling in battle would be saved had great future significance. The papacy, which sharply declined after John VIII,

revived the idea only in the eleventh century and then carried it to great heights; but in the interval such conceptions also acquired currency outside Rome and were widely circulated. An interesting example from the ninth century

is the “Letter of Consolation for Departing Warriors,”’ preserved in a codex written in Tironian notes.®’ The letter

is shot through with the idea that fighting in defense of the church is protected by God, that it 1s even a “battle of Christ [praelium Christi’; cf. 1 Kings 25: 28], and that God will fight for the Christians. Liturgical texts most clearly convey the attitudes of the

early medieval church toward war. “Lord, defeat the enemies of the Roman name and of the Catholic faith! Defend everywhere the ruler of Rome that by his victory your

people might have secure peace! Destroy the enemies of your people! Defend the stability of the Roman name and protect its rule, so that peace and permanent welfare might reign among your peoples.” This and the like are found as early as in the Leonine Sacramentary, whose text originated in Rome in the fifth or sixth century.®® Prayers were said pronouncements of an entirely new attitude or policy. According to J. A. Brundage, Canon Law, pp. 22-23, John VIII offered a “general absolution,’”’ not an indulgence. See also H. E. Mayer, Crusades, p. 16.] 67 See N. Paulus, Geschichte, 1, 50, 60, who argues against Gottlob, Kreuzablass, pp. 19ff. Paulus has command of more extensive materials and may be more correct from the standpoint of formal jurisprudence; but Gottlob has a better grasp of the historically essential. 68 W. Schmitz, “Tironische Miszellen,” pp. 607ff, and Miscellanea, pp. 26ff; also Gottlob, pp. 2o0ff. K. Kiinstle, “Zwei Documente,” p. 122, places the letter at the beginning of the eighth century in Spain, while A. M.

Koeniger, Militarseelsorge, pp. 51f, associates it with the battles of Charles Martel against the Moors; I think the ninth-century wars against the Northmen are more probable. 69 Sacramentarium Leonianum, ed. C. H. Feltoe, pp. 27, 59, 61, 71, 75, 47, 80, 83, 144; see also O. Huf, “Oorlogsmissen,” pp. 36-43, and Kriejs-

28

INTRODUCTION

for the state that was allied to the church, and the object sought was not the extension of the faith but the preservation of peace, so that the beseechers might serve God in peace and freedom. War was to serve the defense of the church, and the state was to be victorious so that the church

might have peace. This central idea dominated the war liturgy of the following centuries, but it underwent a certain development. The texts of the fully formed Roman Sacramentary, both the Gelasian and the Gregorian, may be traced back into the seventh and eighth centuries. In the Good Friday liturgy they include a prayer for the Roman emperor, to whom God should subject the barbarian peoples. The Gelasian Sacramentaries also contain a few votive masses for kings and for times of war.”° Here, too, the main

theme is the protection of the Roman Empire against enemies, but in several places these enemies are now designated as pagans [gentes], accentuating the religious character of the war. Moreover, the old idea that victory should promote the peace of the church is occasionally accompanied by a second theme: to His people, who rely on Him, God should give victory over the enemies who trust in their own power and ferocity.”1 In this way, the gebeden, pp. 6ff; A. De Santis, “Preghiere liturgiche,” pp. 37-833 K. Heldmann, Kaisertum, pp. 37f. [C. Vogel, Introduction, pp. 48ff. Cf. also Ullmann, ch. Iv.] | 70H. A. Wilson, Gelasian Sacramentary, pp. 76, 271-77; K. Mohlberg and A. Baumstark, Liber sacramentorum, p. 24; also H. Lietzmann, Sac-

ramentarium Gregorianum, pp. 48 and 128; and H. Hirsch, “Kaisergedanke,” pp. 1ff; on the dating of the manuscript of the Gelasianum, E. A. Lowe, “Vatican MS,” p. 370. 71 See, e.g., in Wilson, Gelasian Sacramentary, p. 76: “that the peoples who trust in their own savagery might be suppressed by the power of Your right hand [ut gentes, quae in sua feritate confidunt, dexterae tuae

potentia comprimantur]”; p. 273: “‘so that those who trust in Your strength might both please You and surpass all kingdoms [ut in tua virtute fidentes et tibi placeant et super omnia regna praecellant]”; p. 275: “so that those who humble themselves before You might be superior everywhere in power” [ut quorum tibi subiecta est humilitas, eorum ubique excellentior sit potestas].” Both themes are joined in the words (p. 273): “that Your people may both rejoice in the purity of faith and always exult in the peace of their times [ut populus tuus et 29

INTRODUCTION

outcome of the battle will also prove the truth of the faith. This theme, which evokes ideas that were to cluster around the real holy war, is still secondary and altogether subord1nate to the idea of the peace of the church; but it does not disappear and acquires significance as the basis for new developments. ‘The Gallican Sacramentaries of the seventh or eight centuries stand at about the same stage of conceptual development; in their prayers, the Roman Empire is generally replaced by the Frankish, and the army is sometimes included alongside the king in the intercession.” The sacramentaries of the eighth century, used in the Carolingian Empire, live in the same atmosphere.’ Accordingly, the fidei integritate laetetur et temporum tranquillitate semper exultet].” Only once does this idea come out in the Leonianum as well (p. 83): “Almighty and eternal God, protect the rulers of the Roman name, so that, trusting in Your right hand, they may be made stronger than all their enemies [Omnipotens sempiterne Deus, Romani nominis defende rectores, ut tua dextera confidentes fiant cunctis hostibus fortiores].” 72 Missale Gallicanum, MPL 72.35f, 366; Missale Gothicum, ed. Mohlberg, fol. 169; Missale Francorum, MPL 72.330f; Bobbio Missal, ed. Lowe, pp. 151f. Cf. also Heldmann, Kaisertum, pp. 34ff. The Visigothic liturgy goes much further, but it stands apart from the mainstream; see below, p. 39. 73 The Gellone Sacramentary: L. Delisle, Sacramentaires, pp. 80f, and P. Cagin, “Note,” pp. 284, 287. The lost Sacramentary of Strassburg:

Delisle, p. 90. The Sacramentary of Cod. Sangall. 350: Mohlberg, Frankische Gelasianum, intro., p. lxiii. The Sacramentary of Rheinau: Wilson, p. 369, and M. Gerbert, Monumenta, 1, 276f. Sacramentary of the Phillips Collection (Berlin, Staatsbibl., MS Phill. 1667), where the differ-

ent war and peace masses occur on fols. 157v-59; on the MS, P. de Puniet, “Sacramentaire gélasien,”’ pp. 91ff. (Unnamed) Sacramentary: Delisle, p. go. Sacramentary of the Cod. Sangall. 350, fol. 170" (a missa pro rege in die belli contra paganos occurs here on leaf 167). Sacramentary of Fulda: ed. G. Richter and A. Scho6nfelder, pp. 218ff. On the Alcuin expansion of the Gregorian Sacramentary, Wilson, pp. 186, 197gg. On sacramentaries, Mohlberg-Baumstark, pp. 21*ff, and Tellenbach, Reichsgedanke, pp. 45ff. Tellenbach, pp. 68f, prints a Missa in profectione hostium euntibus in proelium from the Sacramentary of Gellone whose first prayer is directly related to the army. This is still exceptional in the Carolingian period; only ca. 1000 did this prayer acquire wider circulation; see ch. II.

[For recent literature on the sacramentaries in the eighth century, Vogel, Introduction, pp. 58-83. See also G. Ellard, Master Alcuin.]

30

INTRODUCTION

word “Roman” in the texts, except where it was retained,

was replaced from that century onward by “Christian” rather than by ‘Frankish’; this expressed a new awareness of the basis of religious military activity, namely, that one’s own side was Christian.”4

The breadth and the boundaries of the two main elements instrumental in the first millennium in elaborating a concept of holy war have now been examined. ‘There was

a holy war of the state and, in addition, a holy war in defense of the church. But no one even imagined that there could be such a thing as a knightly crusade. The defensive

character of the “just war’ continued to be so narrowly stressed that, even against pagans, only a genuine war of defense was recognized. The defense of the church could therefore be nothing other than territorial defense, and the individual churches and their patron saints could serve only as the religious symbols of a city or a territory. Moreover, the central position accorded to the state did not yet allow the formation of a direct relationship between the church and warfare.

A further question remains to be answered: whether the Moslem holy war, the Jihad, influenced the Christian ethics of war. The idea comes easily to mind and has often been expressed. How justifiable is it? We must first admit our

ignorance. In order to give a circumstantial reply, one would have to know the role that the Jihad played among the Moslem peoples living in the western basin of the Mediterranean during the relevant period of time, that is, in the

ninth and tenth centuries. Of course, only an Orientalist knowing Arabic could find this out, and none has yet done so as far as I know.”® Let it only be said here that, although 74 See Tellenbach, ‘“Reichsgedanke.”’

75 The current accounts of the Jihad—those referred to by Dictionary of Islam, ed. Hughes, s.v. Jihad; Enzyklopddie des Islam, 1, s.v. Djihad; and Hatem, Poémes, p. 24 n. 36—take interest only in the beginnings of

Islam and in the present; no attention is paid to the intervening centuries. There must surely be all sorts of information about the medieval Jihad in the works accessible to professional Islamists; since they are be31

INTRODUCTION

such an influence is certainly possible, on no account does it have to be presupposed. ‘The first theoretical justifications of Western holy war are in Augustine and Gregory I, and thus antedate Mohammed. Afterwards, as we saw and will see again, developments within Christianity itself supplied essential elements that could produce holy war. Moreover,

the classic Jihad, as represented by Mohammed and the earliest epoch of Islam, shows marked differences from all Christian wars.”* The Jihad was above all a legal institution, a sort of military duty. Holy war in Christendom, far from

being a duty, was encouraged by the issuance of special privileges to the warriors. There are points of agreement, such as the idea that death in a holy war leads to Paradise,?” as well, perhaps, as the important role played by yond my competence I refer only to A. Mez, Renaissance, where I have found suggestive remarks about the tenth century, but limited to the East (pp. 303f, 311f); and B. v. Haneberg, Kriegsrecht, 11, 217ff, who bases himself essentially on late medieval sources. [The best summary of the Jihad in the East is E. Sivan, Islam, who points out that after the eighth century the concept declined and was revived only following the First Crusade (pp. 9-22). See also A. S. Atiya, Crusade, pp. 130ff, and Waas, ““Heilige Krieg,” pp. 219ff. For Spain and the West, E. Lévi-Provencal, Espagne musulmane, Il, esp. pp. 79, 103-4,

464-66. At the height of the caliphate (tenth century) considerable numbers of volunteers formed contingents to fulfill the personal obliga-

tions of the Jihad (the ribat), and certain caliphs seem to have been inspired by the Jihad concept. An important recent work is A. Noth, Heiliger Krieg, who addressed himself to Erdmann’s question (esp. pp. Q-11, 139-48). He distinguishes between “holy battle,’ a personal voluntary participation by an individual for religious reasons (ribat), and holy war, the formal state-organized religious war. Only the former, he holds, really existed in Islam. In this sense Islamic holy war antedated

the Christian and thus raises the possibility of an influence on the Christian war ethic. But while there are many parallels, causal relations between parallel manifestations cannot be demonstrated. As a consequence, Erdmann’s question must remain unanswered. | 76 Vakidi, Muhammad, who discusses all the essential points with reference to concrete examples, is more informative than are theoretical analyses.

77 This is the point that has most often occasioned the conjecture of an Islamic influence, but it could as easily be traced to Germanic conceptions. See G. Neckel, “Kriegerethik,” pp. 235f, who establishes the presence of similar ideas in the Heliand (v. 4863) and in Middle High German poetry; also Weinhold, Beitrdge, pp. 566f. 32

INTRODUCTION

holy banners, a subject on which more will be said. The possibility of influence in such special aspects must be kept in mind, but should not induce us to misjudge the Western roots of the developments. In place of unproved assertions about external influences, let us offer one final example to illustrate Western conceptions about the possibility of a holy war, namely, the haglography of the English king and martyr Edmund by Abbo of Fleury.”® This little work, written about the end of the tenth century, takes a rather positive attitude toward secular life. In its representation of sanctity, asceticism plays a

subordinate role. Even Edmund’s celibate state is celebrated only at the very end. ‘The theme is the holy life and

death of a lay prince, who is expressly equated with martyrs of clerical origin. Abbo is dominated by the concept that the ruler has a special relationship to God; above all, he praises Edmund’s “righteousness,” that is, his blameless fulfillment of the duties of rule. This virtue also shows

itself in war. As the pagan king of the Danes invades the country and calls on Edmund to submit, the latter refuses, even though nearly all his men have been killed. He does not want to survive his faithful followers; he will not by flight bring upon himself the reproach of deserting the standard, or, by submitting to a pagan, separate himself from Christ, to Whom he is dedicated by baptism and royal anointing: honestum mihi esset pro patria mo7rt.7® Therefore he suffers martyrdom. ‘Though the scope of the Life is con-

fined to the person of the ruler and does not embrace all knighthood, what we have here is ecclesiastical acceptance and recognition of a secular ethic of war with its main features: fidelity, honor, dying for one’s country. Because of its connection with martyrdom, the ethic has even become an aspect of sanctity. Nevertheless, the saint expressly re-

nounces any bloodshed: the heroism he manifests is a 78 Abbo, Vita s. Edmundi regis Anglorum et martyris, MPL. 139.507-

a MPL. 139.512; the phrase surely includes a reminiscence of the famous passage from Horace.

33

INTRODUCTION

passive virtue, unaccompanied by personal feats of arms,

for he is shown in a situation where defense is already pointless.

In this, we clearly see how the church at the turn of the millennium adopted a peculiarly strained position toward war. We also see the impulses and reticences that as yet inhibited the appearance of a forceful movement toward holy war.

34

CHAPTER I

HOLY BANNERS | Tt turning point in early Christian history had its symbolic as well as its factual expression in a banner, the labarum. If we knew nothing else about Constantine than that he admitted a symbol understood as a monogram of Christ among the battle standards of his army, we could infer the essential point of his life work: the union of the Roman state and military power with the Christian church.

A similar development took place in the Middle Ages, though on a different plane: the union of the church with feudal-chivalric society. This happened in a much more gradual, more complicated, and obscure way. Banners are as much an indicator of the medieval as of the Constantinian development. A study of their role helps to clarify the historical process.

Banners are generally associated with war, as symbols of

battle and victory. Primitive Christianity, therefore, as may be gathered from my remarks in the Introduction, would regard them with hostility. Moreover, Roman banners and insignia, like those of the ancient Near East, had a sacral character.: Christians might with justice regard them as pagan idols, and they mentioned association with them as a reason for refusing military service.?

The symbolism at issue here offers a parallel to the concepts discussed in the Introduction.® The “‘soldiery of Christ

[militia Christi]” had a corresponding “banner of Christ [vexillum Chrisit],” namely, the cross, the symbol of the 1 See F. Sarre, “Feldzeichen,” pp. 333ff; A. von Domaszewski, Fahnen, and “Religion,” 1ff. 2 Harnack, Militia Christi, p. 46. 3 On the following, J. Gagé, ““Stauros nikopoios,” pp. 3'70—400.

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HOLY BANNERS

Passion and Redemption, the sign of Christ’s victory.* As

Venantius Fortunatus put it in his famous hymn on the CYOSS:

Abroad the Regal Banners fly, Now shines the Cross’s mystery.®

Prudentius is even clearer when he writes of the virtue of Sobriety: she strides before Christ, carrying the precious banner of the cross [vexillum crucis, lignum venerabile];° and, in his Hymn for All the Hours, he exclaims:

Sing of the passion, sing of the triumphant cross, Unfurl the banner whose sign shines on our brows.’

The reference here is not to an actual cross but to a symbolic sign of the cross, connected with the ceremony of baptism, during which the brow of the neophyte is marked with the cross. Elsewhere as well, the expressions vexillum crucis and signum crucis often refer to the ritual of signing with a cross.® But these words also denote the object itseli— the original cross of Christ’s crucifixion,® a crozier, a proces4 See under vexillum in Du Cange, Glossarium, and in the Indices of the MGH SS. Merov. The oldest instance that I know of is from Origen, cited by Harnack, p. 103. Also interesting is Libri Carolint u, 28 (MGH Conc. 2, Suppl. p. 89), and Peter Damiani on the martyr St. Appolinaris, MPL 144.666: ““We have seen this soldier of Christ carry the triumphal

banner of the cross against the world [Vidimus hunc militem Christi contra mundum triumphale vexillum crucis inferre].” On the cross in Christian antiquity, M. Sulzberger, “Symbole,” pp. 337ff. 5 MGH AA. 4.34. 6 Prudentius, Psychomachia, 1x, vv. 345ff, 407ff, 419 (CSEL, LXx1, 185,

188). The old illustrations show a cross-staff: see R. Stettiner, PrudentiusHandschriften, pls. 4 (4), 22 (3 and 4), 58-59 (several), g5-98 (several), igi (6, 9, and 15). Only in the eleventh century is the cross-staff occasionally supplied with a banner: :bid., pls. 116 (3), 175 (4). 7 Prudentius, Cathemerinon, Ix, vv. 83f, p. 54. 8 On this, Du Cange; also Dudo of St. Quentin, MPL 141.732: “protected by the banner of the most holy cross [sacrosanctae crucis vexillo praemuniti|”; Vita s. Apri, AA. SS., Sept., v, 18: “the face signed with the standard of holy cross [os sanctae crucis vexillo signatum].” Frequently also, “protect with the sign of the cross [signo crucis munire]”’: Erdmann, “Kaiserliche Fahnen,” p. 35 n. 1. 9In John the Deacon, Cronache veneziane antichissime, ed. G. Monticolo, 1, 77.

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HOLY BANNERS

sional cross, or whatever.?° Later on, vexillum crucis was used to mean the cross sewn onto the clothes of the crusaders.1!

Just as the mulitia Christt was often contrasted with secular warfare, so was the banner of Christ contrasted with military insignia.!? ‘This juxtaposition will be encountered again in an important passage where Arnulf of Milan

impugns the war banner of St. Peter on the grounds that Peter himself had no other banner than the cross.!* It was an old idea. Prudentius had written about “Christ’s soldiers,” the martyrs: ‘““They abandon the flags of Caesar, choosing for themselves the sign of the cross.”1+ Paulinus of Perigueux similarly praised a monk who had formerly been

a soldier; he abandoned military service, leaving the war trumpet to follow the standard of the True King, the banner of the holy cross.15

This context allows us to understand the true significance

of Constantine’s labarum: as a Christian war banner, it drew together in one symbol two concepts that had formerly been opposed.1® The same Prudentius whose deprecating words on imperial banners were just quoted can nevertheless 10 Frequently in papal documents of the eleventh and twelfth centuries: Benedict VIII, JL. 3989; Victor II, JL. 4369; Eugenius III, in A. Lopez Ferreiro, Historia, tv, App. 39 no. 14; Lucius III, JL. 14960, etc.; also JL. 7620, 7890, 8929 add. 11 As, for example, in the Chronicon monasterii s. Petri Aniciensis, in Cartulaire Saint-Chaffre, ed. U. Chevalier, p. 163: “placing the symbol of the holy cross on the right shoulder [vexillum sanctae crucis in dextra scapula ponentes]”; Lupus Protospatarius a. 1095, MGH SS. 5.62: ‘“‘wear-

ing on the right shoulder the symbol of the holy cross [ferentes in humero dextro crucis vexillum]”; similarly in many other passages. 12 This contrast stands out plainly in the arguments of several Christian apologists who, for polemical purposes, interpreted the military vexilla as crosses. See H. Grégoire, “Statue,” pp. 140ff. 13 MGH SS. 8.22. See below, ch. vl. 14 Prudentius, Peristephanon, I, v. 34, Pp. 292. 15 Paulinus Petricord., Vita Martini, 1, vv. 596ff (Poet. christ. min., 1, 104).

16 The literature on the Labarum is vast; let me only mention F. Kampers, Kaisermystik, pp. 144ff, and Gagé, pp. 370-400. [Delaruelle, “Essai” (1954), pp. 50-51, and “Conversion,” pp. 86—-96.]

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praise the labarum, which displays the name and cross of Christ.17 In fact, nothing more in the way of symbols was needed to permit the idea of holy war to take shape. Later developments in the Roman Empire took the same course. Jerome (d.420) informs us that crosses served as military insignia,'® and ecclesiastical consecrations of war banners took place from an early date in the Byzantine Empire.1®

The same did not hold altogether true for the medieval West. Let it first be recalled that, in the early Middle Ages, the East adopted a much more positive attitude than the West toward the idea of holy war. Moreover, in the West, the process of Christianizing the state had to be carried out for a second time, and in more difficult circumstances, with regard to the Germanic peoples.?? Banners may also have had a sacral significance among the pagan Germans, as had been the case at least with the animal banners they had used

in the distant past.2 However that may be, the medieval church realized that banners could represent pagan idols: there was the example of the Slavic peoples, whose use of idol banners is often attested,22 and there was the well-known

role that banners had played in pagan Rome.”* As a result, the comparatively reticent attitude that the early medieval Latin church adopted toward war was carried over to ban-

ners as well. The West during this time did not use banners consecrated by the church. Of course, Constantine’s 17 Prudentius, Contra Symmachum, 1, vv. 481-95, p. 237. 18 Jerome, Ep. 107, para. 2 (CSEL, Lv, 292): “as banners, the soldiers have the signs of the cross [vexilla militum crucis insignia sunt].” But cf. above, n. 12.

19R. Grosse, “Fahnen,” pp. 367, 368, 370. [See also L. Bréhier, Institutions, pp. 377—-78.] 20 See above, pp. 6 and 22.

21 According to H. Meyer, “Heerfahne,” p. 481, banners and animal pictures were on the same footing in having a pagan religious character. But since the signa that Tacitus mentions alongside effigies cannot with

certainty be presumed to be standards, Meyer’s view lacks a reliable documentary basis. 22 See Thietmar, vi, 23, ed. Kurze, pp. 147f; vull, 64, p. 232; Brun of

Querfurt, in W. Giesebrecht, Kaiserzeit, u1, 5th ed., 704: diabolica vexilla, demonum vexillum; Saxo Grammaticus, in MGAH SS. 19.124.

23 See the Werden frescoes where an ancient idol is portrayed with a banner, in P. Clemen, Monumentalmalerei, p. 80, fig. 63, and pl. vu. 38

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labarum continued to be known from literary tradition. Eusebius’s account of the labarum enters into Nicolas I’s letter of instruction to the Bulgarians. There the pope recommends that the cross be borne as a battle insignia, making it seem as if this were the general practice in Christian lands. In reality, the only banners common in the West were the secular ones customary in pre-Christian times. Only among the Visigoths of Spain does a different development seem to have taken place at an early date. A

liturgical ordo from there, which the experts date to the seventh century, shows that, on departure for war, the flags

were brought out of church and a cross was borne before the king.> But the Visigoths, whose national church attained a particularly high level of development, stood out-

side the mainstream in their treatment of banners. The

other Western lands offer us nothing similar in these centuries. At any rate, when the church glorified a king, what it set in his hand was not a banner but a cross, that is to say, a symbol of Christ’s victory rather than of military power.*6

In looking for medieval analogies to Constantine’s labarum, let us turn away from historical events for a while

and look rather to the sphere of art. In the first thousand years of Christian art, the sign of victory set in the hands of

the resurrected Christ was not a banner, as it would later be, but a crozier, for the cross itself was the Christian banner of triumph. Even the reliefs showing Christ as victor over lions and dragons use the cross as the symbol of victory.?7 ‘The same is true of the angels, who hold croziers or 24 JE. 2812, c. 33; MGH Ep. 6.580. 25 M. Ferotin, Liber Ordinum, col. 152.

26 Hrabanus Maurus, De laudibus sanctae crucis, MPL 107.141 and

ee In A. Goldschmidt, Elfenbeinskulpturen, see the iconographic Index, under “Christ as victor [Christus als Sieger]” and “Ascension [Him-

melfahrt],” 1, 103f, and il, 75f. See also K. Kinstle, Ikonographie, 1,

see bibliographies in R. Hinks, Carolingian Art; G. Schiller, Iconography, 1, 104ff; A. Grabar and C. Nordenfalk, Medieval Painting, Pp. 223—25.|

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staves, with banners only as a very rare exception.?® Even saints in this period did not yet display a banner as emblem. On the other hand, the figure of the church—E£cclesta—

which appears from the mid-ninth century onward, is depicted from the first with a banner, not with a cross.?®

The earliest surviving portrayal, in the Drogo Sacramentary, displays a golden, two-tongued banner.*° We also have a number of ivories, from the second half of the ninth century and the tenth, where Ecclesia appears with a banner. The butt of the flagstaff ends in either a lance point or a cross or a round knob.

These victory banners borne by the figure of Ecclesia hardly allow ambitious conclusions to be drawn with regard to the history of symbols. For one thing, artistic allegory operates somewhat differently from reality; it draws no representational distinction between literal and metaphorical meanings.*t The church, though averse to bloodshed, used the sword in its allegorical symbolism. Moreover, the particular figure of Ecclesia apparently underwent a special development. It was portrayed in contrast to the Synagogue whose rule it had superseded. According to one conjecture, both figures stem from clerical 28 Goldschmidt, Index, s.v. “angel [Engel],’’ 1, 103; an exception is found in ibid., pl. 4ob. 29 Goldschmidt, 1, pls. 41, 83, 96b; HU, pls. 55, 57, 58. Yet there are

pictures of Ecclesia without a banner (but also without a cross). Erdmann, “Wappen,” p. 242, is incomplete. 30 P, Weber, Schauspiel, p. 16. Thus the color is not red in this oldest example, as H. Meyer, “Sturmfahne,” pp. 106f, supposed it was on the basis of the red color in the Fulda Sacramentary (ca. 975). Other colored examples prior to the twelfth century that I know of are: Berlin, Staatsbibl., MS theol. lat. fol. 2, f. g (between 1022 and 1036), where the ban-

ner is clear blue (as I am informed by the Staatsbibliothek; black and white illustration in Steinberg, Bildnisse, 1, pl. 6); in a Munich MS from

the second half of the eleventh century (colored illustration in G. Leidinger, Meisterwerke, pl. 17) it is patterned in different colors. 31 The same explanation would apply if Weber (p. 39) is correct that

Ecclesia often appears in warlike equipment; such a figure would then have represented the ecclesia militans (above, n. 15). But the iconographic interpretations seem to me to be less than firm.

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drama.*? ‘The opponent of Ecclesia in the earliest depictions happens to be not the Synagogue but the city of Jerusalem; Jerusalem and Synagogue merged into one.®* The likelihood therefore is that the figure of Ecclesia was correspondingly influenced by that of Rome, the other capital, and acquired

the banner from this source. For Rome was portrayed with a banner as early as in the sixth century (in fact, its banner may not have been regarded as a battle flag).8* What we ap-

pear to have in this case is a set of special iconographic associations that follow their own laws. The closing years of the first millennium disclose a more

important development, namely, the emergence of church banners. In the earlier period, banners seem not to have entered liturgical use, either as altar decorations or in processions; nor do they occur in church inventories.*> But at the end of the tenth century, we hear of a church procession at Augsburg in which fanones were used as well as crosses.°¢ The eleventh century offers additional examples.*? Banners are encountered in ecclesiastical inventories at the turn of the millennium,** and the earliest surviving illustrations are 32 Weber, passim; to the contrary, Kitinstle, Ikonographie, 1, 81f. 33 Goldschmidt, 1, 25f, 36f; Weber, pp. 26f. 34 See Erdmann, “Wappen,” p. 10.

[For the vexillum romanum at the time of Charlemagne, P. E. Schramm, “Anerkennung,” pp. 468ff.] 35 J. Braun, “Fahne.” Heuser, ‘“Fahnen,” is wrong to say that proces-

sional banners are already mentioned in Gregory of Tours, v, 4 (MGH SS. Merov. 1.195f, 2d ed., 1.199), for the passage is not about a simple procession but about a more hostile than friendly (though admittedly semiecclesiastical) march by a (mounted!) general to the church of St. Martin. On Heuser’s later reference to Aldhelm, cf. Erdmann, ‘‘Wappen,” p. 34. My provisional comments, which H. Meyer published in “Burgerfreiheit,” p. 283 n. 3, are corrected and expanded in the following statements. 36 Gerhard of Augsburg, Vita s. Udalrici, MGH SS. 4.391 (written at the end of tenth century).

37 MPL 150.470f, 1195, 1211; J. Braun, Paramente, p. 237. |

88 Braun, loc. cit., after the inventory of Saint-Pére-en-Vallée; Monumenta Novaliciensia vetustiora, 1, 31: VII conphanones. See also the statement of Benedict of St. Andrea, MGH SS. 3.710 (also Chronicon di Benedetto, ed. Zuchetti, p. 114) that Charlemagne decorated the Holy 41

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likewise dated to the late tenth and eleventh centuries.®° From the first, church banners signified the triumph of

Christ, and later that of the saints. The import of their emergence to the history of symbols is that the church no longer shrank from using bellicose victory standards in its spectacles; its reticence toward warlike symbolism seems to have been on the wane. A certain distinction nevertheless continued to be made.

What the early illustrations portray as church banners are long staves turning into crosses at the end, and underneath, small flag cloths hanging from traverse bars. They already differed from war banners, on which the cloth was affixed directly to the staff. Ichis distinction has survived to the present day, but has not always been observed in practice.

‘Royal banners” and church banners were used _interchangeably even at an early date. The Chronicle of Novalese, written in the first half of the eleventh century, tells us of an occasion when the monks of Bremen went forth singing litanies, with cross, holy water, and royal banners [vexilla regia], to disinter a buried treasure.*? An inventory of Monte Cassino from the year 1087 lists many costly vest-

ments and ornaments, including crowns, imperial sloaks,

and a golden imperial banner [fano imperialis totus aureus|.4+ How Bremen and Monte Cassino, which were both imperial monasteries, came by such royal and imperial Sepulcher in Jerusalem with gold and precious stones and placed there a golden banner. 39 On the Tropar [Graduale] of Priim from the end of the tenth cen-

tury (Paris, Bibl. nat., MS lat. 9448, f. 28), see Braun, Paramente, p. 236; J. Sauer, Symbolik, p. 176 n. 6. On the frescoes in the lower church of San Clemente in Rome, Braun, p. 237, and now G. Ladner, “Malerei,”’

pl. xu. 40 Chronicon Noval., U, 5; Monumenta Noval., 11, 133; also the inventory, cited above, n. 38. 41 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, m1, 74 (MGH SS. 7.754). The word

fano, originally only “cloth,” can mean a standard (see above, nn. 36, 37, and esp. MGH Diplomata Ottonis 2.280: sub fanone nostro, hoc est imperiali vexillo), or a maniple (an item of ecclesiastical costume), a meaning that occurs in the same Monte Cassino inventory, p. 753. In an imperial context, however, only a banner can be meant, since a piece of imperial ornament is out of the question. 42

HOLY BANNERS

banners is easy to see. ‘hey were gifts made by the monarch as a sign of special devotion. We often hear of this in connection with precious royal insignia,*? and we even have an example from the year 1115 of the ceremonial donation of a banner to a church.*? On such occasions, as the inventories prove, the royal banners became the property of the churches in question, and were not just stored with them for the king’s future use.‘ The fact that such banners now entered directly into liturgical use reveals how much the church’s aversion to warlike symbols had abated. An even more striking change seems to have taken place at the same time in the church’s attitude toward the banners used in war. Formerly, relics or crosses were often carried

into battle by clerics; but battle insignia remained profane.*® The two spheres were not yet united. A change 42 Miracula s. Alexii, MGH SS. 4.619f; Adhémar of Chabannes, Chron-

iqué, Ill, 37, p. 160; Radulf Glaber, Historia, 1, 23, p. 22; cf. R. Eisler, Weltenmantel, 1, 18-22, 44; also Benedict of St. Andrea, as above, n. 38. An interpolation in Adhémar of Chabannes, In, 22, p. 142, relates that Charles the Simple gave the church of St. Martial a vexillum ex veste auro texta. The Chronicle of Monte Cassino, 1, 24, p. 597, reports the conveyance in 843 of various objects, including a bandum aureum. Cap-

SS. 12.393). a )

tured standards were also given occasionally to churches from the eleventh century onward: Donizo, Vita Mathildis, u, 7, vv. 721f (MGH

43 Galterii cancellarii bella Antiochena, 1, 7, ed. H. Hagenmeyer, p. 74. Possibly these very standards were later used as feudal banners; see Hagenmeyer’s notes, pp. 197f, and Raynaldus, Ann. eccl. a. 1205 n. 27. 44 The seventh-century Visigothic liturgy may have referred to such a custom, which, however, was out of the mainstream: see above, p. 39. H. Meyer, “Oriflamme,” pp. 124ff; Heerfahne, pp. 481f; “Sturmfahne,”

p. 206; “Burgerfreiheit,” p. 283, believes that the war banners still used in France and Italy were customarily stored in churches. But he provides no evidence for this prior to the appearance of saints’ banners (which were not ordinary war banners; see below, pp. 45ff). For the pas-

sage that he cites from the Ludwigslied: ‘“‘Tho nam her godes urlub,

Huob her gundfanon uf,” hardly proves that the standard was deposited in a church; the prayer referred to in the opening words need not belong with the act of banner-raising; it need not even have taken place in a church. The remarks I made in correspondence go too far in this sense (Meyer, ‘“‘Burgerfreiheit,” p. 283 n. 3).

45 See also the account of Thietmar, Iv, 29 (ed. Kurze, p. 81), that in a battle with the Slavs (997), Bishop Ramward of Minden went forward with a cross, “followed by the standard bearers [sequentibus signiferis}.”

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began to set in toward the year 1000. A clear example of this development is offered by the holy lance of Constantine: it originally had the character of a relic but gradually became a battle insignia under the Ottonians.*® Moreover, the Saxon Annailist tells us that, in two battles of 992 against

the Slavs, a priest and a deacon, both standard-bearers of individual detachments, were slain.*7 Similarly, a peace

council at Bourges in 1038 ruled that clerics were to participate with their flags in a war to enforce the council’s decree against breakers of the peace.*® Once again, war banners merge with church banners: in Bremen, royal banners were used in a procession, while in 1038 church banners took part in a war. Eleventh-century France offers many more examples of such wars for peace, in which the clergy led the people into battle with their banners and crosses.*®

The same thing happened in England in the twelfth century.°° Additional evidence includes the battle standard on which an angel was depicted, reported in the tenth century by Widukind of Corvey,*! as well as the apparently unique Western flag cloth surviving from this epoch. Though now at Cologne, this cloth probably originated in Italy and was made in the late eleventh or early twelfth century.°? Among other things depicted upon it are the figures of Christ, the 46 A. Hofmeister, Heilige Lanze, pp. 27f.

[See P. E. Schramm, “Heilige Lanze,” esp. pp. 501ff, who also notes

(p. 511) that by the time of Henry I, the lance was associated with warrior saints, e.g., St. Maurice. See also Schramm’s “Beitrage,” esp. pp. 645ff, where he summarizes Erdmann’s remarks regarding the acceptance by the church. |] 47 MGH SS. 6.638. 48 Miracles de St. Benoit, v, 2, p. 193.

49 Gesta episcoporum Cenomanensium a. 1080 (RHF, xi, 540); Orderic Vitalis, Historia ecclesiastica, vil, 24, x1, 34; ed. A. Le Prevost, Ill, 415, IV, 285. 50 Aelred, Chronicles, ed. Howlett, p. 182. 51 Widukind, 1, 38, 11, 40, ed. Kehr, pp. 49, 106; see Erdmann, ‘‘Kaiser-

liche Fahnen,” pp. goff, with reference to the Byzantine model of the St. Michael banner. 52 L. Arntz, ‘““Feldzeichen,” pp. 175f, and pl. xiii, formerly dated to the tenth century by F. Bock, Liturg. Gewdnder, 11, 21 2ff.

44

| HOLY BANNERS archangels Michael and Gabriel, and several saints, and it has as legend the verse from the psalms, “Blessed be the

Lord my God, Who trains my hands for battle and my fingers for war” (Ps. 143: 1).

The liturgical texts for the blessing of banners, which appear in the second half of the tenth century, are even more instructive.

Almighty God, graciously hear our prayers and sanctify with Your heavenly blessing this banner that is appointed for use in war, that it might be strong against hostile and rebellious people, and shielded by Your protection, a terror to the foes of the Christian people, a bulwark for the faithful, and a sure guarantee of victory. For You, O God, bring heavenly aid to those who trust in You.*3

This benediction occurs in many manuscripts and, in essence, even in the present-day Roman pontifical. Another text is less frequently encountered but equally old: Lord Jesus, graciously incline Your ear to our prayer and send us Your help through the archangel Michael and all

the heavenly host. As You blessed Abraham who triumphed over the five kings, and King David who fought victorious battles in praise of Your name, so bless and sanctify this banner that is borne for the protection

of holy church against hostile fury, so that the faithful and the defenders of God’s people who follow it might obtain triumph and victory over the enemy in Your name and by the strength of the Cross.

These texts express in a mature form how the church now appropriated warlike symbols. They supply the medieval parallel to the labarum that we have been looking for.

Special attention should be directed to the banners of saints, which also appeared toward the year 1000. Earlier scholars have noted their occurrence only in a few partic53 See Exkurs 1 [of the German edition], sect. 6 and 6a; the translations given here are abbreviated. 45

HOLY BANNERS

ularly prominent cases, which have occasioned misunderstandings as a result of being treated in isolation. The interpretation of the phenomenon is straightforward when it is traced historically and seen as a whole. The best explanation is found in the saints’ lives. These of course are more

or less legendary, and should be studied for what they reveal about the conceptions of their authors, rather than for the historicity of the events they report.

Writing in about 1003, Aimoin of Fleury tells us of a miracle that would have taken place thirty or forty years before he wrote. Warriors invaded the territory of the monastery of St. Benoit du Sault; the people of Argenton then took to arms because their lord was the advocate of the monastery; they fetched from the monastery the banner of St. Benedict, which would defend them in battle, called on

St. Benedict, and obtained a miraculous victory over the invaders.>! ‘Thus the banner of St. Benedict procured the saint’s assistance, divine protection, and victory. Further clarification comes from a parallel story of Aimoin’s, in which the eating of the blessed bread of St. Benedict serves in place of a banner to bring about a miraculous victory.®® The banner that was fetched from the monastery must have regularly been kept there. Whether it was used in liturgical

ceremonies, and was therefore a “church” banner, is unfortunately not specified by Aimoin or by sources reporting

other incidents of the same kind. But it may surely be inferred from his story that, as a rule, the right to carry the 54 Miracles de St. Benoit, 11, 15, p. 118: “Since our lord Gerald is (St. Benedict’s) advocate, let us bravely and fearlessly attack the enemy and defend (the land of St. Benedict) in (Gerald’s) place—first sending an emissary to St. Benedict’s monastery at Sault to bring us promptly the

banner of this precious confessor, that it might protect us, etc. [quia dominus noster Giraldus eius (s. Benedicti) est advocatus, eam (terram s. Benedicti) vice ipsius defensaturi hostes viriliter secureque aggrediamur, misso prius legato qui e monasterio Salensi, quod est s. Benedicti, vexillum ipsius pretiosi confessoris, quod nobis praesidio sit, maturato deferat, etc.].” Also “invoking St. Benedict with all our strength [totis viribus sanctum invocantes Benedictum}.” 55 [bid., c. 16, p. 119.

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salvific banner belonged to the advocate—the normal defender of the monastery and its possessions. Particularly in

France, the advocate of a church appears to have been identical with its standard-bearer.** In Germany, however, the standard-bearer should probably be identified with the

leader of the contingent supplied by a particular church. ‘This might be the advocate but need not be.*”

A second, almost contemporary, example involving the banner of a saint takes us to Venice. The Venetian Chronicle of John the Deacon (ca. 1008) describes the campaign

to Dalmatia undertaken in 1000 by the doge Peter Orseolo.®* The fleet assembled at Olivolo on Ascension Day;

after hearing mass, the doge received a victory banner from Bishop Dominicus; the expedition then put in to Grado, whose patriarch Vitalis received the doge with a procession and gave him the victory-bringing banner of St.

Hermagoras, the patron of Grado. This campaign was directed against the plundering Croats and Naranteni, and involved the conquest of portions of Dalmatia. Yet the doge still bore one of the victory banners in 1003, when attacking the Moslems at Bari.°?

The next cases again belong to French monastic life. Part 56 So Du Cange claims, s.v. advocatus, but his data need verification.

The signifert s. Samsonis seem to have been none other than the advocates of the church of Dol: A. de la Borderie, Bretagne, 11, 57. [On advocacies, see below, ch. 11, supplement to n. 3]. 57 See G. Waitz, Verfassungsgeschichte, vil, 185. On the signifer in Italy, L. Chiapelli, ‘““Formazione,” p. 38 n. 1. 58 John the Deacon, Cronache veneziane antichissime, ed. Monticolo,

p. 156: “the Doge Peter ... on the feast of the Ascension of Our Lord wished to assemble with his men to hear mass at the church of St. Peter of Olivolo; Dominic, bishop of that place, bestowed on him a triumphal banner, etc.; [further on] the Patriarch Vitalis adorned the (doge’s) right hand with the insignia of the triumphant St. Hermagoras [Petrus dux ... asensions Domini festo cum suis in s. Petris Olivolensis ecclesia ad missarum ministeria percipienda convenire voluit; cui Dominicus eiusdem loci episcopus triumphale vexillum contulit, etc., ... Vitalis patriarcha ...dexteram (ducts) victrict sancti Hermachorae signo condecoravit].”

59 Tbid., p. 166: “ordering the conquering banner to go before him [victrice vexillum se preire iubens|.”

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two of the Miraculae sanctae Fidis (eleventh century) relates the following miracle: a knight named Fredolus, unjustly attacked by another, prayed all night at the monas-

tery church of Ste. Foix at Conques, made a gift to the saint, and asked the monks for her banner to protect him in battle; he bore it, called on the saint, and by her help alone he was miraculously victorious.® The same source reports another incident. The inhabitants of Colonico in Catalonia gave their village to Ste. Foix by promising to pay an an-

nual rent to the monastery of Ste. Foix de Conques, as well as to hand over a tenth of all war booty. The monks then sent the inhabitants a banner to protect their lives, a banner they were to bear in battle against the Moslems while calling on the saint. They did so and were victorious.*t Another episode whose date may be established involves Geoffrey of Anjou and the banner of St. Martin. Describing a siege of Tours that occurred in 1044, Radulf Glaber tells us that Geoffrey implored the help of St. Martin before fighting ‘Theobald and Stephen of Blois, and that he humbly promised compensation for whatever he had seized from the saint’s lands. He then received a banner, which he fastened to his lance, and by the saint’s help, he won a miraculous victory over the enemies who had begun 60 Liber miraculorum s. Fidis, 1, 18, ed. Bouillet, p. 159: “. . . he requested the banner of the holy martyr (Faith) from the brethren, so that by carrying it he might boldly penetrate the enemies’ lines . . .

with the banner of the holy virgin he broke through the enemy

squadrons, always crying in a clear voice ‘Saint Faith bring us aid,’

often repeating this and this alone. Thus by the help of the holy virgin ... etc. [vexillum sancte martiris (Fidis) a fratribus petiit, cuius

gestamine tutus hostium cuneos penetrare audacter possit ... cum

vexillo sancte virginis hostiles alas perrupit, semper voce clara ‘Sancta

Fides fer opem nobis’ intonans et crebris repeticionibus eam solam ingeminans. Sicque sancte virginis auxilio, etc.]”

61 Ibid., Iv, 6, p. 183: “for their safety ... the monks ... send them the banner, so that, invoking the holy virgin (Faith) by carrying this sign before them, they may not hesitate to break boldly through the enemy lines. Thus, strengthened by faith in her banner, etc. [monachi ...ad eorum salutem ... labarum eis mittunt, cuius gestaminis previo signo ad invocationem sancte virginis (Fidis) audacter hostiles acies non abhorreant perrumpere. Huius vero vexilli confortati fiducia, etc.]”

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to rob the canons of St. Martin.*? Although the banner is not

expressly said here to be of St. Martin, the fact that it was

is later revealed when the counts of Anjou appear as bearers of the banner of this saint. The counts even enfeoffed others with the right to carry this flag, as Geoffrey the Bearded did in 1066,** which suggests how prized the miraculous banner was. An incident related by Bonizo of Sutri far surpasses the

foregoing in historical importance. Before a Hungarian war of 1043-1044, the emperor Henry IJI—Bonizo mistakenly says Conrad II—apparently sent emissaries to Pope Benedict IX, requesting from him a banner in the name of St. Peter, with which Henry might conquer Hungary. The

pope complied, sending the cardinal bishop of Porto and a Roman, Belinzo of the Marmorata, who were to carry the banner into battle themselves or, if the king would not let them, were to say to him: “We solemnly promise you victory; see to it that you ascribe it not to yourself but to the Apostles’! The Hungarians were in fact defeated, and as a sign of the victory, the two papal legates brought to Rome the captured lance of the Hungarian king.® ‘The banner of 62 Radulf Glaber, Historia, v, 2, p. 129: “he sought the aid of blessed Martin, and promised humbly to restore whatever possessions of the holy confessor or other saints he had seized. He then received the banner and placed it on his own spear, etc. There is no doubt but that, with the

help of blessed Martin, he who had piously invoked (the saint) triumphed over his enemies [expetivit auxilium beati Martini, promisit se humiliter emendaturum, quidquit in ipsius sancti confessoris ceterorumque sanctorum possessionibus raptu abstraxerat. Indeque accepto sigillo, imponens illud proprie haste, etc. Nulli dubium est beato Martino auxiliante qui illum pie invocaverat suorum inimicorum victorem ex titisse.]”

63 The Chronicon s. Martini (a. 1046) mentioned by Du Cange, s.v. vexillum s. Martini, dates only from the thirteenth century; unfortunately I do not know what period the statutes and ritual cited in it belong to. 64 Charter of Geoffrey the Bearded, ed. Marchegay, Archives d’Anjou, I, 359-

65 Bonizo of Sutri, Liber ad amicum, MGH Libelli 1.583: “ (the em-

peror) sent legates .. . to the lord pope, requesting that he be sent a banner from St. Peter, so that with its protection he might subject the 49

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St. Peter [vexillum sancti: Petri], which appears some twenty years later, is not in question here: Bonizo tells us only about a banner solicited from a foreign land. Yet the significance of this earlier banner hardly differs from that of the famed banner of St. Peter which was still to come. Bonizo’s story accords perfectly with the nature of the Hungarian war; his reference to the lance of the Hungarian king is confirmed by other sources.®* Scholars have nevertheless rejected it as untrue.*7 What seems to have hap-

pened is that, instead of the story being taken as it is, it has been read with the assumption that some special meaning, such as an enfeoffment, was attached to granting a banner. Since Henry III cannot have asked the pope to enfeoft him with Hungary, it would follow that Bonizo’s tale 1s impossible. In reality, Bonizo gives no legal significance whatsoever to the banner and its bestowal. What he does menHungarian kingdom to his rule. When he heard this the pope willingly agreed and sent distinguished men as his representatives, namely, the bishop of Porto and Belinzo, a very noble Roman from Marmorata, giving them these instructions, that, if it did not displease the king, they should themselves carry the banners in the front line; if the king did not approve of this, they were to say to him: ‘We have indeed promised

you victory. See that you do not attribute it to yourself, but to the Apostles,’ This was done .. . the lance of the Hungarian king was captured ... and brought to Rome [(imperator) misit legatos .. . ad domnum papam, et supplicans, ut ei vexillum ex beati Petri parte mitteretur, quo munitus posset Ungaricum regnum suo subicere dominatui. Quod ut audivit, papa libenter concessit et mittens nobiles viros ex latere suo, episcopum scilicet Portuensem et Belinzonem nobilissimum Romanum de Marmorato, eis hec tradidit precepta, ut si regi

non displiceret, ipsi in prima acie vexilla portarent; quod si regi displiceret, hec ei intimarent: ‘Victoriam quidem tibi spopondimus. Vide, hoc ne tibi ascribas, sed apostolis.’” Quod et factum est ... capta est Ungarici regis lancea . . . Rome delata].” On Bonizo, Gregorovius, Geschichte, Iv, 4th ed., p. 33.

[On the Hungarian lance, Schramm, “Heilige Lanze,” pp. 520-21, and “Beitrage,” p. 652, where he acknowledges that Erdmann was the first historian to recognize the true significance of Bonizo’s account.] 66 See E. Steindorff, Jahrbucher, 1, 243f n. 2. On the Hungarian war, see below, pp. 65f. 67 Ibid., 1, 235n.

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tion is the promise of victory through the help of the Apostles.

Such was also the case in all the other instances related here. Contemporary sources agree that banners of saints were religious symbols, pledges of divine protection and victory. ‘he absence anywhere of a suggestion that granting them had the character of an enfeoffment makes their significance to the history of religion all the greater. Ordnary war banners continually borne by knights, might be consecrated and blessed by the church for their total period of use. Banners of saints, however, were in the possession of the principal churches of the individual saints and were granted by bishops or abbots on the occasion of a specific war. The right to bear them could at times be acquired by

particular service to the church, unless the advocate or some other protector of the church had it as his lasting prerogative. Otherwise, the individual church princes were free to bestow the banner of their saints for any given war. Such bestowing elevated a war from the level of secular power struggles. When heaven intervened for one of the parties, the war had become the church’s concern. Symbolically, though not in so many words, the grant of a saint’s banner was a declaration of holy war.

We have no information about how a saint’s banner looked—whether it was distinguished in shape or color from other war banners, or whether it bore an image of the saint or an appropriate emblem. The complete silence of the sources allows us to infer that the design was irrelevant. The essential point was not the outward appearance of the banner but its abstract relationship to the saint. The nature of this relationship, however, was not that the saint himself had borne a war banner in life. ‘This is evident from the

identity of the saints mentioned in the stories just cited. With the sole exception of St. Martin, who began as a soldier, all the others are peaceable figures who had nothing to do with war banners: Benedict, the monastic legislator; 51

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Bishop Hermagoras; the martyr Faith; and Peter the Apostle. The point was rather that the banner was bestowed in the saint’s name by spokesmen of his church. But it is also essential that the banners lodged in churches counted as the

property of the saints. This trait is well illustrated by an English story of somewhat later date (twelfth century): before a war against the Scots, King Athelstan prayed at the church of St. John of Beverley, asking his help and promising him gifts; the priests who were present advised the king to take some token from the church with him, as proof of his vow; he therefore. let himself be presented with a ban-

ner from the church, and the saint miraculously aided him.®* This is doubtless a reminiscence of the banner of St.

John of Beverley, which played a part at the Battle of the Standard in 1138, but the story itself says only that some banner or other was taken out of the church: it sufficed that the banner belonged to the church. The use that the church began to make of banners at the turn of the millennium is unlikely to have been a complete innovation. A very possible source of influence 1s Byzantium, where Christ, Mary, the archangel Michael, St. George,

and other soldier-saints had been portrayed on banners from at least as early as the tenth century.® We should also

remember that, in cases of this kind, the church often appropriated older secular or pagan usages, transforming them only in particular aspects. One conjecture is that the Chris-

tian consecration of banners replaced the act of a pagan magician and that their preservation in churches replaced preservation in a temple or sacred grove.”° ‘Though not im-

possible, such magical practices relating to banners have 68 Miracula s. Johannis Beverlacensis (Rolls Series, Lxx1), 1, 295.

69 Constantine Porphyrogenitus, De ceremoniis, 1, 481; also the epigram of Psellos on the standard of Constantine Monomachus (1042-55) with the image of St. George: MPG 122.591. [See Bréhier, Institutions, pp. 377-78, and above, Introduction, sup-

plement to n. 46; Grabar, Byzantine Illumination; K. Weitzmann,

Byzantinische Buchmalerei.| 70 H. Meyer, “Rote Fahne,” p. 352; “Oriflamme,” p. 125; ““Heerfahne,”’ p. 481. 52

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not been shown to have occurred in Germanic territory during the age in question, that is, the first millennium A.D. Another conjecture is that we have here an influence from the Islamic world, where it was customary from the earliest times for the Prophet or the caliphs to bestow holy banners

upon their generals at the beginning of a war.7! One particular custom lends credibility to this notion: the Arabs

tied their flags to the lance only before battle or before war.’? We find much the same practice from the eleventh century onward in the West, first in the.case of a saint’s banner?’ and later, very often, in the heroic epics.7* Both the grant of the banner and the way it was attached may therefore have been taken over from the Moslems. But this is pure hypothesis, irrelevant to the historical significance of the appearance of such customs in the West. Regardless of their origin, what matters most is when and in what form they were adopted. A special aspect of holy banners remains to be discussed, namely the banner wagon. The first carroccio to be encountered is at Milan, where, according to Arnulf’s Chronicle, it was introduced in 1039 by Archbishop Aribert.7> At that

time, it consisted of a tall mast mounted on wheels; atop the mast was a golden ball, with two snow-white pennants 71 See e.g., Vakidi, Muhammed, pp. 50, 54f, 106, 108ff, 326, and passim; Tabari, Chronique, tr. H. Zotenberg, 11, 482. 72 E.g., Vakidi, pp. 49, 106, 149, 228, 433f, etc.

73 The standard of St. Martin in Radulf Glaber, cited above, n. 62. 74 See the material in Meyer, “Oriflamme,” p. 116, “Sturmfahne,” pp. 215ff, “Heerfahne,” p. 480, “Freiheitsroland,” pp. 22f. I have not found

this usage in the West in the earlier period; even in the Visigothic liturgy mentioned above, n. 25, there is mention only of a “raising” of a banner that may have been permanently fixed to the staff, and not of an attaching to the staff. The word bandum tells us nothing about whether the attaching took place only at the beginning of war or battle; in the Byzantine army, however, it was customary to attach banners for battle. See Grosse, ‘““Fahnen,” pp. 369, 370 n. 7. 75 On its significance, see further below, p. 67, and Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, pp. 806ft. [On Archbishop Aribert and the carroccio, H.J.E. Cowdrey, “Archbishop Aribert,” p. 12.] 53

HOLY BANNERS

hanging from it; underneath stood a cross painted with a figure of the Savior looking out over the fighting men and strengthening them by His gaze.7° This description shows that, from the first, the Milanese carroccio was an unambiguously religious symbol, a character that it retained there-

after. In the twelfth century, it bore a cross atop the mast in place of the ball, and in place of the crucifix, an image of St. Ambrose, who then also gave his name to the banner.7? Later still, a priest was always stationed at the wagon to care for the wounded and to recite mass.7° The religious character of the entire symbol 1s borne out

by the design of the banner cloth, about which we are fortunately informed in this case. The snow-white fabric

of the original carroccio banner matches the image of Christ on the mast, for white was always the color of heaven. Like the angels in the Bible, medieval saints descending from heaven are generally described as men in white clothes, and when they bear banners, these too are usually white.7? We are carried a step farther by the image that Geoffrey Malaterra sketched in the early twelfth century of St. George appearing in a battle between Normans and Sicilian Moslems. The saint materialized before the Norman ranks in shining armor on a white horse, bearing a white banner on his lance and upon it a shining cross; 76 MGH SS. 8.16: Signum autem, quod dimicaturos debebat suos praecedere, tale constituit: procera trabs instar mali navis robusto confixa plaustro erigitur in sublime, aureum gestans in cacumine pomum

cum pendentibus duobus veli candidissimi limbis; ad medium veneranda crux depicta Salvatoris ymagine extensis late brachiis superspectabat circumfusa agmina, ut qualiscumque foret belli eventus, hoc signo confortarentur inspecto. 77 Letter of Burchard in RIS, vi, 917, and Chronica regia Coloniensis, ed. Waitz, p. 110. Letter of Frederick Barbarossa of 1162: MGH Const. 1.281 no. 204. See also Otto Morena, MGH SSns. 7.120.

78 On the late medieval carroccio, Bonvicinus de Rippa, v, 24, ed. Novati, p. 151; Galvaneus Flamma, ed. Ceruti, pp. 495, 605f; A. Colombo, Milano, pp. 172f, 186f; H. Delbriick, Kriegskunst, m1, 368ff. 79 See Gesta Francorum, c. 29, para. 5, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 374, and

the numerous parallel accounts noted by the editor; Benzo, 1, 18 (MGH SS. 11,620); also Radulf Glaber, 11, 9, ed. Prou, p. 45.

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simultaneously, divine power caused a white banner with a cross to appear on the lance of Count Roger, the Norman

leader.®° ‘This incident helps us to understand the later development of the Milanese carroccio banner: by 1160, the white cloth bore a red cross.*1 ‘This was simply an elabora-

tion of the original plain banner, whose significance remained unchanged. ‘The white banner with a red cross is borne by the Milanese even today and is probably the oldest existing urban coat of arms. Its origin as a religious symbol 1s clearly shown in a surviving letter of the Milanese

to the people of Tortona.®? After rebuilding Tortona in 1155, the Milanese sent the city three communal emblems, a banner, a seal, and a trumpet: the banner was white with the red cross of Christ. ‘The letter tells us that this signified liberation from the hands of the enemy after long distress. Thus even then, the white banner with a red cross had the

character of a purely religious symbol, and not that of a territorial emblem. Banner wagons did not remain confined to Milan. Most of

the larger Italian communes adopted them, but cannot be proved to have done so before the mid-twelfth century.*® Yet the custom had crossed the Alps well before. At the battle of Pleichfeld (1086), the “faithful of St. Peter” had a ban-

ner wagon with a cruciform mast, which, as Bernold tells us, was to indicate their reliance on divine aid.** Examples of banner wagons in secular use occur only in the twelfth century; and the sources also inform us of the offense that 80 Geoffrey Malaterra, ui, 33, ed. Pontieri, p. 44. 81 Otto Morena, MGH SSns, 7.116. Colombo, pp. 16off, agrees with

E. Galli, “Origini,” p. 376, that the cross goes back to the First Crusade, but the only documentary basis for this is the report that Giovanni di Rode, the leader of the Milanese crusaders, took the cross [crucem recepit]; thus there is, in fact, no question of a banner. 82 Published by C. Manaresi, Atti, p. 53. See Erdmann, “Kaiserliche Fahnen,” pp. 41f.

83 The Florentines had a wagon-standard in 1167 at the latest: R. Davidsohn, Florenz, 1, 691; in 1170 one was introduced in Bologna: Annales Caesenatenses, RIS, Xtv, 1091; Cremona and Pavia had them in 1199: MGH SS. 31.10; etc. 84 MGH SS. 5.444f. See Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, pp. 896f.

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this practice produced.®*®> By the thirteenth century, the carroccio was widespread and often had no religious meaning whatever. But the year 1138 still offers a good example

of purely religious usage, in the English “Battle of the Standard” at Northallerton. In the king’s absence, the English army had been assembled by the archbishop of York and the higher clergy. ‘Ihe archbishop directed that priests were to join with their crosses and banners and with their parishioners. Moreover, he prepared a “‘standard,” that is, a banner wagon, on which were placed a host and the banners of St. Peter of York, St. John of Beverley, and St. Wilfrid of Ripon; for aid in defense of the church was expected

from Christ and the saints.86 This incident unites the various kinds of holy banners: the parochial banners brought forth by parish priests, the banners of patron saints, and the banner wagon in its original, religious meaning.

As we have seen, all these forms of holy banners made their first appearances about the year 1000; more precisely,

in the latter half of the tenth century and the first half of the eleventh. If the history of symbols is a valid indicator, the emergence of these new customs should reflect a general evolution in the history of ideas. ‘To this we now turn. 85 Lamberti Parvi annales a. 1129, MGH SS. 16.647, on the wagon-

standard which the count of Louvain caused to be built for himself “by arrogance of pride [fastu superbiae].” Sigeberti Contin. Aquicinct. a. 1184, MGH SS. 6.422, on the standarum of Count Philip of Flanders,

“which the king and all France endured with great indignation [quod rex cum tota Francia valde indigne tulit].” We have no detailed information in this regard on the wagon-standard of the Hungarians of the year 1157 (Nicetas Choniates, Historia, v, 3, ed. Becker, p. p. 202). Pseudo-Turpin, c. 17, attributes a wagon-standard to the Spanish Moslems, from which M. Buchner, ‘“Pseudo-Turpin,” pp. 44ff, wishes to date the composition after Barbarossa’s battle with the Milanese; there is no basis for this inference.

86 Aelred, pp. 182ff, 188ff and Richard of Hexham, pp. 16off, in Chronicles, 11, ed. Howlett. It is also characteristic that after the bat-

tle the English, “with joy and the giving of thanks, returned to the churches of the saints the banners which they had received [vexilla, quae acceperant, cum gaudio et gratiarum actione ecclesiis sanctorum reconsignant]|” (p. 165).

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CHAPTER II

PEACE OF GOD, CHURCH REFORM, AND THE MILITARY PROFESSION

A around the turn of the millennium, the attitude of the church toward the military class underwent a significant change. The contrast between militia Christi and

militia saecularis was overcome, and just as rulership earlier had been Christianized, so now was the military profession; it acquired a direct ecclesiastical purpose, for war

in the service of the church or of the weak came to be regarded as holy and was declared to be a religious duty not only for the king but also for every individual knight. This advance over previous views began in many cases as early as the tenth century and can be traced from the end of that century onward; it is one of the preconditions for the crusading movement and should be precisely defined. Unfortunately, however, a development of this kind can

neither be precisely circumscribed in its entirety nor be clearly sketched in its every detail; to do so would require richer and more precise sources than the early Middle Ages provide. In order to grasp at least the outlines, we must dieress. In a field like ours, it would be sterile to confine the

inquiry purely to the realm of ideas. A change in mental

attitudes, such as we are dealing with, should not be divorced from the political and social background. The prerequisite for the formation of Christian knighthood, though not its cause, was a constitutional process: the gradual establishment of feudalism and the decline of state power that it occasioned, especially in France. The church drew two conclusions from this changed situation. On the one hand, it assumed a part of the state’s functions; and, on the other hand, it transferred to individual feudatories, or

to the knighthood as a whole, some aspects of the semi57

REFORM AND THE MILITARY PROFESSION

ecclesiastical function that it had previously attributed to the head of state. In both these ways the church acquired

closer ties to war and to the military class than it had formerly wished to acknowledge.

Naturally, such variables as the legal and social position of the knights made for individual differences in treatment. The territorial princes who were acquiring the uppermost place in the social scale could most easily assume the func-

tions that the church had previously allotted to kingship alone—notably the “authority that bears the sword with reason” according to the dictum of the Pauline epistle.* Nevertheless, the exceptional position of territorial princes was not essential for the development of the crusade idea:

they stood on the same footing with other knights in the church’s call to the First Crusade. Eventually, knighthood emerged as a genuine social class separate from the mass of people bearing arms; it has been argued that this gradual differentiation encouraged the process of portraying knights in quasi-clerical colors. But the distinction between knights

and other bearers of arms holds true only for a later age, essentially for the twelfth century.? As a result, our subject

requires that the concept “knight” be used in the widest sense—a homogeneous category embracing all those bound by custom to bear arms, who as a group can be contrasted with the kingship, on the one hand, and with the church, on the other. 1 See, e.g., Nicholas II to the count of Rouerges, JL. 4440; Chronicon s. Huberti, c. 78 (MGH SS. 8.612), on Godfrey of Bouillon. 2See J. Flach, Origines, 1, 569ff, esp. p. 575; P. Guilhiermoz, Essaz, pp. 462ff. A. Franz, Benediktionen, 1, 28g, is unreliable. [M. Bloch, Feudal Society, tr. L. A. Manyon, chs. xxi, xx; E. Amman and A. Dumas, £glise, esp. pp. 231ff. The principal work on French feudal institutions is now F. Lot and R. Fawtier, eds., Institutions. See also R. Boutruche, Seigneurie et féodalité, 1, 132ff, passim; u, 88ff, 126ff; and for a study of a particular region, G. Duby, Société. Waas, Kreuzzuge, 1, ch. 1, emphasizes the role of the nobility in the crusade move-

ment. It should be noted that the whole question of feudalism, especially the meaning of the term, has been under considerable discussion; E.A.R. Brown, “Tyranny of a Construct,” pp. 1063-88, summarizes the problems raised. ]

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The new attitude of the church toward knighthood is precociously revealed in the transformation that the institution

of advocacy underwent in France owing to the development of feudalism.? Advocacy had existed in Carolingian

times, but the duties of advocates had then been only administrative and legal, and not military: the armed protection of monasteries and bishoprics had been incum-

bent upon the king or his official, the count. A gradual change in this practice is visible by the mid-ninth century but was completed only in the tenth and eleventh. General insecurity, the withdrawal of royal protection, and the growth of private wars (wars in which some churches themselves actively participated) allowed advocates to become above all the military protectors of monasteries and bishoprics. As the mediatory role of the state came to an end,

the church entered into direct contact with the actual participants in warlike activity, the individual dynasts and

knights. In consequence, the conceptions that had previously been fostered about the ruler, in consideration for his defense of the church, had to be transferred to a wider circle. The process is symptomatic of the changed position of the church in feudal society: circumstances alone forced a certain rapprochement with warlike activities. The most significant illustration of the changed situation is the Peace of God movement.‘ Until then, the preservation 3 See F. Senn, Avoueries, and Vidamies. In Germany this development

involved rearrangements of a different sort; see now E. F. Otto, Kirchenvogtei. [On advocacies, Bloch, pp. 404ff; Duby, pp. 110-14; G. Barraclough, Medieval Germany, 1, 65—70, 96-97, Ul, passim; J. Lemarignier, Institutions, esp. pp. 64-65. Cf. also Delaruelle, “Essai” (1953), pp. 21-23. For Cluny and advocacy in relation to the papacy, H.E.J. Cowdrey, Cluniacs, pp. XVi, 10, 12, 197-203, 211-12, 239 Nn. 2.|

4 On the following, G.C.W. Gorris, Denkbeelden, as well as Exkurs [in the German edition]. [The principal work on the Peace of God movement is now H. Hoffmann, Gottesfriede. See also H.E.J. Cowdrey, “Peace of God,” pp. 42-

67; B. Tépfer, Volk und Kirche, who shows how the Peace of God movement represented a new reaching out toward the laity, especially the peasant classes, by the church (see esp. ch. II, and pp. 104-11). He

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of peace had unquestionably been one of the main functions

of the secular state and continued so in theory; henceforth it would be taken in hand by the church as one of its subsidiary functions. The oldest known peace council, the synod of Charroux (ca. 989), adopted scarcely any resolutions that had not appeared before, if only sporadically, in the earlier legislation of the capitularies.®> The novelty was

that what had formerly belonged solely to state legislation was now proclaimed as ecclesiastical law and enforced by ecclesiastical penalties. An invariable characteristic of the

Peace of God was that it had the form of church law. A

second formal element was soon added, namely, the sworn agreement; and since, as a rule, the agreement was under

the aegis of the church, it also presupposed the church’s participation in the maintenance of peace. To be sure, with two performing the same function, the function is no longer the same: the peace maintained by the

church was bound in time to become something different from the peace that the state had kept. The pax from which the Peace of God resolutions proceeded consisted above all in a special protection for churches, clerics, and peace-

able persons from robbery and assault, as well as in a radical restriction of the right to plunder. This was a regulation and limitation of warfare such as exists in mod-

ern international law. The later Truce of God [Treuga Dei], which forbade war during certain days and seasons, was basically a measure of the same sort. But we should not also emphasizes the connection between the Pax and such popular religious manifestations as the cult of saints and relics (pp. 39ff) and pilgrimage (pp. 47ff), as well as the socioeconomic conditions of tenthand eleventh-century France. For a brief study emphasizing subsequent influence on war against the pagans and the crusade idea, Amman and Dumas, Eglise, pp. 483-505. Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), pp. 36ff, notes that the peace militias, especially in central and southern France, included large numbers of popular, i.e., non-noble participants. See also Duby, pp. 159-60, 198—201.]

5 Cf. L. Huberti, Studien, 1, 46ff, and more recently, R. His, review of Go6rris, Denkbeelden, p. 605 with n. 2. [On the synod of Charroux and earlier local councils, H. Hoffmann, pp. 13ff, 25-28.]

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overlook a further group of resolutions, adopted from time to time, that sought to put almost a complete end to war or feud. ‘The council of Poitiers (probably after 1000) ruled

that disputes over ownership were to be tried by legal process and not by feud.® Similarly, the peace association created by Bishop Warinus of Beauvais (1023) specified that a breach of law committed by a peasant should be avenged

only after a delay of fifteen days had been allowed for the appropriate satisfaction to be given;’ this too was intended to limit the outbreak of feuds. More ambitious than these was the movement of the 1030s, about which we unfortunately have no official conciliar texts and can rely only on chronicles and sermons. Radulf Glaber and the Gesta episcoporum Cameracensium make it quite clear that, in their view, what was then attempted was a general prohibition of feud.* An even more important document is a group of sermons delivered at the peace council of Limoges (1031),

whose author may have been Adhémar of Chabannes. While calling for the establishment of a new peace association, the sermons tell of an earlier association that had resolved that disputes were to be decided by jurists, thereby eliminating acts of violence:® here too judicial process was favored and feuds completely excluded. The 6 That disputes over ownership were in question is clear from the phrases quaecumque res invasae fuerunt ..., unde altercatio in ipsis pagis habetur, and ex contendentibus de ipsis rebus. G6rris recognized this (p. 140, cf. p. 138), but he narrowed the scope too much by speaking of disputes over land ownership only. The verb invadere must not

object. | a

be limited to such a degree since it often appears with a person as [On the synod of Poitiers (1023), H. Hoffmann, pp. 27ff.] 7C. Pfister, Robert le Pieux, p. 1xi. [H. Hoffmann, pp. 56ff.] 8 Radulf Glaber, tv, 5, ed. M. Prou, pp. 103f; Gesta episc. Camerac.,

mi, 52 (MGH SS. 7.485). Although Gorris (pp. 153ff and 175) admits that these chroniclers meant an absolute peace he rejects their testimony. He is hardly justified in doing so; mutually independent as they are, the two sources corroborate each other in all essentials. 9 MPL 141.115-25, esp. 117, and the third sermon; see Gdorris, p. 136, and Exkurs 11 [of the German edition]. [H. Hoffmann, pp. 56ff. Presumably the earlier association was in 994. See below, supplement to n. 13.|

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same result was intended by an association of the burghers of Amiens and Corbie (perhaps 1030 or 1036), as reported by the Miracula sancti Adalhardi. We are told that a complete peace was resolved upon for the whole week: the settlement of disputes by violent means was forbidden, and

due process of law was generally recommended.’® One point at least may be inferred with certainty from all this, namely, that these years witnessed a strong movement for the complete abrogation of feud. In comparison with these

radical efforts, the Treuga Det, which became common around 1040 and confined its pacification to specified times,

meant a retreat, a compromise; though rejected in recent times, this old interpretation is thoroughly correct. As responses to the problem posed by the warlike impulses of knights, the measures we have discussed appear

to be negative attempts to defend peace and suppress feud—the very opposite, therefore, of a rapprochement of the church with war. But the Peace of God movement was not confined to negations. Until recently, every organization 10 Miracula s. Adalhardi, MGH SS. 15.2.861. (On the dating, see also Pfister, p. 174 n. 1.) Since the phrase used here “is complete peace, to wit, of a whole week [integram pacem, i.e., tocius ebdomadae]” the pax referred to cannot mean the traditional peace attaching to churches, etc.; reference is evidently being made to Truce decrees proclaiming peace for a part of the week, and the Truce always involved a prohibition of all kinds of armed combat, not just the protection of churches, etc. The text then reads: “if any persons dispute among themselves in any quarrel, let them not avenge themselves by plunder or fire until, on a set day, a peaceful complaint is made in front of the church in the presence of the bishop and the count [ut si qui disceptarent inter se aliquo discidio, non se vindicarent praeda aut incendio, donec statuta die ante ecclesiam coram pontifice et comite fieret pacificalis declamatto].” Interpreted literally, this passage means that violent remedies must be avoided at first, but may then be used to the heart’s content after the pacificalis declamatio has taken place. Since this is obviously

absurd, it must be presupposed that the decision of the bishop and count would be binding and that, afterwards as well, no feud would be allowed. 11 Against this view, Gorris, pp. 172-80.

[H. Hoffmann, pp. 7of, does not regard the Truce of God as in any way a weakening of the peace movement, but sees it as a different approach. Cf. also Toépfer, p. 79.]

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of peace has simultaneously been an organization of war, since mankind hitherto has not wished to believe in a peace that was not guaranteed by the possibility of war. Accordingly, the Peace of God also had a positive implication for the warrior profession.’ ‘The many provisions of the Peace of God resolutions against breakers of peace amounted to nothing less than a new form of war, one provided for this time by the church itself. The report we have of one of the oldest peace councils—the one held at Le Puy in about 990 —tells us that the bishop of Le Puy gathered an army and forcibly exacted an oath of peace from the reluctant knights and peasants of the district.1* The canons adopted at the

synod of Poitiers established that those participating in the council had to proceed with force against any man who

refused to keep the peace; and the appeal of the French clergy to the Italians to join in the Treuga Dei (ca. 1040) celebrates revenge on truce-breakers as an act blessed by God.1* In the second half of the eleventh century these clauses were even further developed, and ecclesiastical leaders created peace militias in whose enterprises, as we saw in Chapter I, parish priests participated with their banners.1> Later, these militias even gave valuable service to the French kings in leveling castles. Evidence indicates that the peace and city militias were in some way connected.1®

In the years that witnessed the first high point of the peace movement, namely, the 1030s, the pen of Andreas of 12 Cf. L. Reynaud, Origines, 1, 73f. (What Reynaud says about Ger-

many is not worth discussing; the French parts include some gross exaggerations and biases, but also much that is true.) 13 Chronicon monasterii s. Petri Aniciensis, c. 413, in Cartulaire SaintChaffre, ed. Chevalier, p. 152. [H. Hoffmann, p. 18 (date 994).] 14 MGH Const. 1.597.9.

15 On this, Goérris, pp. 78f, adducing the decrees of Cologne (1083) and Clermont (1095); those of Soissons (1092) and Rouen (1096) should also be added. Also above, p. 44. 16 P, Viollet, Institutions, m1, 121; A. Luchaire, Communes, pp. 38ff, and Premiers Capétiens, pp. 315, 325; F. Duval, Paix de Dieu, pp. 24ff;

L. von Winterfeld, “Gottesfrieden,” p. 10; L. C. MacKinney, “Public Opinion,” p. 198.

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Fleury supplies us with a detailed account of a “peace war”’ of the kind just outlined.” About the year 1038, Archbishop

Aimo of Bourges together with the other bishops of his province (probably in a synod) laid upon the entire populace over fourteen years of age the obligation to use armed force against all breakers of the peace and against oppressors of the church and the clergy. Even priests were not excluded; they too had to go along carrying the church banners. Many combats were thus fought in which the almost

weaponless population, like a new Israel, terrified its opponents with God’s help and drove them to flight. But success, as well as individual greed, made these peace fighters insolent. ‘They began to devastate the land on their own ac-

count and burned down the castle of Benecy with 1,400 men inside. ‘This provoked God’s punishment: when a new

army of the archbishop, including many clerics, fought against Odo of Déol, God let it be known by thunder and lightning that He was no longer leading them, and in a great battle at the river Cher, the church’s warriors suffered a devastating defeat, with more than 700 clerical victims.

Andreas of Fleury depicted the scene in Old Testament colors. ‘his is a clear indication that he had already arrived at the conception of a holy war, one that is essentially led by God Himself, in which men are only His instruments. Such a view was logical and unavoidable. Once peace was guarded by the church and its maintenance turned into a religious duty, the war conducted for its preservation had to become a service to God. However exaggerated and lurid his story might be, Andreas of Fleury looked upon the contemporary war near Bourges as a holy war in the full sense of the term, basically different from a secular war.

Andreas did not stand alone; the ideas he reflects were 17 Miracles de St. Benoit, v, 2-4, ed. de Certain, pp. 192ff. [Cf. H. Hoffmann, pp. iosff, between 1035 and 1044. See also Topfer, P. 93-]

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already influencing the high politics of the age. When the emperor Henry III adopted the idea of the Peace of God in a somewhat altered form,'® he also allied the concept of peace with his military enterprises. A letter by Abbot Bern of Reichenau celebrates Henry III as a promoter of peace, who was supported by God in his wars for this very reason; this was why he had recently won a great victory over the Hungarians, just as Hezekiah had over Sennacherib.}® Bern’s religious interpretation was hardly unique, for we know from other reports that Henry III himself thought in such terms. After the victorious completion of a Hungarian campaign in 1043, he proclaimed general peace at Con-

stance and at Trier;?? and when a new Hungarian war broke out in the next year, he did everything he could to make this war appear as a holy enterprise, and not a profane breach of the peace. He succeeded in getting Pope Benedict IX to send him a banner of victory in the name of St. Peter, as well as to excommunicate the king of Hungary. After this victory, Henry III celebrated an ec18 On this see below, n. 20. The proclamation of the Peace of God in Italy, MGH Const. 1.598, no. 420, is very probably to be attributed to the Council of Pavia held by Henry III (October 1046). See Exkurs 11 [of the German edition]. [According to H. Hoffmann, pp. 82 and 85, the Truce of God reached Italy earlier, probably between 1037 and 1042. See also pp. 63 and 86 on Henry ITI.] 19 EF, Strehlke, “Brief Abt Bernos,” pp. 198 ff. An earlier letter of Bern to Henry II, MPL 142.1162, contains somewhat similar ideas, and especially the same citations of Gen. 49:25 and Ex. 14:14. 20 See the material in A. Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 11, 573ff, and the important passage in Arnulf of Milan, MGA SS. 8.17, c. 19: “there came

envoys from the emperor imposing an inviolable truce, which they confirmed by oath with the force and counsel of the whole kingdom [veniunt ab auguste legati treguam inviolabilem indicentes, quam tottus regni virtute et conscilio iureturando confirmant}.” See also H. Prutz, Friedensidee, pp. 12-16, who distinguishes the Cluniacs from Henry III in a way that, to my mind, is without foundation; according to him, the Cluniacs combined ecclesiastical-moral motives with thoughts of their own safety, whereas Henry III’s goals were purely idealistic. [On Henry III, P. Joachimsen in Barraclough, Medieval Germany, Ut,

104: “he understood this conception (of peace) in the full clerical

sense.” Cf. also G. Ladner, Theologie und Politik, esp. pp. 70-78, 85-88.]

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clesiastical thanksgiving by prostrating himself barefoot with the princes and the whole army before a relic of the cross, and by once again declaring a general amnesty." Bern therefore reflected Henry’s own ideas when he portrayed the king of Hungary as a criminal sent by the devil and the war as a work of God. He is to be believed when he describes a holy war as the direct consequence of the Peace of God.

This case, where the king personally takes in hand the holy peace and thus also the holy war, lacks an otherwise essential component, namely, the direct leadership of the church. We encounter this element, however, in a development of another kind. The appearance of communes, first and foremost in Italy, parallels the progress of feudalism,

for both depended on the decline of the royal power that they served in some respects to replace. It is highly charac-

teristic that the church patronage that these communes occasionally received is most noticeable in military affairs.??

Although the peace associations, whose _ establishment played a role in the origins of the Italian communes, cannot be equated with the Peace of God, they nevertheless reveal a certain degree of resemblance.?* Milan supplies the best

report of the formation of a communal army. Arnulf tells us that, when the city was in danger of attack by the followers of Conrad II in 1039, Archbishop Aribert, in his capacity as spiritual and temporal lord of the city, summoned all the inhabitants of his diocese capable of bearing

arms, peasants and knights, rich and poor, so that they might protect their homeland from the enemy. This was when he created the carroccio as the common battle stand21 Annales Altahenses maiores a. 1044, ed. ab Oefele, pp. 36f; see also

Pp. 35: tussu divinitatis instinctus, and a. 1045, p. 38, the apparently gratuitous statements about combating Godfrey of Lorraine; Bonizo, Liber ad amicum, MGH Libelli 1.583. On the banner, above, pp. 49-51. [On the banner episode, above, ch. I, supplement to n. 65. On Benedict IX, see now H. Klaus-Jurgen, Tusculaner Papsttum.]

22QOn the military organization of the Italian communes in the

eleventh century, Chiappelli, “Formazione,” pp. 38ff. 23 See now Winterfeld, pp. of; E. Besta, Diritto, pp. 2o7f. 66

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ard of the newly formed army.?4 What we have here, then, is a communal militia for home defense, organized by the

archbishop and represented by a symbolic banner whose religious character has previously been discussed. ‘The later

role of the carroccio shows that it was the characteristic symbol of the citizen levy, the battle standard of the infantry;?> its religious consecration was expected to strength-

en the resolve of the combatants and their confidence in victory.”°

In several respects, the Peace of God and parallel phenomena reveal a new attitude of the church toward war and the profession of arms, one that cannot be accounted for by purely constitutional developments. The church did not confine itself to siding with the new agents of military activity, that is, with the knighthood in place of the king-

ship; it also subjected its own attitude toward war to a certain revision.?”? If the church’s reconciliation with the situation resulting from the retreat of state power had been only external and had represented a compromise, then the tensions and contradictions that had previously marked the

ecclesiastical attitude toward war would have worsened and been brought more clearly to the foreground; the forces of religious sentiment would have worked not for but against holy war. Since the opposite happened, the entire process can scarcely be explained in sociological terms alone. Rather, the sociological facts acquire their _ 24 MGH SS. 8.16. See also Landulf of Milan, u, go (ibid., p. 67) on the introduction of the Peace of God during the episcopate of Aribert, and II, 32 (p. 68) on Aribert’s exhortations to the Milanese knights: if they fell in battle for church property, their death would be comparable to that of the saints. [Cf. C. Violante, Societa, pp. 203-4.] 25 So also in A. Pichler, ed., Tractatus de materia belli, p. 60: ‘“Es-

pecially when open battle is to be fought by footsoldiers [precipue quando per pedites campestre bellum debet fieri).” Further, Sigeberti Cont. Aquicinct., MGH SS. 6.442: ‘““The count’s (army) was preceded by ranks of footsoldiers [comitis (exercitus) agminibus peditum praecellebat].”

26 Delbriick, m1, 374ff, whose observations hit the nail on the head. 27 Cf. Reynaud, pp. 77ff.

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meaning from the religious attitude that the church adopted toward them. The active influence in this respect came above all from those forceful men who were working at that time to transform the church in other areas. Particular attention should be paid to the Cluniacs and their attitudes toward the warrior class. ‘Their positive approach to war would be beyond

question if, as is often maintained, they had organized Moorish wars in Spain and expeditions of French knights

to the Iberian Peninsula as early as the first half of the eleventh century; if true, they should be considered the actual fathers of the crusading idea.?® But these assertions are very difficult to prove. Radulf Glaber relates an episode that took place around 1033 in “Africa,” apparently meaning Spain; before a battle against the Moslems, the population vowed all booty to the monastery of Cluny, which it held in particular honor, and also delivered the spoils after the victory.2® Such a vow, however, had the obvious objec-

tive of winning the help of the patron of Cluny, namely, St. Peter, and the prayers of the monks for victory; to go beyond this—to infer from Radulf’s report that the abbot of Cluny was the organizer of the Moorish war—is pure fantasy. More deserving of attention is Bernold’s report that 28 P. Boissonnade, Roland, pp. 11f, 22, and “Cluny,” pp. 257ff; Hatem, Poémes, pp. 55ff (cf. pp. 44ff); F. Chalandon, Premiére croisade, pp. 12, 14. See also Reynaud, pp. 87ff.

[For more recent questioning of the views of Boissonnade, Hatem, Chalandon, etc., on any direct role of Cluny in developing a crusade attitude with regard to Spain, see now Cowdrey, Cluniacs, pp. 180-87; Delaruelle, “Idée de croisade,” pp. 420-39 (but note the subsequent Discussion, pp. 439-40, by Dom Hourlier on certain evidences of encouragement by Odilo and the greater influence of Cluny later). The possibility of an indirect influence resulting from Cluny’s concern for the spiritual welfare of the knightly classes is not, however, to be ruled out. Cf. Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), pp. 43-48. See also Tépfer, pp. 39, 107-11, ON monastic influence on the laity. On Cluny and the crusade, see also below, ch. 111, addition to n. 56.]

29 Radulf Glaber, Iv, 7, ed. Prou, pp. 1o9f; on this, E. Sackur, “Studien” p. 405.

[P. Rousset, “Raoul Glaber,” pp. 5-24; M. Vogelsang, ‘“Rodolfus Glaber.” See now Cowdrey, Cluniacs, pp. 180-81.]

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Abbot Hugh of Cluny counseled the Castilian King Alfonso

VI against entering the monastery when he wished to become a monk.*° Even if this story is true, its lesson is confined to the specific duties of a ruler and involves nothing but what had for centuries been a commonplace of Western political ethics. Moreover, this incident occurred only at the end of the eleventh century, at a time, therefore, when “crusades” from France to Spain were already in evidence and vigorously encouraged by the Roman Curia; it cannot document a peculiarly Cluniac spirit. ‘The only positive

report we have about the attitudes of the older Cluniac abbots is the statement by Abbot Odilo that he constantly sent prayers to heaven for the liberation of the Spanish kingdom from the heathen.*?

The most important testimony to the military interests of

the Cluniacs is thought to lie elsewhere, namely, in the famous satire of Archbishop Adalbero of Laon upon Abbot Odilo.*? In a mocking story, Adalbero tells how “King Odilo

of Cluny” brings a great number of his monks in arms against the Moslems who have devastated the environs of

Tours, how he fights with the enemy for three days, is beaten, but calls for yet another campaign. ‘The monks become knights and form a warrior class; Odilo is the leader

of the knighthood. It is easy to suppose that Adalbero regarded the Cluniacs as a sort of knightly order, and that a satire like this would be more understandable if directed against Bernard of Clairvaux instead of against Odilo of 30 Bernold a. 1093, MGH SS. 5.457. Similar stories are often found in fact and in legend: Dudo of St. Quentin, MPL 141.658f, 675; GR, v1, 17, ed. Caspar, p. 423; also on Henry II, S. Hirsch, Jahrbicher i, 364f. [Cowdrey, Cluniacs, p. 146; also “Cluny,” p. 300.] 31 MPL 142.942.

[Cowdrey, Cluniacs, p. 217.] 82 See Exkurs 111 [of the German edition].

[As J. R. notes in DA, it should be Bishop, not Archbishop Adalbero; but in Exkurs 11 he is designated Bishop. On Adalbero, see now Robert T. Coolidge, ‘“‘Adalbero, Bishop of Laon,” Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History 2 (1965), 3-114; on the satire, J. Hourlier, Saint Odilon, pp. 214ff.]

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Cluny. But when the difficulties of the poem are mastered, it becomes apparent that the author did not intend to repre-

sent the Cluniacs as real warriors. It is certain that the

Cluniacs conducted no war,?? and that Adalbero’s story is

not to be taken literally. In the satire itself, the king to whom it is told rejects these combats as tall tales, and the narrator admits that they did not occur. The ecclesiastical attitude to war is irrelevant: Adalbero’s general point is only that the monks are far too involved in secular life and that they transgress the limits laid down for the activities of the clergy.

And yet, Adalbero’s tale of war is unwittingly prophetic; in another sense than at first appears, the development that led to the knightly orders was in fact implicit in the reform

tendencies of Cluny. Neither actual warfare by Cluniac monks nor their alleged role in the Spanish war contributed

to the transformation of the knightly ethic; the contribution came from what Adalbero derided, namely, their involvement in the affairs and conduct of the laity. Adalbero

regarded it as a reversal of the natural order that reform monasticism, instead of confining itself to a contemplative life, also applied its strong impulse of ethical piety to undertaking a transformation of the lay world; this was in fact the lever that raised up the crusading epoch. For the Cluniacs did not regard the monastic life as the only possible form of life pleasing to God: monasticism was only the highest, most distinguished, and most Christlike life. The laity was on no account to be rejected and left to

its fate; it was to serve a function of its own in the total edifice of the church. An essential trait of Western monas33 G. A. Hiickel, “Poémes satiriques,” p. 98. The passages Hiickel cites to substantiate such a reproach are incorrectly interpreted. The account of Radulf Glaber, 1, 9, ed. Prou, pp. 44f, that monks took arms in Spain to repel a Moorish attack proves nothing, since it was a case of emergency (see above, p. 15); besides we really do not know whether these monks came from a Cluniac reform monastery. In the other texts cited

by Hiickel participation in war by monks is condemned just as the reformers condemned it. Finally, Hiickel misunderstands article 52: De militantibus clericis, in Abbo of Fleury’s collection of canons, MPL 139.506, since militare here refers to the service of clerics. 70

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ticism has been that, while it always basically adhered to the idea of fleeing the world, 1t was never content to take pure asceticism as the goal of its life; again and again the monks stepped forth into the world and lifted their voices to influence the whole church. All the great reformers of monastic life, who intended above all to restore the purity of the ascetic ideal, also provoked a renewal of religious influence in the outside world. The revivification of asceticism was nothing less than the renewal of the religious ideal itself, but the more purely this ideal of renewal was felt, the more insistently Westerners strove for the trans-

formation of the world. As a result, one should not be distracted by the talk of fleeing the world that always resounded most loudly in the Cluniac ambit: it did not exclude an interest in the salvation of lay society. Nor should programmatic utterances betraying a rapprochement with

war be sought in Cluniac writings. Monasticism may be known only in its fruits, which are more manifold than its teachings.

When considered in this light Adalbero’s vision was cor-

rect. ‘The Cluniacs did in fact strive to influence the life

of the world, and especially that of the knights, in accordance with their ethical principles. Other historians have observed that, in such regions as Normandy, reform monasticism exercised a strong influence on the warlike nobility.3> ‘The large role of the Cluniacs in the Peace of God movement has also been often noted; Odilo of Cluny was sO prominent in the movement that he was later regarded as its chief promoter, and the activity of someone like Richard of St. Vannes pointed in the same direction.#¢ 84I follow Harnack, Monchtum, whose account is, in my view, still unsurpassed in depth of conception, even though his identification of Gregory VII with the Cluniacs can no longer be accepted. [On Cluny’s influences on lay society, Cowdrey, Cluniacs, pt. 11.] 85 FE. Sackur, Cluniacenser, I, 54. 86 Sackur, I, 310f, II, 167, 267, 272, 292; Reynaud, I, 7off. Also, A. Brackmann, “‘Politische Wirkung,” pp. 3o0f.

[According to Hourlier, pp. 184ff, although tradition assigns to Odilo a capital role in the Peace of God movement, it is difficult to trace his personal participation in the councils after his appearance at Anse. H. 71

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As we shall soon see, Odo of Cluny gave expression to an ideal of holy knighthood in a manner unparalleled by any of his contemporaries, and the ecclesiastical interpretation of the warrior life was nurtured in reform monasteries like Fleury, even though no firm Cluniac teaching or tradition pointed in this direction. Such connections should not be exaggerated, but neither should they be overlooked; even though the reformed monks did not make war themselves

or organize it, the influence they exercised over the lay knighthood gave them a part in the rise of the new ethic of war.

Complete understanding of the interrelationships can be attained only by extending the horizon of our considerations to embrace church reform as a whole. Naturally, this was a complex phenomenon, over whose composition there is no agreement. The most debated issue is the relationship of the older Cluniac movement to the later ecclesio-political

strivings epitomized by Pope Gregory VII.*7 There are Hoffmann, pp. 45ff, points out that apart from Odilo’s presence at the Council of Anse (994), the sources do not indicate an active part for Cluny in the peace movement before 1030. Nor did Cluny itself in the mid-century, 1050-60, perhaps owing to the prominent and relatively less vulnerable position of the abbey, join a major peace agreement (p. 130). But Cowdrey, “Cluny,” pp. 295-96, maintains that “Cluny played a small but positive part.” ] 87 Cf. on this now Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, 1, 39-60; Brackmann, pp. 34-37. Should distinctions not be made between various endeavors:

a policy purely for monasteries; a policy for the entire Church; and finally, the transformation of lay society? [At the time Erdmann was writing, the discussion regarding Cluny’s

role in the Gregorian (now sometimes referred to as the “papal’’) reform was dominated by the conclusions of Sackur, which minimized any direct influence of the Cluniacs on the general ecclesiastical reform. G.

Tellenbach’s principal work, Libertas, which appeared shortly after Erdmann’s work, continued this view, which was further carried forward by himself and his students in the Neue Forschungen. An opposing interpretation, which attributed to Cluny a considerable influence on society as a whole, was championed by Brackmann in the article cited above, n. 36 (by Erdmann), and in subsequent works, and more recently by K. Hallinger, esp. Gorze-Kluny. Erdmann, who evidently tends toward the view that the differences between the various reform movements should not be overemphasized, is concerned primarily with 72

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unquestionable differences, but they should not be artificially magnified. The whole movement had begun in the tenth century as a simple monastic reform with the following aims: renewal of asceticism, strict organization of the monks, and the autonomy of the monasteries vis-a-vis local

powers. It was then extended gradually to the episcopal church and correspondingly strove for the moral reform of the secular clergy, for centralization of the whole church and its emancipation from the state, and finally for the domination of the state. We may regard it as established that the younger reformers had at least a model in the older ones, and this entitles us to conceive of the movement as

a unity, if not in its form at least in its spirit. Nor do we need to separate the various important groups of reformers from each other: with some overlapping, the Lorraine reformers and the ascetic circle around Otto III (with its later heirs) are the intermediary link between the Cluniacs and the Gregorians.

If the concept of church reform is taken in its broadest sense, then the bond uniting the various reform tendencies seems to be that they all exerted an ethical influence upon feudal society. Although we have begun by speaking only of the Cluniacs, the next chapter will show that Brun of Querfurt, a leader in the circle of monastic ascetics around the extent to which Cluny and/or the other reform movements affected the church’s attitudes toward war. For a summary of the continuing controversy, see Cowdrey (Cluniacs, Introduction) who leans strongly toward the Brackmann-Hallinger view. He is criticized in G. Constable’s review in Speculum, pp. 364-66. Waas, Kreuzztige, I, esp. pp. 33ff, stresses the religious ideal of the knight and

maintains that it grew out of its own feudal culture; though subsequently influenced by the church including Cluny, it retained its characteristically lay quality. Further pertinent articles: ‘I] monachesimo e la riforma ecclesiastica (1049-1122),” Atti della quarta settimana internazionale di studio, Mendola. Publicazioni dell’Univ. Cattolica del Sacro Cuore, Contributi, ser. 3, varia 7, Miscellanea del centro di studi medioevale (Milan, 1971); review summary in MIOG 81 (1973), 156—57; Rousset, “Societas christiana”’; review summary in ZKG (1973) 129-31.|

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Otto III, was at the same time a most zealous exponent of the idea of a Christian war against the pagans. No less important was the attitude of Bishop Wazo of Liege, the leading representative of the Lorraine reformers. Wazo played a military role in defending his city and in razing castles, but he never neglected his spiritual duties and did not personally carry weapons, even though he directed the armed operations himself. His biographer insists that he resembled Gregory the Great as a bishop and Judas Maccabeus in his military exploits. Naturally, Wazo wished to fight only in defense of the church and his community, and he strove to instill the same spirit in his people by giving an example of

justice and conscientiousness in the management of the army. Many of his vassals abandoned him in an emergency:

armed only with spiritual weapons as befits a warrior of Christ, championing piety and righteousness like Matathias, Wazo exacted a new oath from a small group of knights, by

which he specially obligated them to himself and the church. Here for the first time there appears the idea of a special ecclesiastical military force that was later to become so important.*® Wazo was also fully aware of the honor of warriors. When the French king wished to invade Germany in the absence of Henry III, Wazo wrote him that he should

at least await the return of the emperor and begin the war as befitted an honorable man.*®

The reform popes from Leo IX onward were even more intent than Brun, Wazo, and the others we have mentioned in seeking to influence the ethics of the knighthood. There

will be more to say about this, and the full extent of the 88 Arnulf of Liege, Gesta episc. Leod., c. 54-56 (MGH SS. 7.221~23). Cf. Huysmans, Wazo, pp. 73ff. On Arnulf’s concept of war, cf. also c. 7 and 19, pp. 194, 199. (H. Hoffmann, p. 89.] 39 Arnulf, c. 61, p. 226: “if you have in mind any aggressive or violent

action against us, you ought to await the return of our king, so that you might then do what must be done in a fitting manner [st quid fortiter, si quid potenter contra nos animo vestro sedet actitandum, ex-

pectetur reditus regis nostri, ut quid expediat, tunc a vobis fiat decentius].”

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common bonds between the various reform tendencies will soon become clear. The crux of the matter was a more pro-

found penetration of the world with the moral principles of the church—in other words, a new step in the Christianization of society. In the early Middle Ages, the church in its relations with the Germanic population had been content in ethical matters to Christianize the state and to pro-

vide a certain supplementation and enrichment of preChristian morality. Now, it strove for a profound renewal and transformation of the un-Christian elements of the ethic that had been adopted.*° The church reform of the eleventh

century was characterized by its effort to reform the lay feudality, as well as monasticism and the papal and episcopal church. But, whereas Cluny addressed itself to monks and the group around Gregory VII to the higher clergy, no

definite circle of reformers concentrated upon the knighthood; its reform was a common concern. The Peace of God, with which we began, comes to appear

as a link in the same chain. Whoever reads the accounts of Radulf Glaber will be inclined to regard the Peace of God as the first mass religious movement of the Middle Ages.*1 Though outwardly conditioned by constitutional developments, it nevertheless embodied a striving for moral reform, as shown by the fact that the peace councils witnessed other efforts at reform.*? The peace movement also went hand in hand with the blossoming of the cult of relics, which played a great role at the councils, and resolutions were sometimes made to observe special fasts.4? “The development of the

local interdict was yet another trait of the peace move-

40 Cf. G. Neckel, “Kriegerethik,” p. 238. , 41 See also MacKinney, “Public Opinion,” pp. 181-206.

421 disregard cases where decrees for reforming only the clergy were published at a peace council; e.g., the council of Poitiers, which along with its peace decrees, issued a prohibition of simony and renewed the rule of celibacy (Mansi, Concilia, x1x, 268). 43 Cf., e.g., Radulf Glaber, Iv, 5, ed. Prou, pp. 103f; on relics, Mac-

Kinney, pp. 185ff. ,

[H. Hoffmann, p. 30; Tépfer, pp. 39-40.]

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ment*#—a sign that here, for the first time, the church proceeded to exercise a direct influence upon the masses, as it was to do frequently and with enduring effect in the following centuries. It even seems as though the peace decrees occasionally contained clauses resembling indulgences,

so that we must regard a sort of peace indulgence as the direct antecedent of the crusading indulgence.*® In all these details, the same reform tendency manifests itself: a broad-

ening of the impact of the church upon the laity. A rapprochement between the church and war had to have two sides. Even though the church’s principal objective was to influence the conduct of lay warriors, doing so nevertheless required a certain relaxation in the attitude of the clergy toward war. ‘The Peace of God itself occasioned some difficulties. In general, though not without exception, direct leadership by the church was an essential trait of the peace movement. The participation of the clergy gave rise

to problems that are starkly apparent in the combats of Archbishop Aimo of Bourges. Andreas of Fleury perceived them clearly; as soon as the clerical army suffered its defeat, he at once drew the moral that a judgment of God was in-

volved, since the shepherds of the flock had turned into men of violence.*® Several contemporaries went even further in their judgments. Gerhard of Cambrai (d. 1048) refused to enter a peace association because he regarded 44 P, Hinschius, System, v, part 1, pp. 10ff, esp. p. 23; on this, A. C. Howland, “Origin,” pp. 431-48. According to Howland the local inter-

dict originated as an independent institution at the end of the tenth century in northern France as a consequence of the weakening of royal power (pp. 437, 439). Thus it arose from the same circumstances as the peace movement and paralleled it for a while, but the two soon became directly connected with one another (pp. 444ff). [H. Hoffmann, pp. 28 n. 22, 30, 34, 37, 97, 101f; Topfer, p. 93.]

45 See esp. the council of Soissons, paras. 6 and 7, in F. Wasserschleben, “Zur Geschichte,” p. 114, and M. Sdralek, Fragmente, p. 141 (also pp. 38f). As far as I can see, the literature on indulgences (most recently, N. Paulus) has not made use of this important passage. [But according to H. Hoffmann, pp. 18, 46, 87, there were only one or two instances in the mid-century period before the crusade.] 46 See above, n. 17.

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war as the king’s business; the bishop had to keep himself at a distance from war, merely admonishing the king to do his duty in this respect and praying for victory.‘ Such criticism shows that churchmen felt themselves con-

fronted with a development that at first was external in origin, and that they were not in agreement over their attitude toward it. The rule that clerics should not bear arms always remained in force, and it now and then continued to be sharply reformulated.** Even apart from wars for peace, violations of the rule seem to have been as frequent

as before, but they were inconsequential; the future belonged to deepened and strengthened religious forces, not to a relaxation of discipline. What is important, there-

fore, is how the conduct of the clergy toward war was envisaged from the standpoint of ecclesiastical piety. It is a characteristic of the age that views on this subject were frequently expressed. We may confine ourselves to a few examples. Fulbert of Chartres (d. 1029) still reyected any association with war. In a letter he stormed against bishops who organized wars or feuds and who, though they did not personally

bear arms, nevertheless recruited and surrounded themselves with troops; these are not bishops but tyrants, for the church bears only the spiritual sword. He dismissed the excuse that the war was for a just cause and only conducted under duress, that enemies were pressing hard and freedom

could not be secured without a war. Under such circumstances, a bishop should defend himself with patience and

prayer. Fulbert went even further by pointing to St. Martin,

who as a warrior of Christ refused military service even before he attained the clerical ordo; so should anyone who has once begun to serve Christ hold himself far from war. For only a temporal prince has the right to use the sword 47 Gesta epsic. Camerac., c. 27, 52 (MGH SS. 7.474, 485).

48 Liber mirac. s. Fidis, 1, 26, ed. Bouillet, p. 68; Wipo, ed. Bresslau,

p. 54 (on the death of the bishop of Asti in the battle: indigna statione); Leo IX at the council of Rheims of 1049: MPL 142.1437. 77

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to suppress the wicked; all participation in war by clerics, even in a just cause, is forbidden.*? These words, which imply a sharp condemnation of such later popes as Leo IX, Gregory VII, or Gregory IX, once again express a flat rejection of war. If such views had remained dominant there would have been no age of the crusades.

The utterances of Fulbert’s contemporary Bernard of Angers, who wrote in the second decade of the eleventh century, offer a sharp contrast. He portrays a prior at Conques

who regularly took the field against all attackers and disturbers of the peace; the prior personally led his people, always kept weapons at hand in his cell, condemned all cowardice as unworthy, and declared that war against bad

Christians was his duty. Bernard took special patns in depicting this figure; and though he admitted that the prior was actually not allowed to engage in armed combat,

he declared that in his case the infraction was rather a virtue than a breach of the Rule. For the prior fought only

out of zeal for God, for the defense of the good and the protection of his monastery; lazy monks should rather do

likewise than put on the face of honorable monastic modesty while being inwardly wicked. Any servant of God,

regardless of his order in society, may fight the wicked without committing a crime, and if he should happen to kill in war, even if he were a monk, he need perform no other penance than David did for smiting the Philistines.®° Never

hesitating in his praise for the warlike activities of the prior, Bernard relates that God Himself fought through his

hand, often helped him with miracles, and supplied him with a guardian angel. Such views foreshadow the later ideal of the military orders; war in a good cause is valued not simply as a divine service of the laity but directly as work suitable to a monk. 49 Fulbert of Chartres, Ep. 112 (MPL 141.235f); cf. also Ep. 97 and 121 (cols. 248, 268).

50 Liber mirac. s. Fidis, 1, 26, pp. 66ff. What is meant by David’s penance is surely his being forbidden to build the temple; see 1 Par. (Chron.) 28:3.

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Between the poles represented by the views of Fulbert and Bernard, there naturally were many intermediate positions. The biographer of Bishop Baldric of Liége, writing around the mid-eleventh century, adopted a position that was full of contradictions. He forcefully praised the combats of Baldric against the counts of Louvain, since they were to serve the welfare of the faithful. But when the bishop experienced a defeat, he was told that generalship by a priest was a serious sin; he should fight with prayer, not with the sword.*1 ‘The views of ‘Thangmar of Hildesheim

are better thought out, for his biography of Bishop Bernward (ca. 1023) clearly distinguishes the different types of

war. When the bishop makes war and builds fortresses against the pagan Danes who continuously disturb the Christians, ‘’-hangmar celebrates him as a good shepherd after the

model of Christ. He has reservations, however, when the war of Otto III against rebellious Romans 1s in question; he utters no words of blame when showing Bernward leading the emperor’s army with the holy lance of Constantine, but

he nevertheless has the bishop pray to God in his heart while doing so. Finally, he casts only a fleeting glance at Bernward accompanying the emperor on a campaign against France; in that instance, the bishop gave “to Caesar what is

Caesar’s.”5? Thangmar therefore cared about the nature and the object of the war; whether he praised the bishop’s actions or gave excuses for them depended on these considerations.

The examples that have been adduced show that views about clerical participation in war had become fluid, and 51 Vita Balderici ep. Leodiensis, c. 7-10, 16 (MGH SS. 4.727f, 730); cf. the qualifying remark in c. 2, p. 725.

[According to the review of Erdmann by J. R., p. 62, the Vita Balderict is to be dated ca. 1190, not mid-eleventh century. See also L. Auer, “‘Kriegsdienst,” pp. 356—-58.]

52 Thangmar, Vita Bernwardi ep. Hildesheimensis, c. 7, 24, 41 (MGH SS. 4.760f, 770, 776).

[On Bernward, Auer, p. 354, and F. J. Tschan, Bernward, pp. 105ff, 120f.]

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that ecclesiastical doctrine on this point was not uniform. The difference from the previous age may well have consisted only in a deeper realization of the issues. ‘That was important enough by itself. The principal effect, however, was on the lay side—in the influences exercised upon the warrior class and in the extent to which the profession of the warrior was incorporated into the church. Even in the

early period, the sources give us a little information on this subject. To be sure, the theoretical writings of the age, with which

the search for information might begin, leave us high and dry. No discussion of the postulates underlying the new ethics took place until the polemics of the Investiture Con-

test. Only then were the novelties coming into being articulated as doctrine; the theory of holy war came after its factual development. At first, even the old prescriptions about penance for killing in war remained in force. Fulbert of Chartres retained them,*? and so did the most influential

canonical compiler of the age, Burchard of Worms (d. 1025), who adopted the detailed argumentation of Hrabanus Maurus on this subject.** Hrabanus had done away with the view that killing was permissible in a war commanded by princes and that no penance was necessary for it. The individual soldier was assumed to be motivated by the desire to obtain favor with his temporal lord, and as a result, killing in war, unless accidental, counted as an act contrary to God’s command—this in spite of the acknowl-

edged distinction between legitimate princes defending what was right by armed force and rebellious tyrants breaking the Christian peace. In line with this distinction, Burch53 Fulbert of Chartres, De peccatis capitalibus, MPL 141.339. 54 Burchard, Decretum, vi, 23 (MPL 140.770). As source Burchard wrongly gives a Mainz council, whereas it is Hrabanus Maurus, MGH Ep. 5.464; likewise in Poenit. Hrabani, c. 4 (MPL 110.471). Gérris, pp. 14f, regarded Burchard himself as the author and offered a completely mistaken interpretation. The phrase about “those who from greed .. . deliberately slay” is not a qualification; it embodies a general characterization of soldiers. 80

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ard elsewhere stipulated that whoever kills a tyrant in a war ordered by a legitimate prince fighting for peace receives a penance of three times forty days, but whoever does so without a prince’s command must do penance as though for a murder.®> The old incongruity therefore remained unaltered; a certain type of war was recognized as just, and the prince who waged it was considered blameless, but the soldier who participated in it was punished. Ecclesiastical teachings cannot be expected. to document the first expressions of the new spirit. In order to grasp the

earliest traces of the movement, we must proceed by detours, cautiously and tentatively, confining ourselves to looking at actions and reflexes and drawing inferences from them. ‘The forms of military life offer illuminating evidence,

and so do the religious observances we may discern in the official liturgy and in the popular veneration of saints.

The early medieval liturgical texts that we examined earlier disclosed some inclinations toward a holy war, but

sharply limited this militance as a result of the preponderantly defensive spirit of the church and its close tie with kingship and the state. A prayer for times of war was either confined to a general plea for peace for the community, or was identical to a prayer for the state and its ruler. Prayers

of this kind still relegated to the background the idea of supplying the combatants with religious incitements to war.5* The early medieval “Blessing in time of war [Benedictto in tempore belli|” is equally reticent; its text largely agrees with the war masses of the Gelasian Sacramentary,

and like them, it continued to be recited from the standpoint of the community in need of peace.*? In the tenth century, however, a new type of prayer was coming to prominence in the comparatively fluid sphere of benedic55 Burchard, xIx, 5 (MPL 140.952). The penalty is three times the one customary in the older penitentials. 56 See above, pp. 28-31. 57 See Exkurs I, sect. 1 [of the German edition].

[For a summary of recent discussions of the Gelasian and other sacramentaries, see Vogel, Introduction, pp. 47ff.| 81

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tions, and it discloses an effacement of old restrictions; blessings apply directly to the army advancing to war and are meant to bring it victory.5® For example, a “blessing when one proceeds to war against foes [benedictio quando ad bellum contra hostes proficiscitur]” says: ‘““May God give you the grace of His blessings and grant you the security of

His protection. Let Him impart help and victory to you and loosen the bonds of all your sins.’’>® Again, the weapons of the whole army were blessed at the beginning of a war so that they might be victorious.®° Such ideas are even more

clearly expressed in a “prayer for the army [oratio pro exercitu|’; although this prayer occurs in a war mass occa-

sionally found as early as the eighth century, it acquired independent standing and wide distribution at about the turn of the millennium. Grant O Lord to our forces the help of Your compassion,

and as You protected Israel when they departed from Egypt, so now send to Your people who go into battle an angel of light, who will defend them day and night from

all misfortune. Let their march be effortless, their path without fear, their courage unwavering, upright their will to war; and after they have been victorious by the leadership of Your angel, let them not honor their own power, but give thanks for the triumph to the victorious Christ, Who triumphed on the Cross by humility. No mention is made in this of the king, or of the peace of the church; the war itself is sanctified, and the army is the

instrument of divine action. |

Because the mass prayers in the Sacramentary were very 58 The seventh-century Visigothic ordo for the departure of the army already had this, but it is closely associated with the person of the king and is otherwise atypical. See above, p. 39. 59 Exkurs 1, sect. 3 [of the German edition]. But in a third sentence this benediction includes the traditional idea of church peace. 60 Exkurs I, sect. 5 [of the German edition].

61 Exkurs I, sect. 7 [of the German edition]; the translation given

above is somewhat shortened. 82

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conservatively handled, and were hardly ever expanded, they offer less scope for inferences. But even these texts occasionally disclose developments similar to those of the benedictions. It happens, for example, that where an earlier

age had prayed for the king or ruler, and at most also for the army, the reference to the king now disappeared and was occasionally replaced by a reference to the warriors.® At the same time, the knight attained his own special stand-

ing in the church. This is most explicit in a “prayer for warriors [oratio super militantes|’’ dating from the tenth century: “God, fountain of eternity, Lord of all good, and conqueror of all enemies, bless these Your servants, who bow their heads before You, and pour out Your constant grace upon them. In the knighthood in which they have been tried, maintain them in health and prosperity, and whenever they call upon Your aid, be there at once, protect

and defend them.”® This prayer speaks of knights in the same way that older prayers spoke of the king; in fact, the same prayer appears with minor differences in several ordines for royal coronations. It is related not to a particular war but to the whole life of a knight and to his profession, the militia, and directly mentions the knight’s testing in this vocation; consequently, the prayer was probably recited in connection with a test of this kind, that is, on the occasion of acceptance into the circle of knights. The customs of initiation to arms supply further information.** Young warriors had originally been declared of age 62 As it stands in the Sacramentaire d’Angouléme, fol. 167, no. 2307, the prayer Sempiterna trinitas has the words: da victoriam ... regi ill. In the Leofric Missal (tenth century), pp. 185f, the prayer is changed to: da victoriam servis tuis. There is a similar change in the Pontifical of Egbert, p. 131: the formula Deus in te sberantium reads: Romani imperit (nostri) auxiliare militibus where the Gelasian Sacramentary, p. 276, reads: Romani imperii adesto rectoribus. 63 Exkurs I, sect. 2 [of the German edition]. 64 For the following, Erben, “Schwertleite,” 105-68. Reynaud, 1, 7off, 511f, must be used with caution. Owing to inadequate knowledge of the material, he seeks the origin of Christian consecration of the knight in France. Treis, Formalitdten, and Massmann, Schwertlette, deal only with the later period. 83

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by a secular conferral of the sword, with the father or a substitute girding the youngster with a sword. Although a later age (from the twelfth century onward) would change the meaning of this custom from an initiation to arms into an elevation in status, the form of the ceremony continued unaltered until the later Middle Ages and only gradually gave way to the dubbing into knighthood. In all probability, the ceremony had already had a sacral character in pre-Christian times, similar to the customs associated in many religions with coming of age. In the early Middle Ages, however, the church had not yet created a Christian substitute and remained suspicious toward the old practice. It seemed a horrible sin to regard a sword as holy, in the pagan manner. Aimoin of Fleury tells of a knight in Rheims who laid his sword on the altar of St. Benedict and declared

it to be holier than the fabric of the altar; God punished him for this with death on the same day.® But the church did not confine itself to this exclusively negative attitude. The secular custom of conferring the sword was not actually set aside, but it was amplified; before or during the girding, the sword as well as the warrior was blessed by a priest in the course of a liturgical celebration. The text of the benediction that testifies to this custom® is first found in a group of Pontificals of German origin that were composed in the second half of the tenth century and were diffused in the next century, particularly in Germany, but also in Italy and France. The blessing, which nowadays is gen65 Miracles de St. Benoit, 11, 6, ed. de Certain, p. 106. 66 Exkurs I, sect. 6 [of the German edition]. [There is a brief discussion of the origins of the liturgical consecration

of knights in Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), pp. 28-36, who emphasizes somewhat more strongly than does Erdmann the German origin of, e.g.,

the benedictio ensis. This he attributes in part to the moral decline of the papacy in the late tenth century and the continuing German influence in Rome and Italy which followed. He also adds (p. 32 n. 57) references from V. Leroquais, Pontificaux. Waas, Kreuzztige, 1, 36ff, notes that such customs originated with the warrior class and were only subsequently appropriated by the church in an attempt to give them religious orientation. |

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erally called “consecration of a knight,” appears in the form of a sword blessing and is given this name in the superscrip-

tion of the manuscript. The priest principally consecrates the sword: “Hear our prayer, Lord, and bless with the hand of Your majesty this sword with which Your knight N. desires to be girt, so that it might be a defense and protection for churches, widows, and orphans, and for all servants

of God against the fury of the heathen, and that it might induce fear and dread in the enemy.” Brief blessings follow for the knight, that he might stand in God’s protection.® The text does not say whether the priest himself carried out

the girding in place of the father;®* nevertheless, the formula repeatedly refers to the girding, showing that the conferral of the sword is conceived of as a liturgical act. In essence, the coming of age itself has become an ecclesias-

tical consecration, and the profession of the warrior has been placed under the protection of the church. The favorable approach expressed by this text toward the use of the sword should not lead us to infer that this blessing constituted a Christian substitute for a secular admoni-

tion to war of earlier date. Surviving admonitions of this kind, such as, for example, the French “Sois preux,” only

date from considerably later.6° On the other hand, the ethical demands that churches, widows, and orphans be protected, and that Christians be defended against the heathens, were not newly coined for the consecration of knights. They are found in their entirety in the liturgical formulas used in royal consecrations, which, as might be expected, are recited at the very moment when the sword was presented to the king; we find them in this context in the same Pontificals that contain the blessing of the sword.

Similarly, the liturgical blessing of the knight is drawn 67 The first and third paragraphs contain a consecration of the sword, the second and fourth a blessing of the knight. 68 Gerhoh of Reichersberg, MGH Libelli 3.345f expressly documents the contrary. 69 See the passages from the chansons de gestes in Flach, Origines u, 568; also L. Gautier, Chevalerie, pp. 2gof n. 3. 85

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verbatim from an old votive mass for the king that already

appears in the Gelasian Sacramentary and, as a mass for the emperor, in the Pontificals already mentioned. As a result, there can be no doubt as to the origin of these ideas: the consecration of a knight corresponds to the ecclesias-

tical coronation, and it implies a transfer to individual knights of the ethical conceptions that the church had formerly applied to the ruler alone. By the rites of coronation, the king obtained a position between clergy and people;7° this, to some extent, also applied to the knight, though naturally to a lesser degree. ‘The transfer of ethical require-

ments from the ruler to the individual warrior, from the State to fighting itself, was the decisive element—the step that the church had to take in order to bridge the gap that, in spite of everything, still separated it from war, and in order to incorporate the military class within the church's world-encompassing activity.

The significance of these benedictions must not be exaggerated; caution is suggested by the very fact that, in the manuscript tradition, the blessing of the sword follows a benediction for fishnets.71 The blessing of the sword did not differ in form from ordinary benedictions for objects, and

it hardly matters that the bearer of the object is also blessed, for this trait also appears in other blessings of this kind. The same holds true of the contemporary blessing of

the banner that has already been encountered; the benediction applies basically to the insignia as an object and was originally unrelated to the conferral of the sword. Nevertheless, its wording does derive from prayers in the ritual for royal coronation.”? At an early date, the tendency

set in of replacing the blessing of the sword as an object with an actual consecration of the knight, addressed primarily to the warrior’s person. By the beginning of the 70 See E. Eichmann, Bischofsweihe, p. 58.

71 As it does in MS Rome, Vallicell. D 5. 72 Exkurs 1, sect. 6 [of the German edition]; also applicable to what follows.

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eleventh century (if not already at the end of the tenth), there is a regular “order of service [ordo]” for the arming of a church-defender or an ordinary knight. The ritual is sumptuously designed, and makes use of the blessings of

the sword and the banner. ‘The bishop bestows the banner, lance, sword, and shield, and repeatedly blesses the knight himself, invoking the soldier saints Maurice, Sebas-

tian, and George. It is here that the thought-world of the later semi-religious knighthood makes its appearance. Further traces of this tendency are found primarily in hagiographic literature. The cult of saints took new life in the eleventh century and left its mark in a large number of legends that are little known because worthless for the most part as documents of narrative history; but they sup-

ply better information than any other source about the dominant moral outlook. The leading place among these hagiographies belongs to a work that, though written before the middle of the tenth

century, points to the future—the life of St. Gerald of Aurillac by Odo of Cluny, the true founder of the Cluniac reform.7? ‘This work offers a new and significant ideal of sainthood. Earlier Western hagiography was almost exclusively dominated by a clerical or monkish type of sanctity. Outside the legends of the martyrs, almost no saints were known other than bishops, founders of monasteries, and ascetics. By comparison, Odo’s work is entirely novel. In addition to renovating monastic life, Odo sought to win

the souls of the laity and particularly of the aristocrats, from whose circle he originated; he wrote this work for them in order to prove that even a layman and a knightly lord could lead a holy life. Odo naturally had to struggle with severe restrictions in doing this. For he did not contest that war and religio were in themselves contradictory, and 73 Odo, Vita s. Geraldi Aureliacensis comitis, MPL 133.630ff; for the following, esp. 1, 5-8, col. 645ff. On Odo, A. Hessel, “Odo von Cluny,” . 18f.

Poe Cowdrey, Clunciacs, p. 135 n. 2; also “Cluny,” pp. 294-95; H. Hoffmann, Gotiesfriede, p. 109.]

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even he did not regard bloodshed as compatible with sanctity. As a result, his knight Gerald always fights with reversed weapons; he never wounds anyone and is ever victorious only by divine miracle. Moreover, the real merit of the saint consists in asceticism and caritas, Just like a monk,

and not in warlike deeds;* all in all, he is a semi-monastic figure, by nature averse to the warrior’s way of life, and only seeming to live in the lay world. Odo’s ethic does not as yet extend to holy war. Nevertheless, his views contain powerful anticipations of the new conception that gave a moral dimension to the life of the knight. Although Odo conceives of his hero, Count Gerald, as a simple knight and not as a God-anointed ruler, he already relates Gerald’s

warlike activities to ethical and religious purposes. He recognizes the practical necessity of fighting; resort to arms can result not exclusively from ambition, revengefulness, pride, and lust for conquest, but also from concern for the

poor and the weak, who are to be protected against the encroachments of the mighty. Only in this context does he allow the holy Gerald to fight; he labels this “fighting in God’s cause” and adds the admonition: “let him who takes arms follow the example of the saint and seek not his own but the common good.” ‘The first step is thereby taken in the incorporation of the profession of arms into the ethical program of the church. Odo, to be sure, is one of those great men who are ahead of their times. For many generations after him, the idea that

a knight as such could achieve full sanctity remained unheard of. Abbo of Fleury—also a representative spokesman of the Cluniac spirit—was less daring when, half a century later, he chose a lay prince, Edmund, as the subject of a hagiography; for an anointed head stood in a closer relationship to the church than a simple knight. Abbo’s work, which we discussed in the Introduction, is an even better 74“A disciplined way of life and works of mercy [disciplinatum vi-

vendt modum et opera misericordiae|.” Preface of the Vita, MPL 133.642.

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illustration than Odo’s of the fragmented and contradictory

nature of the ecclesiastical ethic of war.7> ‘he same age produced several saint’s lives that still do not show any sympathy for the idea of a pious knighthood.7* A character-

istic example is Helgaud’s biography of King Robert the Pious. It stems from Fleury, Abbo’s monastery; its manner

is thoroughly hagiographic; but its outlook is even more regressive than that of Abbo’s Life of Edmund.”” Helgaud intentionally avoids Robert’s military activity and portrays the virtues of his hero as consisting in prayers, displays of humility, alms, ecclesiastical foundations, etc.; he succeeds in praising Robert only by attributing to him a thoroughly

unmilitary way of life. Much the same holds true of the hagiographies whose heroes became monastic founders or ascetics but began their lives as knights. In such works, the secular militia is still felt to be a complete contrast to ecclesiastical sanctity. It is often stressed that the later saint led a semi-monastic life in spite of his knighthood. Although this trait might be taken as an echo of Odo’s Life of Gerald, one seeks in vain for that other remark in which Odo sub-

ordinates military activity itself to an ecclesiastical and moral purpose.”® 75On Abbo, above, p. 33. Dudo of St. Quentin’s opinion of Duke Richard of Normandy might also be mentioned (MPL 141.751ff). Dudo always sees Richard as the prince, not as a simple knight, and deems

him holy on account of his virtues as a ruler, among them that of fighting against the heathen. Dudo was another adherent of the monas-

tic reform (cf. cols. 752, 754); but his work is meant as historical narrative, not hagiography. 76 Such as Laurentius of Monte Cassino, Passio s. Venzeslat, in B. Dudik, Iter romanum 1, 304ff; cf. M. Manitius, Literatur, 11, 304ff. 77 Helgaldi epitoma vitae regis Rotberti Pii, RHF, x, g8ff: cf. Manitius, 11, 367ff; for the following, esp. c. 20, p. 108, and c. 32, p. 117. 78 See Adso, Vita s. Basoli, c. 7 (MPL 137.647); Onulf and Everhelm, Vita b. Popponis, c. 2 (MGH SS. 11.295); Vita Gerardi abb. Broniensis, c. 2f, 7 (MGH SS. 15.656, 658) (the portrayal of virtues here depends heavily on the Acts of St. Sebastian); Vita s. Hugonis Aeduensis, c. 2, para. 7 (AA. SS. April, 11, 763). An exception in this respect is Alpert of Metz (ca. 1025), De diversitate temporum, 1, 11f (MGH SS. 4.705f), in his account of the saintly bishop Ansfried of Utrecht, who was formerly a count and a warrior. In Alpert’s portrayal, the saint in his lay period

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The ideal of sanctity is not the only aspect of hagiography that reveals how war is judged; the miracles of the glorified

saints are equally indicative. Although certainly not new, the belief that saints miraculously defend their church or their followers from robberies and warlike attacks began, at the end of the tenth century, to play a greater role than before. The very hagiographers who showed themselves comparatively independent of tradition and wrote their accounts in original ways, such as Aimoin and Andreas of Fleury,”® or Bernard of Angers and his continuator,®° gave a large place to miracles of defense. But even insignificant practitioners of hagiography increasingly introduced stories of this type,*t and so did the chroniclers, who occasionally recorded the miracles of saints.8? The didactic point of view

is sometimes quite apparent; knights should learn from these tales of miracles that they may not without punishment harm the saints and their property, or clerics and widows.®?

fought “to restrain the boldness of wicked men [ad reprimendam auda-

clam improborum]” or against “the enemies of Christ’s poor and widows [hostes pauperum Christi et viduarum].” Nevertheless, Alpert views Ansfried’s later assumption of episcopal dignity as a sharp contrast to his former life. See also the versified c. 13 where the contrast is even more emphatic. 79 Miracles de St. Benoit, 1 and 1; cf. Manitius, U0, 230ff, 331ff. 80 Liber mirac. s. Fidis; cf. Manitius, 1, 461f (but Manitius overlooked

the edition of Bouillet and, consequently, knows only a part of the

work).

81 Examples are found in Letald of Micy (Miracula s. Maximini, MPL

137.795ff); Adso of Montierender (Miracula s. Waldeberti, MGH SS. 15.1172ff); the Miracula s. Pirmini, MGH SS. 15.31ff; Theoderic of Fleury (Illatio s. Benedicti, ed. a Bosco, Bibliotheca, 1, 224f); and Arnold of St. Emmeram (Liber de s. Emmeramo, MGH SS. 4.550ff). On these authors, see Manitius, 11, 426ff, 306ff. Add also Miraculum s. Sebastiani, MGH SS. 15.772f; Pseudo-Odo, De reversione b. Martini, MPL 133.823; Sermo de s. Constantio, c. 10, 12 (MGH SS, 30.2.1018f, 1022). 82 E.g., Annales Quedlinburgenses a. 1007, MGH SS. 3.79; John the Deacon, in Chronache veneziane, ed. Monticolo, p. 167; Radulf Glaber, 11,8 (16), ed. Prou, p. 43. 83 See, for example, Miracles de St. Benoit, 1, 14, ed. de Certain, pp.

116f: “he gave an example to others that neither should the saints be held in contempt nor the tears of widows be viewed with scorn [alzis go

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In principle, all this continued to be within the bounds of older conceptions. A distinctly military patronage on the part of the saint should not yet be inferred; actual military

actions were not ascribed to the saints more often in this period than they had been before.** Nevertheless, the first steps toward a specially military veneration of the saints may be discovered. Aimoin of Fleury stated that St. Benedict helped those who called upon him with faith ‘“‘everywhere and especially in war.’’®> There is in this a faint trace of the conception of a special patronage at war, such as was

attributed to St. George during the crusades. Arnold of St. Emmeram says that the emperor Arnulf of Carinthia chose St. Emmeram as the patron of his life and his realm; what Arnold has primarily in mind is protection in war.®* Not

surprisingly, a church advocate engaged in the military activities of his office stood in a close contractual relationship to the patron saint of his church. Theoderic of Fleury reports that, on the occasion of a Norman attack, St. Benedict appeared to Count Gistolf, the advocate of the monastery of Fleury, blamed his cowardice, and admonished him to act as a strong warrior: the saint would be with him, and lead him to victory.*®?

The elements discussed up to this point may scarcely be exemplum praebuit nec sanctos oportere contemni nec viduarum lacrymas debere esse despectui|’; Arnold of St. Emmeram, MGH SS. 4.570: “let something be included in this little work by which those who attack ecclesiastical properties may be warned [aliquid huic opuscolo inseratur, quo et invasores ecclestasticarum rerum moneantur].” 84 See, for example, Arnold of St. Emmeram, MGH SS. 4.551; Andreas of Fleury, Miracles de St. Benoit, v, 10, ed. de Certain, p. 189; Miraculum s. Sebastiani, MGH SS, 15.772f. It is interesting that Bernard of Angers has no Western example to offer for a warlike act by a saint; he

adduces only the killing of Julian the Apostate by St. Mercurius reported by John of Damascus (Liber mirac. s. Fidis, 1, 26, ed. Bouillet, p. 68).

85 Miracles de St. Benoit, UI, 7, p. 147: ubique et maxime in bello. In the account of a battle, Andreas of Fleury (ibid.,v, 15, pp. 212f) applies the epithet primicerius certaminis to St. Benedict. 86 MGH SS. 4.551.

87 Illatio s. Benedicti, ed. a Bosco, Bibliotheca, 1, 225.

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said to produce a sharp image: they are mere traces that deserve attention only because of their powerful development at a later date. Until the middle of the eleventh century, one may not speak of a mature ethic of holy war or of an ecclesiastical knighthood such as would exist in the age of the crusades. The facts and utterances that have been assembled should be regarded only as anticipations. If the sources were richer, they would probably disclose additional examples of the same kind. Nevertheless, the observations that have been made are already symptomatic. They illuminate the first stirrings of the forces to which the future belonged, and they lead us to the historical roots of the idea of crusade. We have acquired the background needed in order to un-

derstand, from the standpoint of intellectual history, the development in historical symbols discussed in Chapter 1:

the appearance and use of holy banners at about the turn of the millennium was not an isolated event, but rather one ring in a chain of contemporaneous phenomena that all point in the same direction and mark a definite step in the making of the idea of crusade. We may even say that the holy banner as a symbol of holy war is the outstanding ele-

ment in that whole development; this is why we gave it a special place in the present study. Its significance, however,

resides precisely in that it was combined with other elements.

The banner has an especially close connection with another symbol of war—the battle cry. Religious war cries were no novelty in themselves; “Kyrie eleison” had been shouted in Germany as early as in the ninth and tenth centuries.*® But now the invocation of a particular saint who had been chosen as protector for a battle acquired a specific role: it became a battle cry. Aimoin of Fleury tells of a battle fought in defense of the possessions of St. Benedict. The 88 See the Old German Ludwigslied, cited above, p. 24. Liutprand, Antapodosis, 11, 30, ed. Becker, p. 51. Similarly, Thietmar, tv, 34, ed. Kurze, p. 126. See also Weinhold, Beztrage, p. 563. Q2

REFORM AND THE MILITARY PROFESSION

provost of St. Benoit de Sault marched in the lead, calling on St. Benedict, and all the warriors did the same, so that the name of the saint echoed round the valleys and woods.*®

The Miracula sanctae Fidis and Andreas of Fleury tell similar stories.°° Nevertheless, the most important cases are

those mentioned earlier, in which the saint’s banner was borne and, simultaneously, the invocation of the saint’s name was used as a battle cry, for this coupling of banner and cry became a widespread custom. The two came to have the same name of “insignia” [Lat. signum; Fr. enseigne].™ The “insignia” was the visual and oral symbol under which

one went into battle; if it had a religious character, the war was thereby sanctified.

Before leaving all these phenomena, the question of their

geographical distribution should be briefly raised. What concerns us, on the one hand, is the role of the German89 Miracles de St. Benoit, w1, 5, ed. de Certain, p. 139: “they decided

to attack the enemies in battle, and sending forward the provost (of the monastery of Sault), . . . who first was to call upon the name of blessed Benedict, they themselves invoke Benedict, the father of monks, with voices raised on high: then the hollows of the valley rang and the depths of the forests nearby echoed ‘Benedict’ [statuunt hostes praelio

aggredi et praemisso praeposito (mon. Salensis), qui praevius ... b. Benedicti nomen celsius inclamaret, ipsi elata in excelsum voce Benedictum invocant monachorum patrem; Benedictum resonant tunc vallium concava respondentque Benedictum proximae silvae abdita].” 90 Tiber mirac s. Fidis, Iv, 9, ed. Bouillet, p. 183: per invocationem sancte virgints. It is not clear whether or not the cry bella bella is to be taken as a profane battle cry (ibid., p. 288, and Benzo, MGH SS. 11.620). Miracles de St. Benoit, v, 15, ed. de Certain, pp. 212f: “to cry out together the name Benedict, to shout out Benedict, to implore urgently

from the heart ... calling on the father Benedict, the chief of the struggle [catervatim Benedictum sonare, Benedictum ore se boare, corde

fortiter implorare .. . certaminis primicerium Benedictum invocans patrem).”

91'The dual classification of military insignia as signa muta and

signa vocalia is already found in Vegetius; but Vegetius’s signa vocalia are what we now call “the watchword,” and not battle cries (see A. von Siegenfeld, Landeswappen, p. 409). The word enseigne in its double

meaning is very frequent in the Chanson de Roland, Chancun de Guillaume, Roman de Rou, etc.; the same is true of signum in the sources of the First Crusade and the word Zeichen in Middle High German poetry (G. A. Seyler, Heraldik, p. 68). 93

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Italian Empire, which had the leadership in political life, and on the other hand, the role of France, the future homeland of the crusading movement. It seems that such im-

portant symptoms as the ecclesiastical consecration of knights and the use of banners and battle cries originally occurred in Germany, but that, by the first half of the eleventh century, the leading role had passed to France, where decisive developments took place in the idea of de-

fending the church, in the ecclesiastical symbolism of knightly life, and in the important association of the cult of saints with military themes. This observation should deter us from attributing exclusively to national character the profound differences, still apparent today, in the attitudes of these peoples toward holy wars conducted for general ideas. ‘The particular attitude of France to wars of this kind

was conditioned by history and must therefore be _historically explained. In fact, the formation of Christian knighthood was related to two historical developments that lead us to French soil from now on: the Peace of God occa-

sioned by constitutional change, and the church reform that is closely bound with the name of Cluny. The ring thus closes around our train of thought. Three points may be stressed in concluding this chapter.

From about the end of the tenth century, the church began to transfer the idea of holy war from the monarchy to the knighthood. The church consequently brought about a relative change in its own attitude—a growing rapprochement with war and a concomitant weakening of its aversion.

Finally, the representatives of reform in the church had a special role as leaders in this development.

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CHAPTER III

WARS AGAINST HEATHENS AND FIRST PLANS FOR A CRUSADE

W: have traced the first appearance of ethical demands on the knight. When these demands had substance, they called primarily for the knight to defend the church and take the part of the weak. ‘The idea of fight-

ing heathens was secondary. Ultimately, however, such combat became the most important aspect of the Christian knightly movement. This change resulted from the course of external events, and not from the inner development of the principles of Christian knighthood. Wars upon heathens had a significant role in shaping the idea of Christian holy war. The problem of the age following Charlemagne was to defend Christendom from the at-

tacks of Northmen, Hungarians, and Moslems; and since the defensive posture this entailed assured the justice of the Christian cause, the church did not hesitate to make the war on pagans expressly its own.’ In the ninth and tenth centuries, wars of this kind were accorded a status that, in

some respects, was fundamentally different from other wars. Fighting against pagans was excepted from the old rule that penitents should not bear arms,? and the liturgy clearly distinguished war against pagans from other wars.? 1See above, pp. 26-28. 2 See the letter of Nicholas I, MGH Ep. 6.659, no. 139: “let him not take arms except against pagans [arma non sumat nisi contra paganos].” Similarly, Pseudo- Nicholas, ibid., 688, no. 168; and Burchard of Worms, Decretum, x1x, 5 (MPL 140.953).

3 Erdmann, “Heidenkrieg,” pp. 132ff. In addition to what I say there, G. Tellenbach has kindly pointed out to me that in the Sacramentary of St. Gatien at Tours (in Paris, Bibl. nat., MS lat. 9430, saec. Ix ex.— x in., fol. 45°-46”) there are three masses pro paganis, that is, for the war

against the pagans. The first (Concede quaesumus Domine .. . His sacramentis ...Praesta quaesumus omnipotens ... Auxiliare quaesumus

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This distinction is particularly true for the tenth century, at the close of which Abbo of Fleury turned the idea into a complete theory. He said that the knight’s aim in life should be to turn his weapons against the enemies of the church, not to fight other knights within its bosom.+ As long as the wars against pagans were truly defensive, religious motives were intermingled with the consciousness of fighting for hearth and home. But the military situation

changed during the tenth century. The aggressiveness of the Hungarians was broken. The pagan Northmen were settled in France and Christianized. Henceforth, the Chris-

tian peoples took to the offensive. Germans attacked the Slavs, and after the turn of the millennium the inhabitants of the Italian coastal cities launched campaigns against the

Moslems, in which they were sometimes supported by Christian Normans. This passage from defensive war to offensive was a decisive moment for the idea of war on heathens. The church in the age of reform had the capacity to convey new ethical strength to the knighthood. Would

an ethical character also be extended to aggressive wars upon pagans? If so, some way had to be found to circumDomine ... ) refers explicitly to the “Norman disaster [Nortmannica calamitas],” the second is the one in the Missal, ed. H. A. Wilson, p. 268, the third (Parce Domine parce ... Sacrificia Domine tibi ... Deus qui fideles tuos ...) again mentions the gens Normannorum. In part the texts correspond with the Missa ubi gens contra gentem consurgit (see Erdmann, “Heidenkrieg,” p. 134 n. 3) which is found in the Sacramentary of Gellone (Paris, Bibl. nat., MS lat. 12048, fol. 231-231"), now

published by Tellenbach, “Reichsgedanke,” p. 70. In addition, T. E. Mommsen has been good enough to inform me that R. Davidsohn, Florenz, 1, 100, cites and translates into German a missa contra paganos resistentes from a tenth-century manuscript (Florence, Laur. Aedil. 111, formerly belonging to the Cathedral Library). The prayers it includes— Omnipotens sempiterne Deus in cuius, Domine Deus quit ad hoc, and Protector noster—are those also found in the masses for pagan wars of the Missale Romanum and the Leofric Missal. 4 Abbo, A pologeticus, MPL 139.464: agonistae, contenti stipendiis militiae, non se collidunt in utero matris suae, verum omni sagacitate expugnant adversarios sanctae Dei ecclesiae. [On the similarity with Brun of Querfurt, H.-D. Kahl, “Compellere intrare.”’|

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vent the Augustinian doctrine, still in force, that sharply distinguished offensive from defensive war.

For several reasons, it might be imagined that, at the time, pagans were combated simply because of their paganism. The strong sense of community of the Christian world

manifested itself in a brusque rejection of everything pagan. Augustine’s contrast of the city of God and the city of the devil lived on in men’s minds and was occasionally used summarily to characterize the combats of Christians against heathens.® But it is an exaggeration to suppose that the church generally desired wars upon pagans in order to eliminate paganism or to force conversion. The old ambi-

guity of its attitude toward war restrained it from taking this course. The period when Christians took the offensive is interesting for precisely this reason. I shall separately consider the various theaters of war® and, as in the previous chapters, carry the study to the middle of the eleventh cen-

tury. |

Till then, it may hardly be said that a transition from defense to attack had taken place in Spain. The decisive turn there—the beginning of the actual reconguista—came only in the mid-eleventh century.’ Prior to this, the Moslem king-

doms in the peninsula had generally maintained their superiority, as was again proved, near the year 1000, by the campaigns of Almansur. The advances of Christians in the ninth and tenth centuries, such as they were, consisted in

the colonization of sparsely populated lands, rather than 5 Bern of Reichenau, Vita s. Udalricit, c. 14 (MPL 142.1195). Bernheim’s complete generalization of the Augustinian idea, however, which

his pupil Lubenow then applied to the Slavic war, tends to gross exaggerations. 6 I completely disregard England because the sources for its history in

this period are still too scanty. [See now Noth, Heitliger Krieg, pp. 95—103.] 7 R. Menéndez-Pidal, Esparia del Cid, 1, 85f; U1, 68ef.

[See now J. P. de Urbel, Primeros siglos de la reconquista, and R. del Arco y Garay, Esparia Cristiana; L. G. de Valdeavellano, Historia, esp.

p. 689, who mentions banners and liturgical blessings in the early eleventh century; J. F. O’Callaghan, Medieval Spain, was unfortunately not available when these notes were being prepared.] 97

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in conquest. The Spanish campaigns of the Frankish kings had ceased in the reign of Louis the Pious (d. 840), and the weak French kings had to leave their Spanish March, like

the rest of Christian Spain, to its own devices. Relations across the Pyrenees were active and occasionally strengthened by bonds of marriage. Now and then, the Spanish received military help from the French. But the insignificant and isolated episodes that ensued have left only sparse and uncertain traces in the sources. The real “‘crusades” of the French knights against the Iberian Moslems began in 1064.8 Romantic ideas about the character of the Moorish wars in Spain still dominate us, as though the early Middle Ages had already had fanatical religious wars and expressions of religious intolerance. ‘This view stems from a magnified

projection into the past of late medieval and even early modern conditions. In reality, the difference in religion, though certainly recognized and discussed, did not govern

action. The warring parties were almost never formed along religious lines. On the contrary, alliances between Christians and Moslems against co-religionists of one side or the other were the order of the day. According to much later chroniclers, the Christians in such alliances pursued only Moslems after victory in battle and allowed the Christian enemy to go unharmed.® Contemporaries report rather 8 Boissonnade, Roland, pp. 3-22, and “‘Croisades francaises,” pp. 5ff. Boissonnade, however, exaggerates and often misinterprets his sources; to the contrary, Menéndez-Pidal, Espana del Cid, 1, 678ff. A. Hamel,

‘“Heldendichtung,” pp. goff, suggests that in France the idea of the Spanish crusade was active from the ninth century. But his examples from the ninth century illustrate only the typical royal crusade of the Carolingian era, which died out following the decline of the Frankish kings. The later crusade of knights was something new and actually first appeared in the eleventh century. [As W. Kienast pointed out, “Zur Geschichte,” p. 104, the county of Barcelona retained at least formal allegiance to the Frankish kings. On the question of Moorish war or ‘‘crusade” in the Barbastro campaign of 1064, below, pp. 136—40.|

9 See Rodrigo of Toledo, v1, 10 (Hispantae Illustratae, ed. Schott, 0, 98), on the battle at Atapuerca; the standard source on this battle, the Historia Silense, ed. Santos, pp. 7o0ff, is unaware of the distinction.

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the opposite, that the Christian kings took pains to spare even the Moslem population, their future subjects.?° ‘The idea of waging war for missionary purposes hardly existed in Spain during that age. Cultural ties between Christians and Moslems were close. Even if we disregard the many Mozarabs (that is, Christians living under Moorish rule), the northern Spanish kings and counts were frequently to be

found in the tenth century at the court of the caliph of Cordova; and as regards the eleventh century, one author has gone so far as to say that Christians and Moslems led closely joined lives and almost fraternized.™

Circumstances like these made a crusade on the part of Spanish Christians inconceivable. Only occasional defensive encounters give a deceptive impression of religious war. An

example occurs about the turn of the millennium. In 1003, Abdelmelik, the son of Almansur, invaded Christian Catalonia and seized certain localities in the county of Barcelona,

until he was met near Tora by a united Christian army under the leadership of Counts Raimond Borell of Barcelona, Bernard of Besalu, Wifred of Cerdana, and Ermengaud of Urgel.1? ‘The account of this battle, written forty years later 10 Cf. Adhémar of Chabannes, Chronique, 1, 70, ed. Chavanon, p. 195. 11 Menéndez-Pidal, Espana del Cid, 1, 78, 84f. 12 The battle of Tora has been omitted hitherto from Spanish history,

since Spanish historians have apparently overlooked the account of Andreas of Fleury (Miracles de St. Benoit, Iv, 10, ed. de Certain, pp. 187ff). Andreas, who had personally been in Catalonia, is a good witness of events there, as is proved by his precise statements of numerous details, in this case, e.g., the names of the four counts. True, he does not give a year, but since the names of the counts point to the years 9921018, it is quite clear, in my opinion, that only the combats of 1003 can be meant, the more so as the location of the Thoranum castrum (Tora, about 60 kilometers south of Urgel) best corresponds to other accounts: the Moslems had advanced through the southern part of the county of Barcelona; at Tora, then belonging to the county of Urgel, there took place the first battle, unfavorable to the Moslems. Arabic sources inform us of the death in this campaign of an especially well-known, evidently highly placed, Moslem personality; Andreas says that the caliph himself was killed at Tora, obviously an exaggerated version of the actual event. After this battle the Moslems fell back laterally to their own territory, where the second battle took place at Albesa; its outcome appears to

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by Andreas of Fleury, transports us right into the crusading age. The Moslems descend upon the Christians like Philis-

tines, but the defenders, under Christ’s leadership, are always victorious. In view of the superior number of the infidels with their 17,000 men, Count Bernard points out before the battle that the Virgin Mary, the archangel Michael, and St. Peter will each annihilate 5,000 of the enemy, leaving only a small balance to be fought by humans;?* often

before Christ has brought it about that the banners of the heathen should be carried in retreat. In the battle, the saints are called upon for help. Right afterwards, the Virgin Mary herself announces the victory on Mount Gargano in distant Apulia. Such was the conception Andreas had of this de-

tensive battle. Seven years later, however, the heroes of Tora allied themselves with some of the ‘new Philistines” and went in their service all the way to Cordova to shed their blood in wars among Moslems!!* As soon as the protection of hearth and home, and thus of the local church,

was no longer at issue, religious differences were immediately forgotten. The situation prevailing here was of the kind indicated in the Introduction, that is to say, a situa-

tion in which holy war can be spoken of only in a very limited sense.

Things were somewhat different on the Slavic front to the east of Germany, about which we fortunately know rather have been uncertain, but it evidently brought to an end the campaign of that year. Without the battle of Tora the connection between the events in the county of Barcelona and the battle of Albesa cannot be understood. See further A. Ballesteros y Beretta, Historia, Ul, 333, and the works referred to in his notes (partly unavailable to me). [Tora is not mentioned in Arco y Garay, Historia, Vi, 173, 489. LéviProvencal, Espagne musulmane, Ul, 284-86, esp. p. 285 n. 3, indicates the difficulty of identifying locations.] 13 The mention of the patrons (Mary, Michael, and Peter) is evidence of Andreas’s reliability: since the entire account is set in a miscellany of

miracles of St. Benedict, Andreas would not have hit upon these three saints if he had been engaging in personal inventions. 14 Cf. Ballesteros, 1, 354. [Menéndez-Pidal, Historia de Espafia, vi, 490.]

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more than about Spain. The main events are familiar: defensive wars against the Hungarians came to an end, and an advance on a broad front began against the Slavs. We are concerned only with the attitude of the church toward these happenings and with the question of holy war. The opinion is sometimes expressed that religious differences determined the character of this war.15 In particular, the horrible cruelty with which the Slavic wars were conducted is explained away by the statement that, in the consciousness of Christians, the Slavs as pagans had no rights and

stood “‘outside the world order.” Others deny this, and maintain that such practices were occasioned by racial and perhaps even cultural differences, rather than by religion.1® Let us try to assemble a picture from the sources of the Ottonian and early Salian periods. Whenever they supply a reason for combating the heathens, paganism alone is not

the sole explanation; the outrageous behavior of the 15 Besides the works of Bernheim and Lubenow, already mentioned, I add: Maschke, Deutsche Orden, pp. 3f, 7f; Pfeil, Romidee, pp. 186f; Mommesen, Studien, pp. 22f, 33; Hirsch, “Kaisergedanke,” pp. off; Kirchberg, Kaiseridee. [The motivations underlying the German wars on the eastern frontier have been much discussed since 1935, often with reference to Erdmann’s conclusions. As far as the period before 1095 is concerned, most scholars

appear to agree with Erdmann that the German Ostkriege were carried forward principally by the kings or major princes, that political motives usually overshadowed religious, and that antagonism resulting from difference in religion was not a major factor; conversion was often less in evidence as a motive than Christian, i.e., imperial, territorial expansion, the establishment of an ecclesiastical hierarchy, etc. A number of pertinent articles have been reprinted in Beumann, Heidenmission; and “Kreuzzugsgedanke,” pp. 121-29; M. Btiinding-Naujoks, Ostkriege, pp. “ff; H.-D. Kahl, “Slavenmission,” pp. 156~76, and “Compellere intrare,” pp. 177-274. See also Jedin-Dolan, Handbook, 1, ch. 31, and bibliography. I have not seen A. Gieysztor, “Christianisme en Pologne,”’ pp. 327-67; G. Stdkl, Geschichte der Slavenmission; B. Stasiewski, ‘‘Christianisierung Ostmitteleuropas.”’] 16 Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 111, 89, speaks of the “frightful character of a war of peoples [Volkskrieg]”; similarly, K. G. Hugelmann, ‘“Deutsche Nation,” p. 17, sets national consciousness in the foreground, while

K. Krabbo, “Schilderung,” p. 253, stresses cultural opposition, along with religion and race. [Cf. H.-D. Kahl, “Compellere intrare,” p. 199.] 101

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enemy is also mentioned. ‘The Christians are to be protected

from the “fury” of the enemy; “rebellions” are to be put down, peace is to be restored.1” ‘The one surviving letter of

Otto I is a particularly authentic witness. Otto forbids his followers to make peace with the Radarians, since the latter

had often broken faith and caused injury to the Germans. The paganism of the Radarians goes unmentioned.1* War against heathens, therefore, is justified for the very same reasons as it is against Christians.

Did the attitude of Germans toward a Slavic people change when it adopted Christianity?!® ‘The chronicles prove the reverse. Thietmar of Merseburg was referring to the Christian Poles when he said that this people should be guarded like an ox and beaten like a donkey.”° In relating a battle against this same enemy, the Annals of Quedlin-

burg are not prevented by the Christian faith of the “insolent’”” opponents from celebrating the warriors of Magde-

burg fighting for their homes and brothers, as disciples of 17 Cf. Widukind, 1, 36, ed. Kehr, p. 44, and 01, 4, p. 59; Vita Mathildis, c.1 (MGH SS. 10.576): “for the sake of defending the faith, as he always used to do against the pagans [defendendae causa fidei, ut semper contra paganos solebat|”; Hrotsvitha, Gesta Ottonis, v. 118, ed. Winterfeld, p. 206, and v. 127f, p. 208; also from the earlier period, the Translatio s. Viti, in Jaffé, Bibliotheca, 1, 6: ‘the Saxon people, who formerly used

to rebel against the Franks [gentem Saxonicam, quae olim contra Francos rebellabat}.” [Cf. Biinding-Naujoks, Ostkriege, pp. 10ff.] 18 MGH Diplomata Ottonis 1.355. [H.-D. Kahl, “Slavenmissionem,”’ p. 166.]

19 This is the view of Mommsen, p. 23, but his only basis is Otto’s mediating activity in 972, to be discussed shortly. He also refers to the treacherous murder of thirty Wend princes by the Margrave Gero, but Widukind, 1, 20, ed. Kehr, p. 72, explicitly justifies this by the fact that the Wends had themselves wanted to kill the margrave by cunning; as for the execution of the prisoners after the battle on the Raxa, it was based on their prior breach of faith (zbid., 11, 52-55, pp. 111ff). Further-

more, it is incorrect, in my view, to suppose that the pagans were

regarded as “rebels against God”; rather, when circumstances applied, they were held to be rebels against the empire. See K. Hampe, “Otto,” p. 464, who correctly notes that greater cruelty was exercised against the pagans on those occasions when they were regarded as insurgents. 20 Thietmar, Chronicon, Ix, 2, ed. Kurze, p. 240. 102

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the Lord dying for Christ;?4 and the Annals of Hildesheim, depicting a gruesome massacre perpetrated by the Poles in Saxony in 1028, call them servants of the devil, in spite of their Christianity.2? The crucial variable was not religion but adherence to the Empire. Regardless of whether Chris-

tian or pagan, Slavic tribes that acknowledged imperial supremacy were judged by the same law as their opponents when they entered into feuds with German princes. In such instances the emperor strove above all for peaceful mediation. Otto I acted this way in 972, when the margrave Hodo quarreled with the Christian Polish duke Miesco,?? and so

did Conrad II in 1033, when the Saxons fought with the pagan Liutizi. In the latter case, Conrad attempted only to establish which party had first broken the peace; a duel be-

tween a Saxon and a Liutzi would decide the issue as a judgment of God; and, as Wipo tells us, the Christian who trusted only in his faith was defeated by the pagan, who relied on the righteousness of his cause.?* The incident

clearly shows that pagans neither were without rights nor stood ‘‘outside the world order.” Naturally, the emphasis laid upon the outlook of the state led back by another route to purely ecclesiastical ideas. The Empire as such was regarded as Christian. The highest duty

of its ruler was to defend the church and, therefore, also to combat neighboring pagans, inasmuch as they were a danger to the church. Views like these lost none of their 21 Annales Quedlinburgenses a. 1015, MGH SS. 3.83f. 22 Annales Hildesheimensis a. 1028, ed. Waitz, p. 35. Alpert of Metz, I, 10 (MGH SS. 4.705), calls Christian Normans barbari; also on this word,

R. Képke and E. Diimmler, Jahrbicher, pp. 557ff. [Biinding-Naujoks, p. 23 n. 24, also as pagani.|

23 On this occasion, our source, Thietmar, Il, 29, ed. Kurze, p. 37, explicitly describes Miesco as “faithful to the emperor and _ tributepaying [imperatori fidelem tributumque solventem]” and says nothing about his beliefs. [Dvornik, Making, p. 54 n. 37, Pp. 57-58.| 24 Wipo, c. 33, ed. Bresslau, p. 52. [On Conrad’s failure to be concerned over the Christianization of the

Liutizi (Veletii), cf. Dvornik, p. 227. See also H.-D. Kahl, ‘“Slavenmission,” pp. 168-69. |

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weight in the post-Carolingian period that concerns us here.

They are repeatedly found in the German coronation ordines.2> "Che value that the church placed upon war against

pagans acquired special significance in Germany itself, where it combined with other elements to form the ideological basis for the emperorship of Otto I: Otto had shown

himself worthy of the highest crown on earth by victoriously combating the Hungarians and Slavs.?* In origin and substance, these ideas were purely defensive. ‘The texts, however, show that the concept of defense, though usually prominent, is not always exclusive, and that an aggressive

wording was sometimes adopted.?? In this respect, the texts were in harmony with the situation on the battlefield, for when frontier skirmishes constantly recur, no one can continually think of war guilt. Otto I took aggressive measures against the Slavs, but the old concepts associated with the defense of the church were applied to them. As a result, the church approved.

The German monarch admittedly benefited from the development of an idea of religious war that embraced ag25 See the coronation report (Widukind, lI, 1, ed. Kehr, p. 66): “may you cast out all the adversaries of Christ, the pagans and bad Christians

... for a lasting peace of all Christians [eicias omnes Christi adversarios, barbaros et malos christianos ...ad firmissimam pacem omnium christianorum]”; the German ordo from the second half of the tenth century, transmitted in double form, now in Eichmann, “Konigskronungsformel,” pp. 527ff, passim. 26 See H. Hirsch, “Kaisergedanke,” pp. off; Erdmann, ‘“Heidenkrieg,” pp. 135 ff.

(Cf. Ullmann, Papal Government, pp. 232ff.] 27 The German imperial coronation ordo that I refer to as standard is in Eichmann, p. 534: “may you fight for and defend the holy church of

God and His faithful no less than you abominate and destroy those false to their faith and enemies of the Christian name [sanctam Dei ecclesiam eiusque fideles propugnes ac protegas nec minus sub fide falsos quam christiant nominis hostes execres ac destruas|”; tbid., p. 537: “And

may He also grant to you triumphal victory over all enemies, visible and invisible, of the Christian faith [Concedatque tibt contra omnes fidei christianae hostes visibiles atque invisibiles victoriam triumphalem). The passages collected by Mommsen, pp. 27ff, are also interesting, but the echoes found there of the ancient ideal of the emperor triumphing over haughty enemies is not pertinent to our theme. 104

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gression as well as defense. Yet the application of this idea was strictly limited to the sphere of monarchical duties. As we established before, the new development leading to the

crusades had as its essential characteristic that the ethics of war were separated from the person of the ruler, and that Christian duties were transferred to the warriors or to the army. Germany experienced nothing like this. As a result, it is not surprising that the royal war upon pagans remained subordinate to the interests of the state, and that these interests occasionally demanded a complete reversal of roles. An alliance of the emperor with the pagen Liutizi against the Christian Poles, such as Henry II actually entered into, was as possible in Germany as were similar events in Spain.

The special character of the war in eastern Germany stemmed from another factor, one that sharply contrasted with the situation in Spain, namely, the simultaneity of war

against pagans with a mission among pagans. At a time when the authorities of state and church were closely bound together, missions could hardly avoid being under state leadership and availing themselves of the state’s means of enforcement. The early medieval theory of indirect missionary war had already bridged the contradiction between

conquest and conversion: military subjection was to contribute to the peaceful mission that would follow.?® The problems involved in such endeavors have been mentioned earlier. They are clearly apparent on the east German front. Rarely if ever were war and mission related in the way that theory intended them to be. One danger was that the mission would be sacrificed to the interests of the state. When Henry II entered into an alliance with the pagan Liutizi, he deliberately spared their religion.?® In the next decades, as Adam of Bremen complains, the Saxon magnates were so 28 See Introduction, above, pp. 10-11. This theory is explicit in the Translatio s. Viti, ed. Jaffé, Bibliotheca, I, 6. 29 See Hauck, 111, 627ff; Krabbo, p. 258.

[See Beumann, “Kreuzzugsgedanke,” pp. 126ff, and the Erdmann articles cited above, n. 20; Dvornik, Making, p. 196.] 105

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greedy for tribute that they directly hindered missions to the Slavs.°° Another danger was that a mission based on military conquest tended, by its nature, toward forcible

baptism. Contemporary German sources do not tell us about acts of this kind, but such baptisms were ascribed to the Hungarians?! and later also to the Poles;*? and the tales

of a realist like Thietmar of Merseburg show us that the 30 Adam of Bremen, ll, 71, ed. Schmeidler, p. 133, and Ul, 23, p. 166. {Beumann, ‘“‘Kreuzzugsgedanke,” pp. 128-29, finds Adam of Bremen’s

views still in the Augustinian tradition of a just war of defense; missions and conversions do follow as a consequence of conquest, but are not the avowed purpose of the war. Cf. also J. W. Thompson, Feudal Germany, pp. 405-6.] 31 Annales Hildesheimenses a. 1003, ed. Waitz, p. 29.

32 Gallus Anonymus, Chronicon 1, 6, ed. Finkel and Ketrtynski, pp. 10f (also MGH SS. 9.428; this part was written around 1110), on Boleslav Chrobry (g92~1025): ““What need to recount by name the victories and triumphs over unbelieving peoples whom he constantly, as it were, trod under his foot? For he himself so overwhelmed Silesia, Pomerania, and Prussia if they persisted in unbelief, and so strengthened them if

they converted to the faith, that he established many churches and bishops there. . . . [Quid est necesse victorias et triumphos de gentibus incredulis nominatim recitasse, quas est constans eum quasi sub pedibus conculcasse? ipse namque Selenciam, Pomoraniam, et Prusiam usque adeo vel in perfidia resistentes contrivit vel conversas in fide solidavit, quod ecclesias ibi multas et episcopos .. . ordinavit].” Thus: Boleslav so thoroughly overcame the resisting pagan and strengthened the converts in faith that he could found several churches and _ bishoprics.

(The last editors misunderstood the words usque adeo, as their punctuation shows; correct in MGH SS. 9.428. On conversas in fide soli-

davit, see Paul of Bernreid, MPL 148.62: conversos in fide solidasti; I have not found the stylistic model, which is not biblical.) R. Holtzmann, “Bohmen,” p. 25, interprets contrivit (literally, “ground down’’) in the spiritual sense (corde contritus = “crushed, deeply contrite,” and thus ‘‘converted’’). But the preceding passage and the connection with namque impose the translation ‘overwhelmed.’ Moreover, there is, as far as I know, no basis for equating conterere aliquem as equivalent to “to convert” (see the Thesaurus); in the sense of “deeply contrite,” it would require a complement such as cor or mens, whereas its usage in the sense of “annihilate” is common in ancient literature as well as in the Vulgate. See also Chronicon s. Benigni, MPL 162.187, on Charles Martel: sic eos (Saracenos) contrivit, ut... vix aliquis potuerit evadere, and Hugh of Flavigny, MGH SS. 8.342: tanta clade omnia regna sibi vicina ... contrivit. The passage in the Gallus Anonymus already sets out the alternative: annihilation or conversion. [H.-D. Kahl, “Compellere intrare,” p. 198 and n. 73, questions the view that Boleslav Chrobry’s campaigns against the Prussians constituted direct mission war.| 106

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Germans were not far from doing the same thing.®* In the crusading age, the alternative of “extermination or conversion’ would be widely proclaimed. The development leading to this was already under way.

The German-Slavic frontier is the appropriate background for examining one of the most interesting Germans of the time, Brun of Querfurt.** Brun obtained his spiritual stamp in the circle of ascetics surrounding Otto III in Italy and, to judge by his writings, he became the most signifi-

cant member of this circle. He was one of the church re-

formers of his day. Following the example of St. Adelbert, he exchanged a hermit’s life in 1002 for a mission to Eastern Europe and suffered martyrdom in Prussia in 1009. Brun was convinced that missionary evangelism was not enough: the Christian kings, instead of fighting among themselves, should place the whole of their military capabilities in the service of the mission to the pagans. No one we know in the

whole era prior to the crusade expressed these thoughts with such passion and consequentiality.2> Augustine had taken Jesus’ famous simile “compell them to come in” and

had applied it to the attitude of the church toward heretics, but only toward these, since heretics were basically subject to church authority. Brun took the same dictum and

transposed it unreservedly to paganism: the king should force pagans by war into entering the church. This is why Brun sharply reproached Henry II, who allied with the 33 Hauck, lI, 88; Krabbo, p. 256. 34 See H. G. Voigt, Brun von Querfurt.

[Kahl, esp. p. 199, emphasizes that Brun of Querfurt adopted the rigorous mission war attitude only in the case of the Liutizi. He thus disagrees with Voigt’s interpretation that Brun consistently favored the indirect mission war approach. Bundung-Naujoks, p. 27, sees the Ostkriege of the twelfth century as emerging from the First Crusade and, therefore, not directly from Adam of Bremen or Brun of Querfurt. Beumann, ‘‘Kreuzzugsgedanke,” pp. 132-33, questions this viewpoint; although in discussing the appeal of 1108 for the Slavic war (pp. 13038) he does see similarities as well as differences, e.g., the indulgence of 1108.]

85 The principal passages are: Vita quinque fratrum, c.g (MGH SS. 15.725); Vita s. Adalberti, c. 10 (MGH SS. 4.598f); the letter to Henry II in Giesebrecht, Geschichte, i, 5th ed., 704f. [The letter to Henry II is discussed by Dvornik, Making, pp. 202-4.] 107

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Liutizi in order to make war upon the king of Poland, a Christian, zealous for the mission. Brun also blamed Otto II for fighting France for mere territorial gain, instead of taking thought for the expansion of Christendom. He complained that, ever since the holy emperor Constantine and the pious exemplar Charles, only a few kings had earned themselves a truly royal name and driven pagans into the church; instead, some rulers persecuted Christian peoples. As we may see, even Brun confined himself to the ruler’s office and did not yet think of knights as having the same

duty. Within this limit, however, he quite simply proclaimed a holy war against the heathen. He never attained his objective, and he ascribed the difficulties he encountered to a lack of good will on the part of the princes. With our knowledge of future developments in eastern Germany, where Brun’s program was later to be implemented in earnest, we can be certain that the difficulties he encountered also came from the circumstances themselves, and were not just a matter of personalities. Brun was a precursor of the

east German branch of the crusading movement, which made its appearance in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But he stood outside the course leading to the actual crusades.

In Italy, wars against heathens presented a quite different

picture. Ever since the ninth century, Italy had had to defend itself against plundering raids by the Mediterranean Moslems, whose special stronghold was Sicily. ‘Toward the year 1000, the coastal cities took the offensive. A mission to the Moslems was pointless and was not attempted. The cru-

cial fact in this region was that Moslem became almost synonymous with robber. As a result, killing the “Agarenes’’ was regarded simply as one of the regular duties of rulers;*°

for them to free Christians from the Moslems was an act 36 Chronicon Salernitanum (ca. 975), c. 107 (MGH SS. 3.520f), on Emperor Louis II: minutas civitates sut dominii pacifice subicit et quot (et quot ex quot) ex Agarenis repperiunt, denique trucidant. [For the events in Italian history during this period, C. G. Mor, Italia feudale, chs. v, v1; C. Violante, Eta della riforma.] 108

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of piety after the example of Christ.87 Yet the chronicler who conveys these views to us—views that illustrate the harshest and most basic hostility?*—is also able to report repeated alliances between Italian Christians and Moslems.?°

He even tells us, on one occasion when the Salernitans broke their treaty with the Moslems, that the God of righteousness denied the Salernitans victory because of their faithlessness.*° Here, too, there is no suggestion that the infidels were without rights. Alliances between Christians and Moslems were commonplace in Italy until about the year 1000.*!

The attitude of the Normans, who participated in the wars of south Italy from 1016 onward, deserves special attention. The best known story of the beginning of their intervention is that of Amatus of Monte Cassino: forty Norman pilgrims, returning from Jerusalem, happened to reach Salerno just when this city was besieged by Moslems. They participated in the defense because they could not endure that heathens should rule over Christians, and when invited to stay after the victory, they refused any reward: they had fought from love of God. In time, they attracted many of their countrymen into joining them.*? The outlook of this

story is clearly one of a holy war, especially since the Normans fought for a foreign city and not for their homeland. We must nevertheless be cautious.4? —,The monk of 37 Chron. Salern., c. 117, p. 531. 38 Cf. ibid., c. 99, p. 517. 39 Ibid., c. 81, p. 508; c. 126, p. 536f; c. 139, pp. 540f; c. 142, p. 542. 40 [bid., c. 126, p. 537. The Moslems, on their part, were then sup-

posed to have invoked the Trinity so that they might recognize its truth by the victory over the oath-breakers. 41 Cf. Chronicle of Monte Cassino, 1, 25 (MGH SS. 7.598); Lupus Protospatarius a. 997ff, MGH SS. 5.56; F. Chalandon, Domin. norm., 1, 43f.

42 Aimé, Ystoire, 1, 17-19, ed. Delarc, pp. 18f; used by Chronicle of Monte Cassino, 11, 37 (MGH SS. 7.651f).

[Various textual and historiographical problems connected with

Amatus’s chronicle, translation, etc., are discussed by W. Smidt, ‘“‘Amatus,” pp. 173-231.] 43 Chalandon, Domin. norm. I, 4off. [Mor, I, 562ff.]

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Monte Cassino, a Norman sympathizer who wrote two generations later, transposed the ideas of his time into the past and presented the tale as he wished it to have been. His report is difficult to reconcile with that of the contemporary Radulf Glaber, who more accurately mirrors the attitudes of his age, even though he is no more reliable in details. Radulf writes that, in the wake of domestic strife, the Normans went to the pope in Rome; he encouraged them to fight the Greek invaders of Italy since he was incapable of driving out the “foreigners.’’*! No justification is offered here for the pope’s combating the Christian Greeks, who at the time were not even divided from the Latins by a schism. The original aim of the Norman migration was to fight the Greeks, not the Moslems. William of Apulia later confirms this point,*® which is further cor-

roborated by the fact that the first Normans invariably fought the Greeks and made war on the Sicilian Moslems only from 1035 onward.*® We may safely conclude, there-

fore, that the Normans were no more inclined than the south Italian natives to regard religion as the essential motive for war against the heathen.

A new note was struck when the coastal cities situated farther north joined in the fighting. Interesting evidence of this is provided by the participation of the Venetians in

the defense of Bari against the Moslems in 1003. The besieged saw a miracle in the sudden appearance of the Venetian fleet, and even the Venetians interpreted the event in a religious light. About five years later, John the Deacon

wrote his report of the battle: the doge of Venice, Peter Orseolo, liberated the people of Bari from the cruelty of the

heathen “not out of worldly fear but out of the fear of 44 Radulf Glaber, 11, 1, ed. Prou, p. 53. This also accords well with the later move of the pope against the Greeks, below, n. 53. See also Adhémar of Chabannes, lI, 55, ed. Chavanon, p. 178. 45 MGH SS. 9.241.

46 Chalandon, Domin. norm.., 1, chs. 2, 3. Here too Amatus differs; even

under Henry II he has the Normans “defendre la foy et contrester contre li Sarrasin”’ (1, 30, pp. 38f).

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God”; he caused himself to be preceded in battle by the “victory-bringing banner,” surely that of St. Hermagoras; and the Virgin Mary aided his forces.47 From the standpoint of the Venetians, who were by no means defending their own land, the enterprise could already be regarded as a holy war. But here, too, the heathen theme should not be stressed to the exclusion of any other. A different motive

is suggested by the use of the banner of St. Hermagoras, which we encountered in Chapter 1.48 The banner had first been granted to the Venetians three years before, for a war

against the Christian Croats and Narantani. It was the latter’s raids and harassment of the equally Christian Dalmatians that had justified the church in sanctioning what was, in effect, a highly profane Venetian war of conquest.‘

Only afterwards was the banner used at Bari in a war against Moslems, illustrating one more case where the important symbols originated elsewhere than in a conflict between Christians and heathens. Pisa took up the maritime war against the Moslems at about the same time as Venice. Its enterprises began in 1005

and extended through the whole eleventh century, first along the Italian coast and then toward Africa, from 1034 onward.°° Unfortunately, the sources inform us of little more than the bare facts of victory or defeat. Better information is available only for the enterprise of 1016, which was directed against the Balearic emir Mogehid and led to the conquest of Sardinia. The campaign of 1016 outdid pre47 John the Deacon, Chronache veneziane, ed. Monticolo, pp. 166f. [Mor, p. 543. See also the chapter by R. Cessi in CMH, ww (2d ed.), pt. 1, with bibliography.] 48 See above, p. 47.

49 John the Deacon, pp. 155ff. Kehr, “Rom und Venedig,’ p. 80, re-

gards the bestowal of the banner by the patriarch of Grado as an expression of the Dalmatian claims of the Grado patriarchate. An obstacle to this view is that the bishop of Olivolo, who had no claim to lodge upon Dalmatia, bestowed a victory banner on the doge at the very same time. 50 Cf. A. Schaube, Handelsgeschichte, pp. 49ff. The principal source is the Annales Pisani of Bernardo Maragone. [Mor, Italia feudale, pp. 556—-58.]

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vious expeditions; the Genoese took part and, above all, Pope Benedict VIII actively cooperated. Benedict was a warlike pope, who has been compared to Julius II;** he personally fought the Crescentii in the Sabina in 1012-1014,°? and he later brought about a campaign by Henry II against the Greeks and accompanied it.** In our context, however,

no great significance should be attributed to the pope’s military activities, for Benedict VIII was neither a reformer nor a model of clerical change. His profane attitude toward war merely prolonged the low moral standards of the tenthcentury papal court. But his role in the conflict with Moge-

hid, as told by Thietmar of Merseburg, elevates him to a higher plane.6* When he heard that the Moslems had attacked the city of Luni and held it captive, he assembled “all leaders and protectors of the church” and called upon them to join him in attacking the enemies of Christ and in killing them with God’s help. Moreover, he sent a fleet—

Thietmar’s way of saying that he urged the Pisans and Genoese into a maritime war.*®> In speaking of the rectores and defensores of the church mobilized by the pope, Thietmar presumably means bishops and barons; he seems to be

thinking of a multiplicity of responsible warriors. In con-

trast with German conditions, where the monarchy remained decisive, we here encounter the idea of a war against heathens led by the church but resting on broad foundations. ‘The outlines of the crusading idea are discernible. 51 Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, I, 519.

[On Pope Benedict VIII, Mor, pp. 558ff. I have not seen H. KlausJurgen, Tusculaner Papsttum.] 52 Vehse, “Bundnis,” pp. 143ff. 53 Chalandon, Domin. norm. I, 6off. Romuald of Salerno reports Bene-

dict’s presence before Troia, MGH SS. 19.403; cf. also the account of Leo of Ostia, 1, 42 (MGH SS. 7.655), on the joint arrival of pope and emperor in Monte Cassino. 54 Thietmar, Vill, 45, ed. Kurze, pp. 210f. 55 The conjecture of P. Schmitthenner, Sdldneritum, p. 44, that they

were “doubtless for the most part hired mercenaries” has no basis in the sources. 112

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In this case, to be sure, only defense against an enemy invasion was in question. But even before 1016, a situation of this kind had been associated with the idea of an aggressive holy war. ‘The point is borne out by the crusading ap-

peal of Sergius IV, whose text has fortunately been preserved in full.5¢

The Holy Sepulcher was already playing a great role in the consciousness of the West. Pilgrims streamed to Jerusalem in considerable numbers from France and elsewhere. Even the idea that the Christians of Palestine should be given armed assistance was occasionally voiced in France. Gerbert speaks of this in an appeal he drafted for monetary assistance to Jerusalem, though he rejected the notion as

impractical. There was great excitement when Caliph Hakim destroyed the church of the Sepulcher in Jerusalem, probably in 1010. Two different chronicles relate that the Jews in France were then accused of having sent slanderous reports of a campaign by Christians to the East, which they

alleged to be imminent, thus arousing the anger of the caliph and being to blame for the destruction of the church of the Sepulcher. We infer from these tales that the French remained skeptical about the prospects of a military expedition to Jerusalem but that the idea of such a crusade was 56 On the following, Erdmann, “Aufrufe,” pp. 1ff, esp. 11ff; and from

the earlier literature, esp. P. Riant, “Inventaire,” pp. 38ff, and J. Lair, Etudes, 1, 1 ff.

[Erdmann’s conviction that Sergius’s letter is authentic has been strongly and effectively disputed, notably by Gieysztor. See the review

by Halphen, who also (as Rousset, Origines, p. 69 n. 1, points out) studied the encyclicals of Sylvester II and Sergius in his seminars of 1938-1939, and concluded (as Riant had before) that Sergius’s letter should be classified as one of the excitatoria, i.e., treatises to stimulate crusade recruitment. See also U. Schwerin, Aufrufe, pp. 68-70. A. Gieysztor, “Genesis of the Crusades,” concluded that the letter was a

forgery from the late eleventh or twelfth century, very probably originating at the abbey of Moissac shortly after the Council of Clermont. See above, ch. II, addition to n. 28. Mor, I, 533 and n. 1”, holds that Sergius’s encyclical cannot be repudiated entirely, but does not exclude the possibility of interpolations, especially regarding the mobilization of Italian cities.] 113

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in the air. In Italy, the same idea was entertained but with

different conclusions. Fighting the Moslems along the Italian coast was a habitual occupation. Since all “Saracens”’

were regarded as one and the same enemy, the wars at home were automatically associated with the idea of crusade. And so, a serious plan for a crusade took shape in the mind of Pope Sergius IV at the time when the church of the Holy Sepulcher was destroyed.

The initiative appears to have lain with the inhabitants of the Italian coastal cities, mainly Pisa, and not with the pope. They made extensive preparations for assembling a fleet of about 1,000 ships, and they wrote the pope that they wished to go overseas to avenge the Holy Sepulcher. Since

the Moslems still were the masters of the Mediterranean, it is scarcely imaginable that the Italians intended to journey directly to Syria without stages; perhaps they would take “revenge for Jerusalem” rather closer to home, such as in Sicily. A project of this kind may have been formed even

before the report of the destruction of the church of the Sepulcher arrived. ‘Though somewhat fanciful, the plan must have been in the realm of the attainable, for the participants included not only the inhabitants of ‘Tuscany,

that is, the Pisans, but also the Genoese and Venetians, thus uniting the three most important coastal cities of north-

ern Italy. Sergius IV joined them and resolved to make the crossing in person together with the Romans, so as to kill ‘“Agarenes” in company with the others. His intention

was to travel to Syria to restore as well as to avenge the Holy Sepulcher. Sergius’s plan did not exclude other military operations while the expedition was en route to Syria;

fantastic though the plan might seem at first glance, the maritime cities need not have been frightened away. To them, it must have been self-evident that, in practice, the

attack by sea could not begin in Syria, bypassing the Moslem strong points in the western Mediterranean. ‘The pope’s reason for setting the voyage to Palestine in the foreground may have been related to the fact that his recruiting 114

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extended beyond Italy. His appeal reached as far as France: men were to come to participate in the planned crusade—the biblical expression “battle of the Lord’’ is used—or they were at least to make gifts for the preparations.

The crusade-encyclical of Sergius, a contemporary copy of which was preserved in a French monastery, provides a more direct and deeper insight than any other source into the prehistory of the crusading idea. Of course, the form of

the letter is quite disastrous. Logic and grammar are equally botched, and the confused mixture of information and edification must have made a deplorable impression beyond the Alps, where better schooling was available than in Rome. But the more awkward and roughhewn the letter is, the more informative it is for us. It opens by recalling the sufferings of Christ and of the many pilgrims who have done penance at the Holy Sepulcher. The ideological point of departure is identical to the one adopted at the height of the crusades. The report of the destruction of the Sepulcher and of the planned campaign is followed by a succession of arguments for the meritoriousness of this war: the war is against the enemies of God; it is for the eternal God, not for the sake of a wretched kingdom; God is to be defended and a heavenly kingdom thus won. The idea of winning

salvation for the soul leads the author into a detour in

which the threads of the argument are lost. Amidst references to salvation comes the flash of an idea drawn from medieval legends about the Roman Empire: the battle for Jerusalem would be as victorious as Titus and Vespasian were when they destroyed Jerusalem to avenge the Savior

and thereby, though unbaptized, obtained the imperial crown and the forgiveness of their sins. The allusion to this

legend, which is surely odd in the mouth of a pope, con-

trasts with the fully formed crusading propaganda of Urban II. Still missing are several elements that would later appeal to the masses. In lieu of the firm canonical institution of the crusade indulgence, we find only a general promise 115,

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of salvation; and the unifying symbol later provided by the

banner of St. Peter and, ultimately, by the taking of the cross, is also lacking. In Sergius’s appeal, the search for ef-

fect upon the popular imagination finds expression in the dubious adaptation of a half-pagan legend, an obvious 1mprovisation suggestive of how immature the idea of crusade still was. Nevertheless, an astonishing similarity in the treat-

ment of peace shows that we are dealing with the same trunk from which the crusading movement later sprang. The encyclical of Sergius proclaims not only the crusade but also a general peace: all churches, territories, and persons are to maintain peace among themselves, since God is a God of peace, and since, by the peace and prayer of all Christians, victory will be won for the Holy Sepulcher and eternal life will be gained. ‘These statements remind us that, at the Council of Clermont, Urban II did not confine himself to declaring the crusade: he was also the first pope to announce a general Peace of God, on the grounds that knights

should direct their activity outward against the infidels. Sergius, of course, did not have in mind the institution of the Peace of God; the rationale of his proclamation was not the practical political one that internal peace would make

possible external war, but rather the spiritual idea that readiness for peace would call down God’s grace. Yet the connection with the peace tendency already manifesting itself in France is unmistakable, and it confirms what we have noted before, namely, the early alliance between pax and the clerical conception of an active vocation to arms— the alliance that became the basis of the crusading movement. The plan of Sergius IV is a precursor, and its failure only natural. It was never carried out. The decisive impediment was that the Moslems, apparently informed of the prepara-

tions, forestalled the enterprise by wrecking the city of Pisa (1011), whose harbor must have been the center of preparations. ‘The effect of the appeal on France could not have been great. The only trace left in French chronicles

by the crusading ideas aroused by the destruction of the 116

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Holy Sepulcher are the reports, earlier mentioned, of the supposed treason of the Jews and of the ensuing persecutions; these reports themselves imply a general rejection of the crusading plan. ‘The time was not yet ripe; even Sergius’s

project owed its origins only to a set of coincidences. The situation in his pontificate had two points in common with

the age of Urban II. Events had occurred that lent to the ageressive idea of crusade the appearance of being merely resistance to heathen oppression and, therefore, silenced theological hesitation at the church’s fostering war. Moreover, the situation was such as not to impose leadership upon a particular state but rather to arouse the participation of the pope, without whom a crusading movement necessarily involving all Christians would be unthinkable. Though symptomatic of general tendencies, the crusading plan of Sergius IV resulted most of all from a particular constellation of events.

In sum, while the church’s attitude toward fighting remained ambiguous, the idea of holy war against the heathen had begun in Germany and Italy to be occasionally applied to purely aggressive war, thus drawing nearer by one step to the idea of crusade. In Germany, however, monarchical

kingship remained central; the transition by which its duties were extended to the knighthood was not yet completed, and the friction between war and mission was not overcome. Matters had advanced further in Italy, where a regular crusading plan could already originate. But the picture offered by the age is not yet coherent. Particular situations continued to determine the character of war against the heathen. ‘here was no question yet of militant Christian expansionism against heathendom, and rarely does one observe a connection between expansionism and the knight-

Iy piety discussed in Chapter u, which initially expressed itself in an overwhelmingly religious direction. That a connection between knightly piety and expansionist war came to be established, and ultimately led by a unique detour to the First Crusade, is attributable primarily to the work of the reform popes of the eleventh century. 117

CHAPTER IV

THE EARLY DAYS OF THE REFORM PAPACY

Dore Leo IX (1049-1054) came from among the so-called Lorraine reformers. The chief figure in this group, Bishop Wazo of Liége, was encountered in Chapter u, where we saw that he was a friend of the new ethic of war, who

personally directed the military defense of the bishopric

and even organized a militia for his church.t We have similar reports of Leo, at the time when he was still a deacon in the bishopric of Toul. Wibert, his biographer, tells us that Leo was as experienced in military matters as if these had been his sole occupation. He led the levy of his bishopric in Italy, made camp, organized the watch, distributed provisions and pay, all the while conscientiously fulfilling the priestly duties that forbade him to bear arms; so did he render to Caesar what was Caesar’s and to God what was God’s.2 Another biographer gives a similar account of his activity at a later date as bishop of Toul: he would first admonish the plunderers of church property

several times to mend their ways, but then he mustered forces against them, and thus appeared to his contemporaries as a warlike shepherd; if a battle took place, he turned to prayer like Moses in the battles of Joshua.’ Yet, he was above all a man of the church, zealous for the reform of ecclesiastical discipline and opposed to simony, a man guided by deeply religious motives. His biographers represent him in this way, and his actions lead one to the 1 Above, p. 74.

[For the period of Leo IX, E. Amman and A. Dumas, Eglise, pp. 98107; Jedin-Dolan, Handbook, 11, ch. 42, with bibliography. On Leo and the papal lands, Partner, Lands, pp. 111-15, who cites Erdmann.] 2Wibert, Vita Leonis IX, in J. M. Watterich, Vitae, 1, 134f. On the various biographies of Leo, R. Bloch, “Klosterpolitik,” pp. 180ff. 3 Vita Leonts IX, in St. Borgia, Memorie, 11, 308f. 118

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same conclusion.+ Leo’s significance stems precisely from

his impeccable religious credentials. Often before, the church had had warlike princes and even popes, but they had been warriors in spite of and not because of their spiritual office. Contemporaries had realized the contradiction in their conduct, which they regarded as permissible only in cases of defense against pagan attacks. Leo IX was the first pope to derive the basis of his wars from religion,

harmonizing them with the commands of the church and infusing religious meaning into the warlike mentality of the army.

He had not long been pope when the Romans called on him to make war.’ Although the deposed pope Benedict IX had been finally driven from Rome, he was established at Tusculum, the chief stronghold of his family, and from there as well as from Tivoli and other castles, his powerful relatives and partisans harassed the Romans by robbery and ambushes. ‘Ihe Roman people appeared before Pope Leo in the Lateran Palace and demanded a campaign of revenge, one of those wars that the Campagna had known for centuries. Leo lectured them that one should proceed otherwise than by simply lashing out: “God has placed me as a shepherd over all His people. I came not to kill but to give life, to teach the truth and root out error. Scripture

teaches us not to return evil for evil, but to seek peace. Therefore, we intend to call a synod. Whoever obeys it and

renounces error, let him be our friend; whoever does not obey will be punished as a heretic.”

The Tusculans were therefore to be prosecuted for heresy rather than for breach of the peace; this time, if the barons of the Campagna did not submit, the ensuing war against them would be a war of religion. ‘The spirit of the 4 Bloch, pp. 186, 2neff. , [On Leo’s biographers, H. Tritz, “Quellen,” pp. 191-364.]

5 The episode of the war against the Tusculans is in the biography published by A. Poncelet, “Vie et miracles,” pp. 277ff. My account adheres as closely as possible to the source.

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new age, the warlike side of church reform, is palpably before our eyes. ‘The synod assembled at the Lateran in April 1049, a mere

two months after Leo’s consecration. It was a true reform

synod of the now usual type; resolutions were framed chiefly against simoniac bishops.® ‘The case of the ‘Tusculans

was put in the same context: Benedict IX and his partisans were summoned as simoniacs and heretics. Naturally, they stayed away. The synod immediately decided to place them under the ban and to call the Roman militia to war against the ‘faithless [perfidi].’’ Several fortified places were destroyed and burnt, and the district of ‘Tusculum was laid

waste. Tusculum itself was besieged, but in vain; when Pope Leo went to Benevento in the spring of 1050, the siege had to be raised.’

Although these events help us to characteristize Leo IX and his methods, they made little impression on contemporaries. Only one of the Vitae of the pope speaks of them,

while the most found elsewhere is a vague allusion to combats in the Papal States.* Little wonder that it should be so; the fighting was purely local and without decisive successes. Leo’s war against the Normans (1053) had an al-

together different impact. The main events are familiar: after a first attempt at war had failed, the pope traveled over the Alps to obtain the help of the emperor but returned with only a comparatively small detachment of Ger-

man knights; Leo personally took command of the army, which many Italians had joined; he was completely defeated by the Normans near Civita and was himself taken 6 Cf. JL. 1, 530; S. Steindorff, Jahrbticher, t1, 76-80.

7 Poncelet, p. 281: extulit seditiones a Tusculano et Beneventum perrexit. This concerns the first journey of the pope to Benevento in the

spring of 1050, not the second in the spring of 1051, as Poncelet supposes.

8In addition to the account of the bishop of Cervia, I refer to a

passage in the Beneventan biography of Leo, in Borgia, Memorie, Ui, 315. See also Hermann of Reichenau a. 1050, MGH SS. 5.129. None of the secondary literature mentions this whole incident, except S. Messina, Benedetto, p. 122, who rejects the report but has no basis for doing so. 120

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prisoner. To set these events in the proper light, we must take into account the comments of contemporaries and the details they provide. Pope Leo did everything he could to explain to the world

and to his own people that conquest was not in question: this was a just and necessary war of defense. In order to

escape the Norman danger, the city of Benevento had placed itself under papal lordship at the beginning of Leo’s pontificate, and thereafter it was a dependency of the Papal States. Leo’s obligation to defend his subjects from campaigns and plunder raids was especially emphasized by the papal side; the Vitae of the pope speak of Leo as a shepherd

whose duty it was to intervene against tyrannical oppression.? Nevertheless, the pope did not at once resort to military measures. For years on end, he sought a peaceful compromise. Only when all else proved futile did he take

up arms. It is an established fact that, at the time, the Normans in southern Italy behaved in the most barbaric and lawless way. They were generally called the “Agarenes,” an epithet that set them on a par with the Moslem robbers who had devastated Italy for centuries.1° Leo naturally adopted this term to characterize the Normans, since it made the justice of his cause evident to everyone. After

the defeat, he (or his agent, Humbert of Silva Candida) wrote to the Byzantine emperor, Constantine Monomachos, that the Normans had raged with more than pagan godless-

ness against the churches, murdering the Christians and holding nothing sacred; his duty as pope was to liberate the sheep of Christ and, to this end, even to apply the coercive

powers of authority; he expected that the Eastern and 9 On this and the following, the Vita in Poncelet, pp. 28o0ff; Anonymous, in Borgia, 11, 315 ff; Wibert, in Watterich, 1, 163; Bruno of Segni, MGH Libelli 2.550. 10 Cf. J. Gay, Italie méridionale, p. 152. [On Leo IX and the Normans, D. C. Douglas, Norman Achievement, esp. pp. 53-54, and ch. v, cites Erdmann as the “standard authority.” I have not seen D. Clementi, “Relations,” pp. 192ff; M. Caravale, Regno Normanno; S. Tramontana, Normanni. Many of the sources discussed here are collected in J. Deér, Papsttum.} 121

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Western emperors would jointly support him in order to defend the church of Christ, and that Constantine would thus receive as a fighter before God the same surname— Monomachos—as he bore among men; Leo, for his part, would not rest from his effort to liberate Christendom." Liberanda Christianitas—the exact formulation later used by Urban II to justify the First Crusade!

Most of all, Leo spread this idea in his own army. The army was not just a customary levy from the city of Rome or the Papal States; its core had been brought from afar and welded together only by papal authority. Never before had there been a “papal army” in this sense. The report that

the pope appointed a standard-bearer before the battle’? allows us to speak for the first time of a papal banner; the earlier flags of the militia of the city of Rome, or of the

individual barons of the Papal States, have no claim to such a name. That Leo blessed this banner is highly probable. Even when recruiting he went beyond a promise of payment and stressed the religious element.1* We know from Hermann of Reichenau and Amatus of Monte Cassino

that the pope offered the German troops the prospect of “impunity for their crimes,’’ remission of penance, and absolution for their sins'‘—that is, he proclaimed a crusading indulgence.t> After the battle, he took pains to promote 11 JL. 4333. According to A. Michel, “Humbert,” 1, 59ff, Humbert of Silva Candida dictated this letter, which also is included in the Humbert-Corpus of MS Bern 292. Cf. Kehr, “Rom und Venedig,” pp. gof; Michel, ““Verstreute Humberttexte,” pp. 375f.

12 Aimé, 1, 39, ed. Delarc, p. 132; there is a divergent report in the Chronicle of Monte Cassino, 1, 84 (MGH SS. 7.686).

13 P, Schmitthenner, Soldnertum, p. 25, represents this war as purely an undertaking of mercenaries. i4 Hermann of Reichenau a. 1053, MGH SS. 5.132: ob impunitatem

scelerum,; Aimé, Ill, 23, 40, pp. 123, 193f. |

15 A, Gottlob, Kreuzablass, pp. 4off; differently in Paulus, Geschichte, pp. 6of.

{[Brundage, Canon Law, pp. 23-24, holds that Leo “apparently ... regarded his campaign not only as a just war, but also as a holy war in defense of the church.”’ He does not, however, appear to regard Leo as the author of a crusade indulgence.] 122

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a cult of the fallen Germans. Death in the battle of Civita was recognized as Christian martyrdom, and those who fell —at least those of them who had voluntarily joined the pope—were reckoned as saints. This aspect was precisely what all Leo’s biographers emphasized: the great impres-

sion made by portraying military casualties as martyrs obviously stemmed from its being a novelty.1® Even decades

later, the miracles that these holy martyrs were thought to have performed were regarded as an admirable example for future champions of righteousness.1’ The crux of the

attitude of church reformers toward war was that the actions of warriors should be moral. Leo IX made serious efforts to implement these principles.

The pope himself was regarded as a saint soon after his death. His biographers base this belief not only on his fight against simony but also, to a considerable extent, on his

pious deeds of war.'® Others expressed quite different opinions. Leo had realized that his enterprises could be regarded as dubious from the spiritual standpoint. He stated in his letter to the Greek emperor that he had not actually made war; his intention had been only that his military escort should frighten the Normans into better ways. Although Leo never formally transgressed the prohibition—which he himself renewed'®—for clerics to bear arms, he nevertheless took personal part in a campaign, and to some this seemed wrong. We shall soon men-

tion the reproach addressed to his conduct by Peter Damiani. Fifty years later, Bruno of Segni presented Leo’s acts in hagiographic tones and celebrated his knights under the name of “soldiers of Christ,” as though they had been

crusaders; yet he could not avoid adding that it would 16 Leo biography, in Poncelet, pp. 286ff, 280ff, 294; Wibert, in Watterich, 1, 165; Anonymous, in Borgia, Memorie, 11, 324f; Bruno of Segni,

MGH Libelli 2.550f. The same campaign in Anonymus Haserensis, c. 37 (MGH SS. 7.265). 17 Bonizo, MGH Libelli 1.589, cf. 620; see below, ch. vill. 18 Especially in the Vita by the bishop of Cervia. 19 Council of Rheims, 1049, MPL 143.1437.

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have been better if the pope had not participated in person.?° Even more characteristic are the words of the contemporary Hermann of Reichenau. He stated that the defeat at Civita was God’s punishment upon Leo for making war

for temporal ends and for surrounding himself with evildoers who followed him for the sake of the remission of

punishment. Leo’s grant of an indulgence was what particularly dissatisfied Hermann: he expressed his disapproval again by giving the epithets of scum, criminals, and outlaws to the knights who went to Italy with the pope for the sake of the indulgence.?! The portrayal was hardly true

to fact, for all the other sources speak of Leo’s German troops with great respect.?2 A Beneventan author straightaway composed an epic about them:

Alas! Brave heroes died in the front ranks!

If you seek to know more about the Germans whose honor is armed combat Look to the end of their labor.

All vanquished, but not one was struck down from behind in flight.

This was their end, both a birth and a conclusion, The same day leading them to the heights of heaven.” The reports agree that the Italians in Leo’s army were the

first to flee; the Germans continued after this to put up a courageous defense and were completely wiped out.?4 Characteristically, the first papal “crusade” was fought by Germans and met with total defeat, whereas a generation 20 MGH Libelli 2.550. 21 MGH SS. 5.132. 22 Bishop of Cervia, in Poncelet, p. 284: viros fortissimos et honoratos; Bruno of Segni, MGH Libelli 2.550: illa tam nobili militia. In addition, the passages on the martyrs. 23 Anonymous, in Borgia, II, 321.

24 See the passages in Poncelet, pp. 285f (with the notes). 124

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later the successful Jerusalem crusade became the greatest glory of the French under the name of ‘The Deeds of God

through the Franks [Gesta Dei per Francos].” It is as though fate had decreed that the idea of crusade was not for the German people but only for their adversary. The historic role of the Normans is equally singular: the

very people against whom the papal crusade was first directed shortly became the principal exponents of the crusading idea. In them, a crude passion for bullying seems

to have mingled in a most peculiar way with religious zeal. Their fear of the pains of hell was unquestionably as genuine as their desire for adventure and booty, and they did not wish to do battle “against God and the saints.” They would gladly, at the last moment, have avoided a mili-

tary contest with Pope Leo and submitted to him, if they might have obtained his recognition of their conquests.25 In view of this, the Normans must have been very deeply impressed by the pope’s conduct in celebrating the campaign as a holy cause, and his knights as martyrs. The report that

they themselves founded a church and monastery at the

graves of the Germans they had killed should not be credited.?¢ But it is established that they treated the defeated

and captured pope with submissiveness and devotion, and

avoided an aggressive exploitation of their victory. The Norman tradition, as presented by Amatus of Monte Cassino, is characteristic in approving completely of Leo IX and praising him for his actions.?7 ‘The more determined the Normans were to retain their south Italian dominions, the stronger was their desire to have the church on their side.

Ecclesiastical approval of the Normans was unthinkable, 25 Aimé, Ill, 38, p. 133.

[Rousset, Origines, pp. 43-49, Questions Erdmann’s interpretation of

the Italian wars as papal crusades, though he agrees that they were examples of holy war.]

26 Wibert, in Watterich, 1, 165; on the other hand, Otto of Freising, Chronica, vi, 33, ed. Hofmeister, p. 301, on the bone heaps. 27 Aimé, 11, 15ff, pp. 115 ff.

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however, as long as they continued their indiscriminate robberies and raids. The church first had to educate them into modifying their behavior. Leo IX had recognized this and attempted in vain to do so before he took to arms.?* More appears to have soon been achieved from another direction, namely, the abbey of Monte Cassino. Even before Leo IX, the monks had had experiences with the Normans similar to those of the pope, though on a smaller scale and with the difference that their efforts met with success.?? ‘They had, at first, settled groups of Normans on the lands of the monastery, which they were to defend. This arrangement worked for a while, but then the Normans had begun to turn into attackers, to torment the monastery’s dependents, and to rob monastic property; in order to be secure, they built a fortress of their own against the wishes of the abbot. The upshot was that, in 1045, the people of the monastery took arms, besieged the Normans in their stronghold, and drove them out. The Monte Cassino tradition portrays this battle as a holy war, a defense against the enemies of God. Stories went that St. Benedict gave assistance as patron of the monastery: he was seen in a vision driving the Normans before himself with a staff, or he had personally fought at the taking of the fortress, or he had even appeared there as standard-bearer. After this episode, the monastery remained virtually undisturbed by the Normans. ‘The Chronicle of Monte Cassino relates that the sudden death of a Norman count, attempting one more “plundering foray,” so

frightened his fellow countrymen that they did not dare to invade again.*° For some time, the Lombard count Atenulf of Aquino undertook the military protection of the monastery. He was installed as defensor by the abbot, re28 Ibid., c. 17, p. 117; Anonymous, in Borgia, U, 315ff; bishop of Cervia, in Poncelet, p. 281. , 29 The following is according to Desiderius, Dialogi, u, 22 (MGH SS. 30.1138f); Aimé, 11, 43f, pp. 97f; Chronicle of Monte Cassino, I, 70—

42 (MGH SS. 7.678-80). Cf. L. von Heinemann, Geschichte, 1, o6ff; Chalandon, Domin. norm., 1, 108f. 30 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, 0, 75 (MGH SS. 7.681).

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ceiving a horse and arms and a beautiful banner, an occurrence that recalls the holy banners of the French monastic advocates.

In the long run, however, the best policy was that the role of defensor should again be assumed by the Normans; they were better warriors. ‘The decisive rapprochement between

Monte Cassino and the Normans occurred under Abbot

Desiderius, who took office in 1058. Miraculous defenses of the monastery and punishments of robbers have a consider-

able place among the miracles of St. Benedict that Desiderius himself describes in his Dialogues.?2 These legends lead us into the same thought-world we earlier encountered in the French reformed monasteries. Desiderius emphasizes

that his stories are a warning to all despoilers of church property,?? and we may be certain that Desiderius disseminated the same message in his personal contacts with the Norman leaders. He maintained good relations with Robert Guiscard, as well as with Richard of Aversa (later of Capua), and he was particularly successful in winning the latter to the role of protector of. the monastery. Thanks

to the authority Desiderius enjoyed, Richard voluntarily undertook to combat all the enemies of Monte Cassino and all invaders of the monastery’s property.** As a result, the abbot did not have to maintain vassals of his own and no longer had to make war himself. Amatus writes that, while many abbots had to fight in defense of church property with knights and weapons, Desiderius with only his monks triumphed over all his enemies and safeguarded the church’s possessions.®> Richard did not neglect to gratify the monastery with gifts, and everyone was sure that St. Benedict was responsible for the victorious outcome of his battles.%¢

31 Ibid., 11, 74, p. 681. , 32 Desiderius, I, 2, 9-13; HW, 22 (MGH SS. 30.1118f, 1122ff, 1138f).

[On Desiderius and the Norman policy, Partner, Lands, pp. 118ff.] 33 Desiderius, I, 13, p. 1126.

34 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, I, 15, pp. 707f; Aimé, Iv, 13, p. 165. 35 Aimé, II, 52, p. 150. 36 [bid., V1, 25, p. 262; cf. VII, 22, p. 293.

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The Norman relationship with Monte Cassino, which already existed at the close of the 1050s, prepared the ground for the world-shaking alliance between the Normans and the church—which, among other things, had an important bearing upon the development of the crusading idea. The successors of Leo IX had inconsistent attitudes toward the Normans. According to the Chronicle of Monte Cassino, Victor II (1055-1057) when still bishop of Eichstatt had op-

posed the Norman policies of Leo IX and had brought about the withdrawal of the imperial army that was to have accompanied Leo.*’ As a result, it is difficult to believe the statement of the Annales Romani that Pope Victor, like his

predecessor, asked for the armed help of the emperor against the Normans.** More credible are the reports of Amatus and the Augsburg Annals that Victor made peace with the Normans.*? His successor, Stephen IX (1057-1058),

returned to the anti-Norman course of Leo IX and was preparing a campaign when he died.*® The decisive reversal occurred after Stephen’s death, under Nicholas II (10581061): the Curia completed its turn away from the Empire

and, in this connection, sought and found support in the south, from the Normans Richard of Capua and Robert Guiscard, who allowed themselves to be enfeoffed by the pope at Melfi in 1059. What interests us in this event is not its political significance but its implications for the history of ideas.*!

Normally, a vassal was obliged to go on campaign when called upon to do so by his feudal lord. ‘The papacy did not

dare to impose this obligation upon its new vassals, for 37 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, U1, 81, pp. 684f.

38 Annales Romani, in Liber pont., ed. Duchesne, Ul, 334 (also in MGH SS. 5.470).

39 Aimé, Il, 47, p. 139; Annales August., MGH SS. 3.127. See Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbiicher, 1, 25; Chalandon, Domin. norm. 1, 161ff. 40 Meyer von Knonau, I, 77ff.

41 On these events, most lately O. Vehse, ‘““Benevent,” pp. 101ff; K. Jordan, ‘“Eindringen,” pp. 71ff; P. Kehr, Belehnungen, pp. 1o0f, 22f, and Italia pont., vil, 11f, nos. 14-16; see also below, ch. VI. 128

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the Holy See did not yet have the appearance of a regular

power that made war. Instead, the military duty of the Normans was limited to special ecclesiastical aims clearly

defined in a feudal oath whose wording has been preserved.*? Each of the two Norman leaders swore to the pope: “To the Holy Roman Church, and to you, I shall render assistance to the limit of my powers, against all men, to preserve and to acquire the regalia and possessions

of St. Peter, and I shall assist you in keeping the papacy secure and honorable.” Added to this was a special duty to render help at future papal elections. The feudal obligations of the Normans were of two kinds: protection of the Papal States and protecting the papacy as such.

The second of these had an immediately practical relevance, for the anti-pope Benedict X still held out in the

fort of Galera. Richard of Capua in fact drove him out in the same year 1059.*3 Richard’s forces also made possible the

enthronement of Alexander II two years later.*# Although

Richard failed his feudal lord in the schism of Cadalus, which then followed, other Norman groups remained to fight on Alexander’s side.*® In any case, the feudal relation42'The oath of Robert Guiscard is given in Deusdedit, wl, 284f (156f), ed. Wolf von Glanvell, p. 393, and in the Liber censuum, 1, 421, nos. 162f. The editor of Deusdedit mistakenly regarded the renewal of

1080 as being the “original,” and, as a result, misleadingly printed in italics the variants of the charter of 1059 as being presumed additions by Deusdedit. Cf. Kehr, Belehnungen, pp. 21, 23. We do not have the

1059 oath of Richard of Capua, but we do have the renewal under Alexander II (1061) in Deusdedit, 111, 288 (159), p. 395 (under the year

1079), and Liber censuum, U, 93, no. 42 (under 1062), which agrees literally in all essentials with the oath of Robert Guiscard. The objections of C. Manfroni, ‘“Noterelle,” pp. 298ff, against placing the oath in 1059 are unfounded; cf. Jordan, p. 72 n. 1, and Kehr, loc. cit. [Douglas, Norman Achievement, pp. 55, 132. Cf. Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), pp. 81-83, who also emphasizes the previous dealings of Desiderius of Monte Cassino with the Normans. Cf. also Partner, Lands, Pp. 119-20. ]

43 Cf. Meyer von Knonau, I, 125f; Heinemann, Geschichte, 1, 177, 229; Chalandon, Domin. norm., 1, 167f. A. Fliche, “Hildebrand,” pp. 158f, is hypercritical. 44 Meyer von Knonau, I, 219ff; Heinemann, 1, 231; Chalandon, I, 212f. 45 Cf. Heinemann, I, 242; Meyer von Knonau, I, 311.

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ship established in 1059, which at first worked as it should, called for the papal vassals to perform military service like

the vassals of a king, but this service was defined in a special ecclesiastical way and accordingly had something of the character of a crusade.

Unfortunately, the sources do not allow us to illustrate this special character in greater detail: the combats of the Normans in papal service receive only cursory mentions in the chronicles. The Roman skirmishes connected with the schism of Cadalus (1062 and 1063) are better reported. Benzo of Alba, a participant on Cadalus’s side, portrays them entirely as a holy war. The troops of God faced the servants of Satan; the Apostle appeared in the heavens with a white flag and joined the fighting, along with Sts. Maurice and Carpophorus.** ‘The opposite side has left us similar utterances in a poem of Rangerius of Lucca, who refers to

the biblical example of Deborah and to heavenly reward for deeds of war.*? Such accounts did not exclude the traditional view that a prince of the church should not occasion bloodshed;#* on the contrary, each party cast this reproach

at the other. Lampert of Hersfeld even blames both at the same time for having taken to arms and shed blood.*? Encouragement of the idea of holy war continued to mingle confusedly with its rejection, without our yet being able to find definite indications that the contradictions were being resolved. It is understandable nevertheless that the papacy’s relationship to its feudal warriors presupposed approval of holy war. 46 Benzo of Alba, , 9, 17f (MGH SS. 11.616, 620f).

{On Cadalus, see F. Herberhold, “Angriffe,” pp. 477-503; Partner, Lands, pp. 121-22.]

47 Rangerius of Lucca, wy. 204, 330 (MGH SS. 30.1161, 1164): also vv. 311ff, pp. 1163f.

48 Annales Altahenses maiores a. 1063, ed. ab Oefele, pp. 61f; Vita

Anselmi, c. 19 (MGH SS. 12.19); Peter Damiani, 1, Ep. 21 (MPL 144.252); Benzo himself does so, u, 2 (MGH SS. 11.613). 49 Lampert of Hersfeld a. 1064, ed. Holder-Egger, p. 91.

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We know next to nothing about how scrupulously the Normans carried out their obligations to enforce the rights of the pope within the Papal States. In the first years at least, neither Richard of Capua nor Robert Guiscard seems to have done anything of the kind, but we do have informa-

tion about Richard’s son-in-law, the Norman William of Montreuil. Amatus of Monte Cassino tells us that, in 1064,

William fell out with his father-in-law and entered the service of the pope; he became a papal vassal in his own right and promised the Holy See to defend or acquire the Campagna and other districts, evidently meaning the whole of the southern Papal States.5° On this occasion, he must

surely have received the position of a “deputy for the Patrimony of St. Peter [procurator patrimoni sanctt Petri],” as we know it from a curial formulary.®! Orderic Vitalis, whose reports are somewhat later in date but trustworthy, supplies a particularly interesting detail. He writes that William was the leader of the Roman army and subjected the Campagna to St. Peter—this in essential agree-

ment with Amatus. Orderic adds that William bore the

vexillum sancti Petri.’ ‘The banner of St. Peter, which we meet here for the first time, will be separately considered later. At the moment, we may at least point out, on the basis of our earlier observations about holy banners, that the use of such a symbol must signify that the war to be waged had

the blessing of religion. | | |

Although there is little positive evidence that the combats

of the Normans in papal service had a crusading character, we should nevertheless assume that this was inherent 50 Aimé, Ystoire, vi, 1, ed. Delarc, p. 237; cf. VI, 7, p. 241. For the identification of what Amatus calls la Compaingne (probably meaning in particular the region of Sacco-Tales), Chalandon, Domin. norm., 1, 219ff; Gesta ducum Normannorum, 23 (MGH SS. 26.7). 51 Deusdedit, ml, 283 (155), ed. Wolf von Glanvell, p. 392; Liber censuum, I, 421, no. 161. Cf. GR, 1, 18a, ed. Caspar, p. 30. 52 Orderic Vitalis, 11, 3, 5, ed. A. Le Prevost and L. Delisle, u, 56, 87. [Douglas, p. 115.]

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in the relationship itself. For the popes were now requiring military service not only from their subjects in the Papal States on the basis of their territorial leadership, but also from outsiders on the basis of their specifically papal au-

thority. Moreover, the fullest meaning of the Norman enfeoffment becomes apparent when we realize that the specially ecclesiastical character of their feudal obligations to the Curia also spread over to some degree to their rule

in southern Italy. The object of the Normans in becoming papal vassals had been to legitimize their hold upon lands to which they had no legal title whatsoever. It may be

asked where the pope obtained the right to dispose of southern Italy by feudal law; in view of the situation that

had recently existed under Henry III, the papal act infringed upon imperial rights. There is no need, however, to

trace a supposed legal right to the Constantinian and Carolingian donations.®? The concrete situation suggests

rather that the papacy derived its rights directly from the religious sphere. Amatus of Monte Cassino came closest to the truth when he attributed the following words, among others, to Robert Guiscard in rejecting the claims of Henry IV to overlordship:

In order to obtain God’s help and the intercession of Sts. Peter and Paul, to whom all kingdoms of the world are subject, I have subjected myself with all my conquered land to their vicar, the pope, and have received it from the hand of the pope, so that, by God’s power, he might thus

guard me from the wickedness of the Saracens and I might overcome the insolence of the foreigners. The Almighty has given me victory and subjected the land to me. This is why I must be subject to Him for the grace of the victory, and I declare myself to have the land from Him.*! 53 Here I agree with the exposition of Manfroni, ‘‘Noterelle,” pt. 2, p. 304. Cf. also Kehr, Belehnungen, p. 15. [See also Ullmann, Papal Government, pp. 51£.] 54 Aimé, VII, 27, pp. 2g9f.

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A daring metamorphosis equated public law and religion, politics and piety. What need of a special legal title when such motives were present?

This doctrine, which certainly suited both parties, set all

the warlike enterprises of the Normans in the light of a crusade. Guiscard’s particular reference to fighting the Moslems was no accident. The idea of a war against heathens had evidently played a role as early as in the transactions of 1059, for Robert Guiscard, in performing the feudal oath, assumed the following titles: ‘““By the grace of God and St. Peter, duke of Apulia and Calabria and, with their help, soon of Sicily.”” The naming of Sicily is signifi-

cant, for its possession by the Moslems was still unchallenged then; the Norman attack on the island began only a year or two later. Guiscard’s title therefore included a program of conquest still hovering in the future, whose first occurrence in the feudal oath clearly relates to the circum-

stance that a heathen opponent was to be found only in Sicily, whereas Apulia and Calabria had been wrested from Christian Greeks. In harmony with this theme, the Norman historians represent the Sicilian undertaking as a crusade

from the first. Both Geoffrey Malaterra and Amatus of Monte Cassino pay special attention to the decision to cross over to Sicily, giving it a religious basis;>> Amatus goes as

far as to portray the Normans as though their first coming

to Italy had been primarily for the sake of fighting the Saracens.*°

Naturally, the sincerity of such motives, even for the Sicilian war, is open to doubt. Skeptics will particularly em-

phasize that, after the conquest, the Moslem inhabitants were neither forced into conversion nor annihilated, but left in peace to practice their religion. ‘he Normans even made temporary use of Moslem auxiliaries and a Moslem lieuten55 Geoffrey Malaterra, 11, 1, ed. Pontieri, p. 29; Aimé, v, 7, pp. 202ef. [See also Villey, Croisade, pp. 51f.] 56 Cf. above, p. 109; also Aimé, I, 30, pp. 38f. 133

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ant in the wars of conquest.*? Nevertheless, it must be noted

that the Christianization of the population had not been presented as the objective. ‘The point was rather that the Christians inhabiting the island should cease to live in servitude, that Christianity should govern there, and that Christian observance should be restored to fitting splendor.** That the land had formerly been Christian, and that

the Moslems were themselves violent intruders, were particularly emphasized.*® The motivation, therefore, did not differ in essentials from that of the First Crusade, and its significance should be similarly judged.

To regard religious impulses alone as decisive would of course be false. Sicily would surely have been attacked even

if the island had been ruled by Christian lords. All the same, the Norman war in Sicily resembled a crusade to a degree unprecedented by any earlier aggression upon heathens that we know of. We repeatedly hear that the war-

riors went to confession before battles and received communion,®° that the addresses of the leaders were largely on religious themes,*! that after victory the booty was taken to a church,* or that churches were immediately built in con-

quered places or solemn masses celebrated.** Geoffrey Malaterra’s detailed account of the battle near Cerami (1063) is the most instructive example.*t The particular 57 On the testimony of Eadmer, Vita Anselmi, 1, 46 (MGH SS. 13.142),

Roger of Sicily allegedly forbade his Saracen troops to convert to Christianity. 58 Aimé, v, 12, p. 207; Geoffrey Malaterra, I, 1, p. 29. In this connec-

tion Geoffrey makes special mention of the revenues of the island, which Roger would devote to the service of God. Cf. further, Iv, 7, pp. 88f. 59 Aimé, V, 9, p. 205.

60 Aimé, v, 22, p. 214; Geoffrey Malaterra, Il, 33, p. 42; Iv, 2, p. 86; William of Apulia, 11, vv. 235ff (MGH SS. 9.270).

61 Aimé, V, 12, 18, 22, pp. 207, 211, 214; Geoffrey Malaterra, , 33, pp. 43f. 62 Aimé, Vv, 10, p. 206; Geoffrey Malaterra, 11, 6-7, 33, pp. 31, 44.

63 Aimé, VI, 14, 19, pp. 250, 256; Geoffrey Malaterra, II, 19, pp. 68f; William of Apulia, 111, vv. 332ff (MGH SS. 9.272). 64 Geoffrey Malaterra, 1, 33, pp. 42ff.

[Rousset, Origines, pp. 36-39, sees certain characteristics of the later crusade in these campaigns, but since the indulgence and the wearing 134

, THE REFORM PAPACY fame of the battle is that it 1s the place where St. George the knight, the future patron of the crusades, made his first ap-

parition: the Normans saw the saint in front of their ranks as a knight in shining armor on a white horse, carrying a white banner with a shining cross. A similar banner with a cross miraculously appeared at the same time on the lance of the Norman leader, Count Roger. In view of the symbolism of holy war, the banner motif in this story is particularly in-

teresting. Equally significant are the words that the count supposedly spoke before the battle: Christ will not abandon His sign, with which you are all marked. The reference is not to a material emblem but to the cross that they had all been bearing on their foreheads since baptism. The same train of thought would lead to emblazoning tunics with a cross. What happened after the battle also merits our attention. Since Roger believed that he owed his victory to St.

Peter, he sent Pope Alexander II a part of the booty as evidence of victory. ‘Ihe pope reciprocated by granting the warriors absolution and sending a banner in the name of the

Holy See, with which they were to attack the Moslems, securely trusting the protection of St. Peter. IUhereby he indicated a special papal patronage of this war. In other wars

against heathens that we have observed, the spiritual element was supplied by kingship or by territorial defense, which posed an obstacle to the development of the true idea of crusade. Here we find papal authority instead, and of the cross, etc., were lacking, does not agree that the real crusade idea stood out clearly. Douglas, Norman Achievement, ch. v, esp. pp. 102ff,

cites Erdmann and points out that despite the presence of secular motives, the descriptions of the Norman chroniclers may be taken as evidence of religious feeling, doubtless naive, and perhaps offensive to a more sophisticated era, yet characteristic of the eleventh century. E. O. Blake, “Formation,” p. 12, holds that the “notion of the militia Christi

is distinct from the ‘crusade idea’ in that it remains a local fellow-

ship. .. .” See also I. S. Robinson, “Gregory VII,” p. 181. It should also be noted that the factual reliability of Geoffrey Malaterra’s account of the battle of Cerami has been questioned, though it may well reflect later popular feelings regarding religious war. See R. Lopez, “Norman

Conquest,” p. 62 n. 12. Lopez doubts the religious character of the Norman campaigns.]

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the crusading character of the fighting clearly emerges as a result; the idea of war against the heathen had joined the ethical drive of the age of reform. The Norman-Papal alliance of 1059 was crucial to the development of the idea of crusade, but should not be onesidedly stressed. For the south Italian Normans were not alone at the time in combining with the Curia to adapt the

crusading idea to their wars; in the 1060s, the same phenomenon took place in France, on the part of Normans

as well as other Frenchmen. The conduct of William of Normandy in his invasion of England (1066) is a case in point, which we will soon discuss. Even more significant is the Spanish crusade of 1064 leading to the transitory cap-

ture of Barbastro. From about mid-century, the Christian Spaniards were advancing against Islam in greater force. Non-Spaniards also participated in these wars, and their presence in considerable numbers may first be established in the war over Barbastro. The impression left among contemporaries by this campaign is best shown by the exaggerations of Amatus of Monte Cassino:

So that the duties of Christian faith might be performed and the mad frenzy of the Saracens destroyed, the kings, counts, and princes united by God’s inspiration in one

will and one plan. Thus a great crowd of troops was assembled, a strong mounted army of Frenchmen, Burgundians, and others, and with them were the brave Normans. They traveled to Spain to besiege the knight-

hood that the Saracens had assembled, and to subject them to the Christians. ... And they called on God’s help that God might be present to assist those who prayed to

Him. Thus did the faithful triumph in the battle, and a large part of the Saracens were killed. And they gave 65 Above, p. 97.

[There is a brief account of the Barbastro campaign in L. G. Valdeavellano, Historia, pp. 764-65, and ch. xiv and bibliography; Dufourneaux, Frangais, pp. 131ff.]

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thanks to God for the victory that He gave to His people.* In reality, except for Spaniards no actual “king” participated in the enterprise, but Duke William of Aquitaine was present, along with sizable contingents from various parts of France.*’ It was an army of volunteers, as in the First Crusade, who had streamed together for the sake of the holy war against the heathen. Another interesting trait is that the Catalan bishops and princes announced a Peace of God at the same time (1064); they expressly declared that

they were about to undertake a campaign, and they specified that, among other things, both the participants in the campaign and those who stayed home should maintain peace with one another.® ‘This stipulation, still unusual

in a Peace of God, shows that the Peace of God between

Christians was connected with a crusade against the heathen, in this case as at Clermont in 1095.

Another participant in this crusade was the papacy.® In 66 Aimé, Ystotre, 1, 5, pp. 11ff.

67 Boissonnade, Roland, pp. 24f, and “Cluny,” pp. 271ff. His citations need to be frequently corrected. The participation of Italians cannot be proved; cf. below, under nn. 71 and 75. [On the question of possible Norman participation from southern Italy, Fliche (in Fliche and Martin, Histoire, vill, 52 n. 7) maintains

that Amatus would not have mentioned Normans unless he meant

Normans from Italy.] 68 F. Fita, “Cortes,” pp. 389ff, esp. p. 392 Art. g.

[Erdmann’s subsequent statement that this campaign represented a crusade raises a fundamental question in the analysis of the crusade idea. Later scholars, e. g., Villey, Crotsade, and Rousset, Origines, contested Erdmann’s equating holy war and crusade, and this criticism has continued. See now Noth, pp. 109-20, who maintains that Alexander II’s letters cannot be taken as evidence of papal initiative or direction (see also on this Mayer, Crusades, p. 19), but rather were dispatched to participants who had already undertaken an expedition. He feels that

the original impetus probably came from the Spaniards of the Barbastro region and that the religious motivation of the French participants does not give the campaign the character of a genuine “holy war.” See also Cowdrey, Cluniacs, p. 180, and Brundage, Canon Law, p. 25 n. g1.|

69 In this connection Boissonade, Roland, p. 24, and “Cluny,” presented great exaggerations, which were accepted by L. Halphen, Essor, 137

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1063, as the knights assembled in southern France for the Spanish expedition, Alexander II issued several decretals forbidding those journeying to Spain to oppress the Jews.”° In a letter to the “clergy of Volterra [clerus Vulturnensis]” he also announced an indulgence for the participants in the Spanish campaign.” This is the first papal crusading indulgence whose text we possess.’? Since, like later ones, it conp. 56. The idea that Alexander had the crusade preached in Italy, France, eastern Spain, etc. is fantasy, and the supposition that he raised subsidies for this purpose rests on a misunderstanding of the Arnald Mir document of 1068 (not 1067) in J. Villaneuva, Viage, Ix, 260, in which there is question only of a patronage fee of the monastery of Ager to the Curia and of a donation of gold by the founder to Popes Nicholas and Alexander. (Cf. Papsturkunden in Spanien, ed. Kehr, 1, 179.) 70 JL. 4528, 4532, 4533.

[On JL. 4528, 4533, Brundage, Canon Law, pp. 21 n. 79, and 24 n. 89.|

71 JL. 4530, transmitted in the Collectio Britannica, see P. Ewald, “Papstbriefe,” p. 338. Ewald, p. 331 n. 1, understands Vulturnensis as Castel Volturno in Campania and ever since, this has been generally repeated. But this place—it was called Castellum maris (ad Vulturnum) in the Middle Ages: see Alexander Telesinus, ul, 64 (in RIS, v, 632)— is a small castrum, whose “clergy”’ could scarcely have included more than one priest and is, therefore, out of the question as the recipient of an indulgence document of this kind. Vulturnensis must rather denote a bishopric. Volterra might be considered, for the forms Vulternensis and Vulturnensis occur (see MGH Const. 1.545 line 18, and 572 line 16) or Volturara (ibid., Vulturnensis), but it is surely more probable that the name is garbled and that a French bishopric was meant. See also Italia pontificia, ed. Kehr, vil, 236f. [Brundage, Canon Law, p. 24, gives Volturno. Erdmann’s contention that a French town is indicated seems, however, logical. Cf. also Villey, Croisade, p. 70 n. 175.] 72 See Paulus, Geschichte, 1, 195.

[According to Cowdrey, Cluniacs, p. 126 n. 2, the letter certainly contains an indulgence. Mayer, Crusades, p. 28, regards it as a “general

plenary indulgence,” although he is using the term in the eleventhcentury sense, i.e., remission of penance already imposed, not the later canonical concept of remission of “temporal punishment’ hereafter. Brundage, pp. 24-25 and n. go, notes that Villey, Croisade, pp. 69, 143-44, and Rousset, Origines, p. 49, question the authenticity of the

letter. He also points out that according to the letter, the pope

granted remission of penance specifically imposed by a _ confessor beforehand, confession being required before departure. The papal commutation of penance would, therefore, have been less comprehensive than that granted by Urban II in 1095. It may be added that Mayer, 138

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tains a remission of the penalties for sin, it is an indulgence in the true sense, and we may certainly infer that the same

provision was made in other near-contemporary cases, particularly in the absolution sent by Alexander II to Sicily.7? A further intervention of the pope for the Spanish

campaign may be inferred from the fact that the Arab chronicler Ibn-Chaijan (d. 1076) designates the leader of the foreign crusaders in the battle over Barbastro as the “commander of the Roman cavalry.’’’* How the chronicler

arrived at this title is difficult to see. The most likely explanation is that he was referring to the bearer of a banner granted by the pope, a banner like those we encountered in the same years 1063 and 1064 in the hands of Roger of Sicily and William of Montreuil,”> and the other banners we will hear more about. If this is so, Alexander II granted a “banner of St. Peter” to one of the crusading leaders, most

likely Duke William of Aquitaine or the Norman chief Robert Crispin. Even if this hypothesis is rejected, the words

of Ibn-Chaijan nevertheless allow us to conclude that conCrusades, p. 25 n. 13, takes exception to Brundage’s view that no papal

indulgence was clearly formulated until the thirteenth century. See also B. Poschmann, A blass, pp. 55-56.] 73 See above, p. 135; also Paulus, loc. cit. 74R. Dozy, Recherches, U1, 341, 350; Fita, “Cortes,” p. 405.

[Noth, pp. 110-11, notes that the statement about troops from “Rome” was based on a mistranslation, as Lévi-Provencal pointed out. The expression “Ar-Rum’” was used by Spanish Moslems to indicate

their Christian neighbors. Cf. also Villey, Croisade, pp. 69-70. On

Robert Crispin, Noth, pp. 115-16.] 3

75 Dozy, 1, 350ff, argued that William of Montreuil himself was in Spain as papal leader, and this argument has often been repeated since, although it does not square with what Amatus of Monte Cassino tells us

about William (who first entered papal service at the end of 1064 or 1065, thus after the capture of Barbastro) and although Delarc correctly objected (Aimé, Ystoire, pp. 248f). Roger of Sicily could as easily

be considered as William of Montreuil; for it is quite wrong to think that there was always only one bearer of the St. Peter’s standard. On the other hand, Fita, loc. cit., emphasizes that Orderic Vitalis (above, n. 52) calls William of Montreuil Romani exercitus princeps militiae;

on this basis, however, one might as easily point to—archdeacon Hildebrand, who at this time, according to Landulf of Milan, Im, 15 (MGH SS. 8.83), Romanam militiam sicut imperator regebat! 139

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crete relations of some kind must have existed between Rome, that is, the papacy, and the commander in question.

To these details that have long been known, one more may be added, namely, the sending of a papal legate. Until

then the Curia had had no demonstrable relations with Spain proper (Catalonia does not yet count as such, owing

to its stronger connections with France). Such relations began with the dispatch of Cardinal Hugh Candidus, which took place in 1063, as we now know.”® In the very year in

which preparations were being made in southern France for the Spanish expedition, and the pope issued his letters relating to it, the legate went to southern France in order to continue to Spain from there. All this is surely not coincidental.?? While it may be facile to call Hugh Candidus a

crusading legate, his mission does provide further proof of the Curia’s interest in the Spanish campaign.

These various incidents occurring in the first half of the

1060s, when taken together, justify our saying that the period witnessed a particular blossoming of the idea of holy war.’§ ‘These were the very years, moreover, when the idea of ecclesiastical war and Christian knighthood underwent a peculiar and entirely different development in

the half ecclesiastical, half socio-popular movement in Milan called ‘“Pataria.’’’® From the beginning, this “lay reli76 Kehr, Papstitum und Aragon, pp. 1off; F. Lerner, Hugo Candidus, pp. 18ff; add now esp. J. Ramackers, “‘Analekten,” pp. 22ff. [Noth, pp. 112-13, has analyzed Hugh Candidus’s known activities and argues that they were not connected with the Barbastro campaign; similarly Villey, pp. 61, 69-70. See also Cowdrey, Cluniacs, p. 220.] 77 Fita, “Cortes,” p. 406, assumed, moreover, that the participation of the cardinal in the legislation of the count of Barcelona, mentioned in the Gesta comitum Barchinonensium, is to be referred to the Peace of

God of 1064. This is plausible, but unfortunately remains uncertain, since the text of the Peace of God does not name the cardinal. 78 It is also worth remembering that an attack by Pisans on the Sicilian Moslems occurred in 1063: Heinemann, Geschichte, 1, 210f. 72 On the Pataria, S. M. Brown, ‘“Movimenti,” pp. 227ff, who, how-

ever, is not very deep; also J. P. Whitney, Hildebrandine Essays, pp. 149 ff.

[On the Pataria, Cowdrey, “Patarenes,” pp. 25-48. See also C. Violante, Pataria, and “Riforma,” chs. v, v1.] 140

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gious movement” against married and simoniac clergy had the characteristic of not shrinking from the use of force in implementing its religious demands.®° In earlier times, the right to use force had been acknowledged to reside in legitimate authority, but not in a tumultuous popular movement that, moreover, was mainly supported by the lower layers of the city population. This ecclesiastical “‘right of resist-

ance” gradually became intertwined with an idea of religious war. The clerics Landulf and Ariald, who at first (from about 1047) were alone in leading the Pataria, were reproached for delivering sharp swords to the people by their preaching.®+ Ariald, and later the priest Liudprand, cross in hand, led the people in repeated street skirmishes.®?

While this fighting went on, Ariald is said to have enun-

ciated the principle that the Christian should bear the sword for nothing other than the defense of the faith.*

The militant aspect of the Pataria became particularly prominent about the year 1064, when it received a real knight as its leader in the person of Erlembald. In addition to being of distinguished parentage, Erlembald had earned the reputation of being a pious man by his almsgiving and proofs of humility. He had only just returned from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem and was thinking of abandoning the world and becoming a monk.** Ariald turned to Erlembald

and enjoined him to desist from this course; he would acquire greater merit with God by remaining a layman and fighting with his sword for the Catholic faith and the libera80 G. Tellenbach, review of Brown “Movimenti,” in QF 23 (1931), 84.

, s Landulf of Milan, 11,1 (MGH SS. 8.73f). [On the views of Landulf of Milan, Andreas of Strumi, and Arnulf of Milan, Cowdrey, passim; Violante, Pataria, pp. 175ff.] 82 Andreas of Strumi, c. 19 (MGH SS. 30.1064); Landulf, c. 30 (MGH SS. 8.97). 83 Andreas of Strumi, c. 19, p. 1063.

84 Tbid., c. 15, pp. 1059f; cf. Landulf, 1, 14, pp. 8ef.

[On Erlembald’s character and methods and his association with Hildebrand, Cowdrey, ‘“Patarenes,’ pp. 35-39, and C. H. Brakel, “Heiligenkulte,” pp. 292ff.] , 141

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tion of the church, as Matathias and his sons had once done.** In effect, Ariald was conveying to Erlembald the idea of spiritual knighthood. But what Bernard of Clairvaux would celebrate two generations later under the name of “new knighthood [nova militia]” was still very novel in the time of Alexander II. The hesitations of Erlembald be-

come understandable when we hear what the opposing party was saying. Even the moderate Arnulf admonished him for undertaking an unbecoming task; as a layman he was intruding in the ecclesiastical sphere.®® Erlembald decided to take counsel with pious men as to whether he should trust in the words of Ariald.8? He went to visit various hermits and monasteries, and finally journeyed to Rome. Everywhere, we are told, and certainly in Rome, Ariald was said to be right. The pope himself strictly commanded Erlembald to return to Milan and follow Ariald.

From then on Erlembald assumed the military leadership of the Pataria. For more than a decade he led his adherents in repeated battles, before falling as a martyr in 1075.°8 He was at once considered a saint,®® thus becoming

the first knight-saint in universal history. What Odo of Cluny had foreshadowed in a timid and contradictory way in his Life of Gerald of Aurillac became a fact with Erlembald.

Not surprisingly, the papacy had a part in this. It had been an early ally of the Pataria, and the relationship grew 85 Andreas, loc. cit. In his account, Landulf (loc. cit.), who wrote around 1100, uses expressions (such as the contrast between Dei et catholicae ecclesiae miles and saeculi miles) which in this context belong to a later date; the account is evidently influenced by the First Crusade: “you have liberated God’s sepulcher, free His Church [Liberasti sepulcrum Det, libera ecclesiam etus].” 86 Arnulf of Milan, 11, 16f (MGH SS. 8.21f). [On Arnulf, Cowdrey, “Patarenes,” p. 33.] 87 Andreas, loc. cit.

1.620. |

88 Arnulf of Milan, tI, 24, and Iv, 10 (MGH SS. 8.25, 28). Andreas, c. 20 (MGH SS. 30.1065); Landulf of Milan, 11, 30 (MGH SS. 8.97); Bonizo of Sutri, MGH Libelli 1.597ff, 6o04f.

89 Swabian Annalist a. 1077, MGH SS. 5.305f; Bonizo, MGH Libelli

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stronger when the Milanese Anselm of Baggio, whom many

considered the co-founder of the Pataria, took possession of the papal throne as Alexander II. As we have just seen,

he gave Erlembald’s career its decisive turn. All three Milanese annalists relate that he bestowed on Erlembald a victory banner, the vexillum sancti Petri, thereby giving

notice that the papacy was on his side and regarded his battles as a holy cause. Erlembald simultaneously entered into a special relationship of obedience to the pope;*! this was surely an aspect of his religious knighthood. He was in

Rome again at a later date and frequently corresponded

with Alexander II and Gregory VII. After his death, Gregory VII made known to the Lenten synod of 1078 the miracles that were taking place at his tomb, and Urban II caused his remains to be solemnly translated in 1095.%3

We need not anticipate. Erlembald’s position was confirmed by the grant of the banner of St. Peter in about the year 1064, the very time when we noted a blossoming else-

where of the idea of holy war. ‘he Curia participated everywhere, not only in the fighting in Rome and in the Papal States, but also in Sicily, Spain, and Milan. The reform Curia had a homogeneous policy under Alexander II and Nicholas II, just as under Leo IX. What we pointed

out in the earlier period should be repeated here: the church reformers were the very men who stood for the idea of holy war and sought to put it into practice.®* While 90 Arnulf of Milan, 11, 17, p. 22; cf. Iv, 10, p. 28; Andreas of Strumi, C. 15, p. 1059; cf. c. 20, p. 1065; Landulf of Milan, I, 15, pp. 83f; cf. 11,

go, p. g7. Arnulf as well as Landulf uses the banner as a symbol of papal blessing. C. Pellegrini, Arialdo, pp. 191ff, is uncritical. 91 Andreas, loc. cit.: sub inevitabili imperio; Landulf, loc. cit.: sub quandam obedientiam et inauditam (!); Swabian Annalist, MGH SS. 5.305: pro oboedientia quam ipsi domnus papa Alexander pro huiusmodi inposuit. 92 Arnulf, m1, 17 and 19f (MGH SS. 8.22 and 23); GR, 1, 25-28, ed.

Caspar, pp. 41ff. , 93 Swabian Annalist, MGH SS. 5.305; epitaph in Puricellus, De Arialdo, p. 369 (MPL 143.1500); and Pellegrini, Arialdo, p. 461.

[Cowdrey, ‘‘Patarenes,” p. 39 n. 32.| | 94 See above, pp. 73- 75. | , 143

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the relationship of reform and war stands out in the case of the Pataria, it is also unmistakable in the Curia’s Norman policy. The reform of the knighthood was a corollary to the reform of the clergy and of ecclesiastical government. ‘The aims of holy war might be of various kinds: war against the

heathen; war within the church for religious and moral aims and in behalf of ecclesiastical factions; and finally, ever since Leo IX, the “hierarchical’’ war in the direct serv-

ice of the papacy or the Papal States. Under Alexander II these three forms were on an equal footing; the papacy had yet to decide which of them it wished to develop.

Our observations have been based on the actions of the Curia, not on its theoretical pronouncements. We might well expect that these strivings would have been echoed in some way by the curial theoreticians of the time, above all Peter Damiani and Humbert of Silva Candida. But no such echo is to be heard. Peter Damiani was a resolute opponent of holy war.®> He

contends at great length that the church should not take revenge when it is violently oppressed or robbed. ‘The head

of a church should not wage war even when dealt with unjustly. Christ gave the example; the Apostles founded the

church by love and patience, without taking vengeance; and the martyrs let themselves be put to death without resistance. Holy men, moreover, do not kill heretics and

heathens, but rather let themselves be killed by them. 95 On Peter Damiani, see especially the penetrating study of H. von Schubert, ‘‘Petrus Damiani,” pp. 83ff, esp. g9f. Less profound are Gorris, Denkbeelden, pp. 26ff, and Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, 1, 175 ff. Reynaud, Origines, p. 78, emphasizes as a sign of Damiani’s positive stand on war that he declares traitors and deserters to be infames (Opusc. VI, c. 2, MPL 145.368). Here, however, Damiani is referring to a principle known to older canonists, indicated above, p. 5 n. 4. [On Peter Damiani’s acquaintance with canon law and his association

with the early stages of its development in Italy, J. J. Ryan, Peter Damiani, esp. the summary, pp. 148ff, regarding Peter’s role as a reformer; also F. Dressler, Petrus Damiani, esp. pp. 79, 106, 120f. J. Leclercq, Pierre Damien, pp. 257ff, refers to Peter Damiani’s pacific temperament, but does not analyze specifically his attitude toward war.] 144

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Never should one take up the sword for the faith, much less

for the possessions of the church. “If anyone objects that Pope Leo [IX] frequently occupied himself with warfare and was nevertheless holy, I reply that Peter did not become prince of the apostles because he denied the Lord, nor was David graced with the gift of prophecy because he

invaded the bed of another man.’ Gregory the Great did not take arms against the Lombards, or Ambrose against the Arians.°

At the time, this forthright opposition was already antiquated, but it may readily be understood in Peter Damiani. As has rightly been said, Peter basically was not

a man of the new age.*”? The attitudes he expressed in regard to the place of the church in society were as old as the Carolingian period. He staunchly maintained the ecclesiastical position of the monarchy; to him, the welfare of the church depended on the cooperation of the two swords, the secular and the spiritual.®* Defending the church from external foes was the duty of secular authority, and Peter Damiani wished this obligation to be taken seriously;%® the

more strongly, therefore, did he afhrm that the clergy should not interfere in the sphere of secular power. If the king was negligent, there was no recourse except admonition and prayer. Peter rejected an ecclesiastical right of resistance by the lower elements of society.1% Yet he was inconsistent in this respect: even he intervened in favor of the Milanese Pataria and encouraged it to fight.1°

This isolated exception played no role, however, in the totality of his thinking. His rejection of ecclesiastical war 96 Peter Damiani, Iv, Ep. g (MPL 144.313-16). 97 Schubert, “Petrus Damiani,” p. 102. 98 Damiani, vil, Ep. 3 (MPL 144.440f); vul, Ep. 1 (461ff); Sermo 69 (8g9f); also MPL 145.810ff, 825ff. On the two-sword theory in Damiani

see J. Lecler, “Argument,” pp. 306f. 99 Damiani, vill, Ep. 1 (MPL 144.463).

100 Damiani, 1, Ep. 15 (MPL 144.227); Ep. 21 (252); Opusc. XXII (MPL 145.463ff, 472).

101 Damiani, Opusc. XXX (MPL 145.523ff). 102 Damiani, v, Ep.14 (MPL 144.367 f).

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corresponded rather to his theory of the two swords, which had nothing to do with ecclesiastical reform.

Peter's attitude makes one expect that statements in favor of holy war would have come from the chief exponent of reform in church government, namely, Humbert of Silva Candida; for Humbert’s theories differ considerably from those of Peter Damiani.1°? He attributed many fewer rights

to secular power vis-a-vis the church,’°* and he did not share Peter’s concern over the claims of clerics to secular

rights; rather, he deplored lay intrusions into ecclesiastical matters.1°> He in reality did not oppose ecclesiastical war as conducted by Leo IX against the Normans, for he himself wrote the papal letter to the Byzantine emperor in which this war is justified and a new attack upon the Normans is announced. It is also characteristic that Humbert often emphasized that heretics were far worse than heathens?°?—-a view that would have accorded well with an appeal to laymen for armed fighting in support of the prin-

ciples of the church. Yet we find no trace of his making such appeals. Humbert once spoke of laymen who have right belief and defend the church with words and tem103 Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, 1, 265ff; Whitney, “Peter Damiani,” pp. 225ff, and Hildebrandine Essays, pp. 95ff; also A. Michel, Humbert. [On Humbert, J. T. Gilchrist, “Canon Law Aspects,” pp. 21ff. See also

Laarhoven, “Christianitas,” pp. 23-32, on Humbert’s role in the development of the idea of Christianitas, a Christian society united under the pope. |

104 Humbert denies the princes the right to establish churches (MGH Libelli 1.217: non ut ecclesias instituant). On the contrary, Peter Damiani wrote that the dignities of individual churches, other than the Roman one founded by God Himself, were instituted by kings, emperors, etc. (Opusc. V, MPL 145.91: instituit; cf. Disceptio synodalis in MGH Libelli 1.78.) It is interesting that the later canonists (Deusdedit, 1, 167 [136], p. 106; Anselm, I, 63, p. 31; Bonizo, Iv, 82, p. 146; Gratian, Decretum, D. 22, c. 1, ed. Friedberg, 1, 73; cf. JL. 4424; incorrectly, Italia

pont., ed. Kehr, vi, part I, 111, no. 13) adopted this text, which they ascribed to Nicholas II, but in a falsified form, in which it is no longer the princes but the Roman church (ipsa) which instituted the other churches!

105 MGH Libelli 1.216f. 106 JL. 4333; see above, n. 11. 107 MGH Libelli 1.101, 118, 151, 179.

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poral power in a conflict with heretics or pagans, but who,

for the rest, do not manifest in their works the faith

they defend in war; he sternly reproaches such people: their souls are dead.1°* In his view, therefore, fighting for the faith had little spiritual value for laymen, and we should not suppose that he advocated that they do so.

The reticence of a representative theoretician, such as Humbert, in the face of the rising force of holy war confirms us in what we have already seen:1° the crusading idea

became articulate only after it had developed in real life. In regard to investitures and the relationship of Kingship and Priesthood [regnum et sacerdotium], literary combats came first. In regard to holy war, however, only the decisive force represented by the activity of Gregory VII made clear

to theoreticians what the subject was about. Moreover, Hildebrand-Gregory, even before he became pope, had a profound personal influence upon the formation of the papal crusading idea. What we have to say in the next four chapters is organized around him.

108 [bid., 159f. 109 Above, p. 80.

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| he Catholic Church venerates Gregory VII as a saint.

‘Though he was canonized only in the seventeenth cen-

tury, his contemporary followers already believed in his sanctity. A decade after his death, Rangerius of Lucca tells us that the faithful trusted in the help Gregory would lend

them from heaven; the saintly pope would protect the troops of his followers, he would fight for them before God so that they would not have to rely on their own weapons, and he would send the archangel Michael to aid them with heavenly hosts.1 ‘This appears to be the oldest exhaustive

proof of faith in the heavenly patronage of Gregory VII.? Is its direct relation to war accidental?

Judgments on the personality of Gregory VII are highly

contradictory. For some he was an unscrupulous practitioner of power politics, for others a gentle shepherd of souls. ‘The contrast is explicable by the factional hatreds and affections that surrounded him in his lifetime and that have essentially endured to the present day.? His own per1 Rangerius, Vita Anselmi, vv. 6419-26, 6509-12, 6567-76 (MGH SS. 30.1290, 1292, 1293). The account of Rangerius is unhistorical since the battle of Sorbaria which he speaks of took place when Gregory was still alive; but Rangerius’s point of view is what concerns us. [On Rangerius, P. Guidi, ‘““Rangerio,” pp. 263-80.] 2 Bonizo, MGH Libelli 1.615; Bernold, MGH SS. 5.399; and the Vita Anselmi, c. 22 (MGH SS. 12.20), contain only brief, genera] entries on the miracles of Gregory. 3 Cf. the survey of W. Wihr, Studien, pp. 4ff; on Wiihr himself, my

remarks in Deutsche Literaturzeitung (1931), cols. 1998ff. The new book of H.-X. Arquilliére, Saint Grégoire VII, often disputes with Fliche, but belongs to the ranks of those works in which Gregory is seen above all as a gentle saint whose opponents were always completely wrong.

[For a brief current treatment of the career of Hildebrand-Gregory VII, Jedin-Dolan, Handbook, 11, chs. 43, 44. Fliche’s analysis in Fliche 148

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sonality was also full of inner tensions—a highly developed

sense of duty toward God contrasting with a passionate temperament inclined to violent measures.* The controverand Martin, Histoire, vu, is later than his Réforme grégorienne, cited by Erdmann. Especially important at present is the continuing series of studies by different scholars in Studi Gregoriani, ed. G. B. Borino, and now A. Stickler, 1947—. The most recent issue is vol. xX (1972). The tendency toward controversy in appraising Gregory’s motives, which Erdmann remarked, is still evident. See, e.g., the statement by Laarhoven, “Christianitas,” p. 33: “From the Libelli de lite to the latest Studi Gregoriani there is an element of parti pris in the descriptions of his pontificate and in the judgments made of his intentions.’ 4 No contemporary utterance that I know so aptly grasps the two souls in Gregory’s bosom as do the words of a Regensburg letter that possibly refers to the day of Canossa: “Let your piety be stirred by the noble nature of Gregory, who even, it is said, forgets his inborn rage provided he sees those against whom he is contending lie prostrate [Moveat pietatem vestram nobilis natura Gregorit, qui etiam, ut fertur, ingeniti furoris non meminit, si prostratos videt contra quos dimicavit|”: Erdmann, Briefe, p. 28. These words are the more interesting in that they tie in with a then-current saying about the nature of the lion: P. Lehmann, Pseudoantike Literatur, pp. 7, 94; K. Burdach and P. Piur, Briefwechsel, v, 420f.

[In a perceptive study of Gregory’s motivations, Laarhoven, “Christianitas,” pp. 1-98, emphasizes the coincidence of two forces in the formation of the concept of Christianitas: the status of monarchies which had not yet reached political maturity, and the spiritual mentality of Gregory himself. Gregory saw the world, in fact only the Western world, as a Christian community united under the direction of the vicar of St. Peter. Neither a jurist nor a theologian, he did not specifically oppose the classic dualism of the two powers, but subordinated this in his mind to an exclusive concern for the religious aspect of society. Laarhoven frequently refers to Erdmann’s analyses as important sources of information. His select bibliography includes A. Nitschke, ‘“Wirksamkeit,” who sees Gregory’s policies as resulting from

an inner conviction that divine action in the world produces a vital relationship between the secular and the religious, a relationship in

which either one may be required to act within the sphere of the other. Thus, not only does the church use force, but the lay prince

may be obligated to take up arms for a religious cause or to discipline a recalcitrant cleric. On Gregory’s interpretation of true love of God which justifies the acceptance of war, see p. 168. In a later article, ‘“Verstandnis,’ Nitschke notes further that many contemporaries, including some disposed to be favorable to Gregory, misunderstood his motives and occasionally pursued the same goals for different reasons. There is an interesting appraisal of Gregory’s character and motives and a summary of recent literature in C. Brooke, “Hildebrand,” pp. 57-68.] 149

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sial question how far his motives were religious and how far

political is virtually insoluble, since both motives merged in him; his politics were religious, and his religion political. He was utterly convinced that the political preponderance of the Holy See was necessary for the welfare of the church and was solely to serve its welfare. But this conviction is precise proof of how deeply political instincts were rooted in him.

The controversy over whether Gregory should be regarded rather as a statesman than as a priest has left in the shadows another question: whether he might not as appropriately be regarded as a man of war.’ Many of his contemporaries indignantly applied this epithet to him. Verifying this reproach requires that the facts should first be ascertained.

Did Hildebrand participate in the military activities of 5 Brief observations of this nature can be found in W. Martens, Gregor VII., 1, 19 (“a warlike nature”); J. May, “Begriff,” p. 180 (‘the

military character of the papal government”); C. Mirbt, Publizistik, p. 594 (“often shows Gregory’s military inclinations’); A. Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 11, 756 (“from youth on, a lively interest in military

affairs’); H. Finke, Gedanke, p. 19 (“He would himself be a general, anticipating the Renaissance popes”); J. Haller, “Gregor VII.,” p. 515

(“It might be said that his perceptions were more military than political, since he was the first among the popes, first indeed in all church history, to use temporal weapons for a spiritual end’). Gregory’s warlike nature is contested by Hammler, Gregors Stellung, pp. 2off, 51ff; Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, I, 380 n. 2, HU, 102 n. 3; and partly by

Wir, p. 6. On the other hand A. J. Macdonald, Hildebrand, recently emphasizes Gregory’s military spirit very strongly, e.g., pp. 75f: “His own martial spirit, rightly or wrongly, never shrank from an appeal to the sword,’ and frequent similar expressions. He has correctly recognized this side of Gregory’s character, but he goes too far in accepting certain questionable polemical reports, and his interpretation of Gregory’s words does not seem to me to be altogether correct. (Comments by Fliche on Erdmann’s views here can be found in his review in RHEF 23 (1937), 58-65; and in Fliche and Martin, Histoire, vill, 64 n. 1. For various comments on Gregory’s military activities and

methods of raising troops: Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), pp. 73ff; R. Morghen, “Ideali,” pp. 163-72; P. E. Schramm, “Sacerdotium,” pp. 403-57; A. Stickler, “Gladius,” pp. 89-103; P. Zerbi, “Fidelitas,” pp. 121-48; F. Bock, “Gregorio VII,” pp. 243-79; Laarhoven, p. 63; I. S. Robinson, “Gregory VII,” pp. 169-92.| 150

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Leo IX? The only witness to maintain this is Cardinal Beno, who is totally unreliable. Of course, other voices, long after

Hildebrand had been made pope and even only after his death, alleged that he had played a significant role at the court of Leo IX.’ But this cannot be substantiated. ‘The unquestionable similarity between Leo’s warlike actions and those of Gregory VII hardly proves that the latter had been influential under Leo; but Leo may well have been a model to Gregory.®

More serious attention should be given to the report that

Hildebrand was responsible for the connection with the Normans under Nicholas II, with its eminently military significance. The Annales Romani state that he was commissioned by the pope to go to Apulia to negotiate the alliance, as a result of which a Norman army immediately ousted the anti-pope Benedict and forced him to abdicate.° We have no reason to reject this account,?° especially since another source also ascribes the expulsion and abdication of the anti-pope to the archdeacon Hildebrand." Yet, in order 8 Gesta Roman. contra Hildebr., in MGH Libelli 2.379. [On Hildebrand’s career as archdeacon, G. B. Borino, “Arcidiaconato,” pp. 463-516.]

7 Bonizo, vl (MGH Libelli 1.601): a diebus Leonis papae; Vita Leonis IX, in Liber pont., ed. Duchesne, U, 275. 8 Cf. Wihr, p. 31.

[According to Borino, pp. 508-11, Hildebrand was Leo’s legate in 1057 and participated in the action at Capua and the first expedition to Galera.| 9 Annales Romani, in Liber pont. i, 335. 10 See E. Caspar, “Gregor VII,” p. 29, against Fliche, “Hildebrand,” pp. 158ff; also Arquilliére, Grégoire, pp. 53ff.

[Borino, pp. 512-13; Douglas, Norman Achievement, p. 133.] 11 Vita Benedicti X, in Liber pont., ul, 279. Hildebrand’s significant role also follows from a report of the synod of Melfi (where the enfeoffment of the Normans took place) in J. von Pflugk-Hartung, Iter

Italicum, p. 419, in which along with the pope and cardinals only Hildebrand is mentioned as judge. The following words from the letter sent him by Geoffrey of Anjou in 1059 also characterize Hildebrand’s attitude at the time: “You were taking pride [in the fact]... that your Rome was always unvanquished in faith and in arms [Gloriabaris ... Romam tuam fide atque armis semper fuisse invictam]” (H. Sudendorf, Berengarius, p. 218). 151

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to be prudent, we shall not accept this episode as one of Huldebrand’s certain acts.

We reach solid ground in the pontificate of Alexander II. Many witnesses attest that the archdeacon Hildebrand assumed a leading position under this pope. The most impres-

sive of them may well be the bronze doors of San Paolo fuori le Mura, poured in Constantinople, for they mention Hildebrand in fixing the date: “In the 1070th year of the Incarnation of the Lord, in the time of Pope Alexander and the notable monk and archdeacon Hildebrand.”’!? There are also detailed reports of individual actions of his during this period.

Hildebrand unquestionably had a leading part in the Roman struggles against Cadalus in 1062 and 1063.1° Not only Benzo of Alba, a leader on the opposite side,* but also the Gregorian Rangerius of Lucca supply lengthy descriptions.t> Both agree that Hildebrand was the soul of the contest, and that he spurred on the Romans by fiery speeches and payments of money.'® He himself, after becoming pope,

boasted of this success when he wrote to the bishops of southern Italy about the schism of Cadalus: “You know what great honor and triumphs our community obtained in the clashes of that conflict.”27 12 See now A. Hofmeister, “Ubersetzer,’” pp. 268, 284. It is worth noting that Hildebrand was then the substitute head of St. Paul’s, but this is not specified in the inscription. 13 Fliche, “Hildebrand,” p. 201, admits his importance in the diplomatic negotiations of the period of the schism, but says nothing about

Hildebrand’s role in the Roman combats. Hildebrand was probably the one who called in Norman military help at the time of Alexander’s enthronement; but for this information, we depend on the testimony of his opponents: Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbiicher, 1, 218f and n. 38. 14 Benzo of Alba, 11, 8f, 17f (MGH SS. 11.615f., 619ff).

[G. B. Borino, “Cencio,” pp. 381, 387, 395ff, 407; Partner, Lands, pp. 121—22.|

15 Rangerius, vv. 121ff (MGH SS. 30.1150ff).

16 Also in the same vein Annales Romani, in Liber pont., ed. Duchesne, Il, 336f.

17 GR, vul, 5, ed. Caspar, p. 522: quanto honore quantisque triumphis in exercitatione illius certaminis respublica nostra profecerit. Referring these words to the council of Mantua leads only to difficulties, whereas they are applicable in every respect to the previous fighting in Rome. 152

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Hildebrand’s activity in this respect was obviously con-

nected with his position as archdeacon of the Roman church. ‘The administration of the Papal States, which he was responsible for, was difficult to separate from military defense. Landulf of Milan says that “living in the Lateran palace, he commanded the Roman militia as a general.’’!® Though twisted for polemical purposes, the statement has a core of truth. It is also a near certitude that Hildebrand was actively involved when the Norman William of Montreuil was charged as a papal vassal with defending the southern Papal States.1® If his opponents were right in alleg-

ing that Hildebrand began at an early date to surround himself with a troop of mercenaries—we shall speak of this escort later—the accusation 1s easily explained by his position as archdeacon. The decisive role of Hildebrand in convincing Erlembald

to become the military leader of the Pataria is well documented.?° Landulf of Milan reports that, on that occasion,

Ariald expressly addressed himself to the archdeacon Hildebrand, who for his part urged the pope in the desirable direction and was present when the banner of St. Peter

was conferred upon Erlembald.??. Landulf’s account is borne out by the statement of Arnulf of Milan that Hildebrand often corresponded with Erlembald and apparently supplied him with money as well, so that he might enroll supporters.?? The best confirmation comes from the letters that Hildebrand as pope wrote to Erlembald—the stalwart 18 MGH SS. 8.83: residens in palatio militiam Romanam quasi imperator regebat. Cf. the statement which Bonizo (MGH Libelli 1.601) attributes to Hugh Candidus at Hildebrand’s election as pope: “from the days of the lord pope Leo it is Hildebrand who has elevated the

holy Roman church and has freed this city [a diebus domni Leonts papbae hic est Ildebrandus qui s. Romanam ecclesiam exaltavit et civitatem istam liberavit].” 19 Above, p. 131.

20 Above, p. 143. [Cowdrey, “Patarenes,” pp. 33ff; Borino, ‘“Arcidiaconato,” pp. 474ff; Violante, Pataria, pp. 208ff.] 21 Landulf, m1, 15 (MGH SS. 8. 83f).

22 Arnulf, Iv, 2 (1bid., p. 26). , 153

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warrior of Christ, who fought God’s fight against the enemies of the church.”°

As was shown in Chapter tv, the warlike interests of the Curia blossomed in the first half of the 1060s.24 We are now

able to see that Hildebrand had a large part in this phenomenon. The only occasion when nothing is heard of him is when the papacy intervened in the Sicilian and Span-

ish wars against the heathen.?> But when a war within Christendom was in question, he was either the leading spirit or at least the executive agent. He had the same role in the later years of Alexander II. The negotiations with William of Normandy preliminary

to the conquest of England (1066) were particularly important. A letter that Gregory later wrote to William attests to his activity: “You know how zealously I exerted myself that you might obtain the royal office. I was reviled for this by some brothers, who blamed me for the pains I took over

such a bloodletting.” Hildebrand was therefore responsible for the public stand taken by Alexander II, prior to the war, in favor of William and against Harold. Alexander recognized the Norman claims to England as justified

and gave public notice of this decision by bestowing the banner of St. Peter on the duke; it seems as though Harold was also excommunicated.?? This highly valuable legitimization of the war, and of William’s future rule, was principal-

ly based on the Norman accusation that Harold had com23 GR, 1, 25-26, ed. Caspar, pp. 42ff, also 1, 27-28, pp. 44ff. Cf. the letters later written to other leaders of the Pataria: GR, Ul, 15, p. 276, and IV, 7, p. 303. 24 Above, p. 140. 25 The conjecture of Macdonald, Hildebrand, p. 72, that the bestowal

of the banner on Roger of Sicily is attributable to Hildebrand cannot be proved. 26 GR, vil, 23, ed. Caspar, pp. 499f. 27 H. Bohmer, Kirche und Staat, p. 85.

[Cowdrey, “Gregory VII,” pp. 77-114, esp. pp. 84-85 on the banner episode, maintains that “Archdeacon Hildebrand’s leading part in the events of 1066 and 1070 cannot be doubted.” See also Douglas, Norman Achievement, p. 133, and William the Conqueror, p. 187.] 154

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mitted perjury. The Normans declared that their cause was just?® and convinced the Curia the more easily because they

could offer the prospect of a substantial improvement in the relations between England and Rome.?® Under these circumstances Hildebrand shouldered the blame for sup-

porting a bloody enterprise with the authority of the church. By the pope’s grant of the banner, the English campaign was even declared a holy war.*° The war was foreign in this case, and only the authority

of the papacy had been thrown into the scales; soon, the Curia had to fight in its own cause: defying his feudal duty, Richard of Capua invaded the Papal States in the same year 1066. A year later, he was opposed “‘in assistance to St. Peter

[in auxilium sancti Petri]” by Duke Godfrey of Lorraine, and though Godfrey withdrew, his intervention saved the integrity of papal rule in its own States.*! According to the reliable account of Bonizo, the archdeacon Hildebrand was responsible for calling him in.*? Hildebrand’s participation in the Norman politics of the Curia is futher documented by his accompanying the pope, right afterwards, on a south Italian journey whose purpose was to consolidate the situation.?8

Toward the close of the pontificate of Alexander II, a final military enterprise took place, directed toward Spain. Like many other French magnates, Count Ebolus of Roucy

planned to journey over the Pyrenees to try his luck at 28 William of Poitiers, MPL 149.1246: iusta causa; col. 1247: iustam causam. William of Malmsbury, De gestis regum Anglorum, I, 238, ed. Stubbs, I, 299: iustam causam, iustitiam suscepti belli. Also in Aimé, Ystoire, 1, 3, ed. Delarc, p. 10, Harold appears as maledit home. 29 BOhmer, pp. 8off.

30 On the banner bestowal see ch. 1 and below, p. 188. 31 Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbiicher, 1, 542ff, 552ff.

32 Bonizo, vi (MGH Libelli 1.599). Fliche also admits that Bonizo

deserves credence here (“Hildebrand,” pp. 206f and n.). See also Gregory’s own specific reference in a later letter to Godfrey’s son, Godfrey the Hunchback, GR, I, 72, ed. Caspar, p. 104: “your father promised much to the holy Roman church [patrem tuum multa s. Romanae ecclesiae promisisse|.”’ 33 Meyer von Knonau, I, 556f.

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fighting the Moslems. But rather than engaging in a private

venture, he concluded a treaty with the Curia, according to which the land he took from the heathens would not be subjected to the neighboring Spanish king, but would be received by himself as a fief from St. Peter; he undertook his campaign “for the honor of St. Peter.’’*+ It was Hildebrand again who made the treaty with Ebolus and issued corresponding instructions to the legates. He tells us so himself in a document on the matter, written shortly afterwards when he was pope.®> From this letter and an associated ap-

peal to the French barons, we may establish for the first time what Hildebrand-Gregory thought about such military enterprises. We see that he did not yet consider a war to be particularly meritorious because directed against heathens. The Spanish war was justified in his view—it was a causa quam iustisstma—by the intention of the conquerors not to violate the rights that Gregory asserted St. Peter to have

over Spain. The three possible directions for a Christian holy war have been listed before: a war against heathens,

a war between Christians for reasons of ecclesiastical morality, and a hierarchical war for the rights of the papacy. Gregory in this case chose the last of these possibilities.

We have now reached the threshold of the pontificate of Gregory VII, a pontificate of world-shaking importance. Looking back to the period of his archidiaconate, we may say that he favored military solutions in a series of cases and usually had a hand when the Curia set in motion something of the kind. Naturally, these were not his sole occupa-

tions at the time; he also participated in the spheres of 34 GR, 1, 7, ed. Caspar, p. 11: ad honorem s. Petri.

[Cf. History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, 39 (B. W. Wheeler), and 232 (F. Duncalf); Villey, Croisade, pp. 70-73; Dufourneaux, Frangais,

- SCR. 1, 6, ed. Caspar, pp. of: “in letters ... of Alexander and in our

legation . ..; by the pact he made with us concerning the land of Spain in the writing which we gave him [in litteris . . . Alexandri et nostra quoque legatione ... ; pactione quam nobiscum de terra Hyspaniae pepigit in scripto, quod sibi dedimus].” [Cf. Nitschke, ‘“Wirksamkeit,” p. 159.]

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church politics, discipline, and theology. We must particularly ask how interested he was in the finances of the Holy See, for he is often reputed to have been a great financier;*° the question is also relevant to an assessment of his military measures.

Caring for the economic condition of the Holy See was certainly a part of his duties as archdeacon, but without its necessarily meaning that finance was central to his duties, or that he may be described as the ‘finance minister’ or “treasurer” of the Curia, as has often been done. Such a title is just as one-sided as calling him ‘“‘minister for war” —perhaps on the strength of the words of Landulf quoted above. We know little about the financial activities of Hildebrand, and matters of money had only a slight role to play

even in his pontificate;37 he once said, in relation to the English Peter’s Pence, that he despised money paid to him without reverence.** The polemical allegations of his op36 M. Tangl, “Gregor VII,” p. 165 (“uncommonly gifted in all financial questions”); Mirbt, Publizistik, pp. 598f (“in possession of large financial means; this financial policy is proved by the Gregorian system”); W. Schneider, Gregor VII., pp. 184, 190ff, 205f (“Gregory devoted especial care to the revenues of the apostolic see.” ‘‘Gregory’s financial administration embodied that papal fiscalism which formed such a fateful cancer in the whole later Middle Ages’); Macdonald, Hildebrand, p. 101 (“No one knew better than Gregory the value of

money and the power of finance ... , laid the foundation for the financial system of the later popes’); K. Hampe, Hochmittelalter, p.

94 (“he was aware in the most fundamental way of this—the financial— sphere, increased the revenue of the patrimony through leases, and also took personal interest in the money transactions with the Roman-Jewish bankers’). See also P. Fabre, Etude, pp. 151ff (“Reorganization of the Pontifical Finances by Hildebrand”). [Further study of Gregory’s role in the reorganization of papal finances before and during his pontificate and substantiation of the significance of his contribution can be found in D. B. Zema, “‘Reorganization,”

pp. 1397-68; K. Jordan, “Verwaltung,” p. 122; J. Sydow, “Untersuchungen,” pp. 18-39.] 37 All the details in K. Jordan, ‘‘Finanzgeschichte,” pp. 65ff. 38 The legate, Hubert, had evidently excused his long stay in England

by the collection of Peter’s Pence; Gregory rejected this excuse and added: ‘‘you have for a long time been well able to consider what value

. 157

I set upon money paid without honor [Nam pecunias sine honore tributas quanti pretit habeam, tu ipse optime potuisti dudum per-

HILDEBRAND

ponents about his interest in money are usually of little account.®® ‘The ones worth taking seriously are about spend-

ing money rather than acquiring it. Gregory may have put bribery at the service of his politics, but this is not securely attested. Peter Crassus, Wibert, and Beno, who say so, are unreliable witnesses;?° and Arnulf of Milan, who is even more hostile, weakens the same report by an “‘it is said.’’* A more widespread accusation is that he distributed money

for his election.2? Though not quite believable in these crude terms, the same story has a slightly different turn in the sources saying that he bought himself a military following and effected his tumultuous election by its help.* pendere|” (GR, vu, 1, ed. Caspar, p. 459). The phraseology is related to a pseudo-Augustinian canon transmitted in the canonical collection of Anselm of Lucca, v, 31, ed. Thaner, p. 243: “Tithes are tribute from

needy souls. ... For the Lord God demands not reward but honor [Decimae sunt tributa egentium animarum. ... Non igitur Dominus

Deus premium postulat, sed honorem].” This canon makes Gregory’s indignation even more apparent. Schneider, p. 193, misunderstood this passage. Also interesting is GR, Ix, 5, ed. Caspar, p. 580, where Gregory explicitly refuses to excommunicate knights loyal to the church solely because they pay no tithes. [Cowdrey, “Gregory VII,” p. 104, suggests the possibility that Gregory, speaking metaphorically, may not have been referring to England.| 39 Cf. Mirbt, Publizistik, p. 598 nn. 4-8.

40 [bid., p. 599 nn. 7-g (the passage of Wido of Ferrara appears to stem from Wibert’s tract). Out of the report of Lupus Protospatarius a. 1083 (MGH SS. 5.61) that Robert Guiscard sent the Romans 30,000 solidi, Schneider (Gregor VII., p. 186) extracts the assertion that Gregory distributed the money himself. 41 Arnulf, tv, 2 (MGH SS. 8.26); cf. above, p. 153, and W. Wiuhr, Studien, pp. 8f. 42 Mirbt, Publizistik, p. 599 nn. 1-6, and Wahl Gregors, pp. 13f, 39ff. 43 Only in this way can the words of Henry IV’s letter of deposition

be understood (MGH Const. 1.111, no. 62): “For you rose by the following steps, namely by cunning ... to money, by money to preferment, by favor to weapons, and by weapons you came to the throne of peace [Tu enim his gradibus ascendisti, scilicet astutia . . . pecuniam, pecunia favorem, favore ferrum, ferro sedem pacis adisti].”’ Still more significantly, Wido of Ferrara, MGH Libelli 1.553: “he distributed a great deal of money among the Romans, formed an armed band, and so acted that, with Alexander not yet buried, he might be elected in a kind of general tumult [multum pecuniae per Romanos effuderit, sa158

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In this form the accusation may hold some truth, inasmuch

as Hildebrand did employ a troop of mercenaries. Other polemical writings mention them without reference to the papal election,*# and Hildebrand’s defenders do not try to deny this credible report.

The most concrete reproach addressed to Hildebrand’s financial administration is that he spent church money for military purposes. ‘That he actually did so in one case can be proved by a charter from his pontificate. In 1082, he had

the treasure of the church at Canossa melted down and brought to Rome, for use in the war against Wibert.*> A Roman synod that met in the same year, in which Gregory did not take part, explicitly forbade any such expenditure of the goods of the church in combating Wibert.** The

synod was unquestionably directed against Gregory. Everyone, Gregory included, agreed that alienating church prop-

erty for military purposes was illegal.*?7 It is no wonder, therefore, that the publicists continually accused the pope tellitium sibi fecerit atque ita egerit, ut Alexandro nondum humato eligtg quadum violentia omnium debuisset].” Above all, the Brixen decree, MGH Const. 1.119, no. 70: “on the same night on which the funeral obsequies of Pope Alexander were carried out in the basilica of the Savior, he manned the gates, bridges, towers, and triumphal arches of Rome with squadrons:of soldiers. He violently seized the Lateran palace with hired troops; since none of the clergy wished to elect him,

he with the drawn swords of his men terrified them with threats of death into not daring to oppose him; and . ... [thus] . . . he sprang upon the long besieged throne [?)sa nocte, qua funus Alexandri papae in basilica Salvatoris exequiarum officio fovebatur, portas Romanae urbis et pontes, turres ac triumphales arcus armatorum cuneis munivit, Lateranense palatium militia comparata hostiliter occupavit, clerum, ne auderet contradicere, cum nullus eum vellet eligere, gladiis satellitum

evaginatis mortem minando perterruit et ... diu obsessam assiliit cathedram}.” See also Gesta Romanae ecclesiae in MGH Libelli 2.380.

44 Wido of Ferrara, MGH Libelli 1.554, lines 16ff (surely from Wibert’s tract); Benzo of Alba, 1, 8 (MGH SS. 11.615); U1, 10 (p. 626); VI, 4 (p. 662 line 14). See also P. Schmitthenner, Sdldnerium, pp. 511ff.

45 Documentary inventory in the Donizo manuscript: Donizo, ed.

Simeon, p. 109.

46 JL. 1, 642, before no. 5229; cf. Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, i, 833 n. 4. 47 GR, VI, 5, ed. Caspar, p. 399.

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of perpetrating alienations of this unlawful kind.*® The charter of 1082 which establishes that he did so dispenses us from having to test the credibility of each witness.

Gregory’s financial activities tend to confirm the importance of the military side of his career.*® It remains to

establish which warlike undertakings he set in motion during his pontificate, or at least planned and attempted. Less than a year after his elevation, Gregory came into conflict with his vassal Robert Guiscard. He failed in the attempt to arrange a meeting where Robert would renew his feudal oath without qualifications, as Richard of Capua had done.®*° The territorial counterclaims that were openly expressed in 1080 may well have existed already. Gregory

felt forced to declare that the Normans were rebels, and that the freedom of the Roman church was threatened.**

Robert was set under the ban by the Lenten synod of 1074.°? But the pope did not stop at this; undeterred by the unhappy example of Leo IX, he began extensive prepara-

tions for a campaign of his own against Robert. The 48 Wenrich of Trier, c. 2 (MGH Libelli 1.286); Wido of Ferrara, ibid., p. 554 (the often-cited passage on p. 534 about Gregory’s army is not applicable here, since Gregory is not said to have paid money for it; cf. below, p.178); Liber de unitate eccl., MGH Libelli 2.212; Gesta Rom. eccles., ibid., p. 379. See also Gerhoh of Reichersberg, 1,19 (MGH Libelli 3.329); Wido of Osnabriick, MGH Libelli 1.468, where, however, Gregory

himself is not mentioned. On this, Mirbt, Publizistik, p. 593, and Schneider, Gregor VII., pp. 187ff. The same reproach was also leveled against Henry IV: Vita Anselmi, c. 19 (MGH SS. 12.19). 49 The question whether Gregory’s feudal policy had financial roots will be discussed in ch. VII.

50 Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbiicher, i, 278; P. Kehr, Belehnungen, pp. 25f.

51 GR, 1, 46, ed. Caspar, pp. 7of. Caspar (ibid., p. 123 n. 14) states that the reason for the ban on Robert was his attack on Benevento. However, it should be noted that the battle at Monte Sarchio took place on 7 February 1074 (Meyer von Knonau, H, 340), while Gregory was already preparing for the Norman war on 2 February 1074 (GR, 1, 46). Against the view of Chalandon (Domin. norm., 1, 235ff), that the

Eastern plan occasioned Gregory’s move against Robert Guiscard,

Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, ll, 136 n. [On Gregory’s war against the Normans, Douglas, Norman Achievement, pp. 134-35,.| 52 Meyer von Knonau, II, 349.

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Romans gave him little support, but offers of assistance came from Prince Gisulf of Salerno, who was especially devoted to Gregory, as well as from Beatrice and Mathilda of Tuscany and Mathilda’s husband, Godfrey of Lorraine.*?

The pope even called for help from France. He wrote to Count William of Upper Burgundy, who had once committed himself to aiding the Papal States: William should mobilize so that he might come to join the papal army if necessary; he should also arouse the others who had made the same commitment, and St. Peter would reward them. The similarity to the actions of Leo IX in procuring millitary help from Germany went even further. Gregory’s letter

to William contains assurances that his intention is not to shed Christian blood but to frighten the enemy, so that he will yield without a battle.*4 Gregory was no less sensitive than Leo had been to the dubious nature of his actions. He therefore gave another reason for arming: after subjecting the Normans, he wished “‘perhaps”’ to lead the army to Con-

stantinople against the Turks, for—as he concluded, contradicting his previous statement—the troops he already had were sufficient for dealing with the rebellious Nor-

mans.°°

This semi-denial should not make us doubt that the Nor-

man campaign had occasioned Gregory's appeal.®* He meant to participate in person, as Leo IX had done. Leaving Rome in July 1074, he first went north to join the troops of the Tuscan countesses in the vicinity of Viterbo. ‘The let58 Ibid., 1, 416f. According to Bonizo, vii (MGH Libelli 1.602, 604),

Wibert of Ravenna committed himself at this time to an expedition against the Normans and simultaneously against the counts of Bagnorea. According to Aimé, Ystoire, vi, 12, ed. Delarc, p. 281, Gregory was also expecting help from Richard of Capua. 54 See above, p. 123. {UNmann, Papal Government, pp. 303—4.] 55 GR, 1, 46, ed. Caspar, pp. 7of.

[See also Villey, Croisade, pp. 51ff.] 56 According to Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, 1, 169, the Eastern plan was the real motive for Gregory’s appeal to William of Burgundy and the presumed motive for Robert Guiscard’s move against the territory

of the Papal States; this is not compatible with the text of the letter. 57 GR, I, 84 and 85, ed. Caspar, pp. 120, 123. 161

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ters he sent at the time bear the self-conscious dating “from camp [Data in expeditione|” in the Cimini forest and near Fiano.®? Had papal letters ever been dated this way? The results were even more lamentable than they had been for Leo IX. Godfrey of Lorraine withdrew early from the un-

dertaking, untroubled by the pope’s impassioned reproaches.®* No help from France materialized, and the Tus-

can troops were detained by an uprising in Lombardy. Meanwhile, Gisulf of Salerno collided in the Cimini forest

with a contingent of Pisans who wished to fight for the pope. He had to return secretly to Rome, and the army disbanded.®®

With these disappointments behind him, Gregory post-

poned a second attempt against the Normans. He immediately set his sights in another direction. As soon as he had recovered from the disease that had seized him during the campaign, he entered into a sharp conflict with Philip I, king of France.® There were many causes. Among the numerous accusations the pope particularly stressed

that the king acted like a robber, squeezed money from merchants and from pilgrims to Rome, and _ leveled churches to the ground. In September 1074, Gregory called on the bishops of France to bring Philip into line on pain of

the ban and interdict; if these spiritual penalties were of no avail, the pope wished the king to be stripped of his realm “by every means.’’® Modis omnibus: what means were 58 GR, 1, 72, ed. Caspar, pp. 108f. 59 Meyer von Knonau, HU, 418.

60 W. Schwartz, ‘‘Investiturstreit,” pp. 275ff. Although Gregory had

already admonished the French king in April 1074 (GR, 1, 75, ed. Caspar, p. 107) that “the valor of Christian princes should join with us

in the camp of that Monarch [God] to defend the Christian militia [virtus christianorum principum in eiusdem Regis castris ad custodiam christianae militiae nobiscum convenire debeat],” this refers, in accord with customary language usage, to royal protection of the church in general, not specifically to the Eastern plan, as Schwartz supposes. 61 GR, ul, 5, ed. Caspar, pp. 190ff.

[See also Robinson, “Gregory VII,” pp. 174-75; Laarhoven, pp. 6061; Fliche, in Fliche and Martin, Histozre, vIn, 61 n. 1.] 162

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available to the pope if spiritual weapons failed? Gregory showed what he had in mind soon afterwards by beginning to agitate among the lay vassals of the king.°? In November

1074, he wrote to William VI of Aquitaine, the mightiest among them, encouraging him to join with several other French magnates in calling the king to account.®* He went

considerably further in a letter to Hugh of Cluny in January 1075: “When the princes no longer bother to defend the life of the clergy, then we must do so, using both hands for the right and to put down the fury of the godless. Assist me, and remind all who love St. Peter that, if they truly wish to be his sons and knights, they should not love earthly princes more than him... . I wish to know clearly who are truly fideles.”®+ The meaning is plain: if a conflict

broke out between pope and king, the vassals of the king should desert him and align themselves on the pope’s side; In preparation, Hugh of Cluny was to gather the papal supporters and report to the pope the names of those on whom he could rely. ‘This was the way in which Gregory wished to take a kingdom from its king. His words show not only that he envisaged a deposition and dissolution of the oath

of fidelity, but also that he intended to establish his own power in place of the king’s, though of course only for a while. Nowhere else did he so clearly express the idea that he wished to take over the functions of temporal princes if

the latter abdicated them. In case of need he would personally bear both swords, spiritual and temporal. The Old Testament passage he appealed to (Judges 3.15) speaks of both hands, not of both swords, but the meaning is the same. Peter Damiani had applied the same biblical passage

to express the unity of wordly judgment and spiritual admonition.® 62 Cf. A. Brackmann, Heinrich IV., pp. 397f. 63 GR, i, 18, ed. Caspar, pp. 150f. 64 GR, Il, 49, ed. Caspar, p. 190. 65 Peter Damiani, vill, Ep. 1 (MPL 144.463), to the prefect, Cencius:

“now settling court disputes by judicial investigation, now (while remaining within the bounds of your station) expressing words of salu163

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Whether anything would have come of Gregory’s plan for a war of papal supporters against the French king is beside the point; the pope must at least have been able to reckon with the possibility. In fact nothing came of it. William of Aquitaine was apparently disinclined to oppose Philip, and neither was Hugh of Cluny ready to organize a rising of the vassals against the king: his views of state and church were altogether different. ‘This phase of the PapalFrench quarrel ended with Gregory’s executing a retreat; he confined himself to threatening the ban at the Lenten synod of 1075.

The military projects against Robert Guiscard and Philip I intersected in a peculiar way with a third plan: Gregory wished to undertake a campaign to the East, to defend the Byzantine Empire against the Turks. ‘Though we do not know how this idea occurred to him,® it 1s a fact that he tary exhortation in church: in the things pertaining to God, follow in the footsteps of Moses, and in the decisions of temporal causes and affairs, exemplify Aaron the priest. Be a Benjamin, therefore, you who will use both hands as though they were the right [modo forense ltttgium examine iustitiae dirimens, modo servata mensura tui ordinis in ecclesia salutiferae exhortationis verba depromens: modo in his, quae ad

Deum pertinent, Moysis vestigia sequere, modo in causarum negotiorumque saecularium calculis Aaron sacerdotis exempla propone. Esto itaque Benjamin, qui utraque manu utaris pro dextera|.” In a similar manner, v, Ep. 14 (MPL 144.368), to the leaders of the Pataria:

“as true sons of Benjamin ... fight with both hands with your accustomed fervor [tanquam vere filii Benjamin ... utraque manu solito

fervore confligite].”’ Cf. also a letter in the Hanover collection in Sudendorf, Berengarius, p. 236: “It says in the Book of Kings that a certain person used both hands as though they were the right. It is well

said in the Book of Kings, for this pertains only to kings, to those reigning spiritually [Legitur in libro regum, quod quidam utraque manu pro dextra utebatur. Quod bene in libro regum legitur, quia hoc non est nisi regum, nist spiritualiter regnantium}.” 66 W. Holtzmann, “Studien,” p. 173, rejected the opinion that Gregory was induced by requests from the emperor Michael.

[In the following discussion and in Gregory’s letters cited (nn. 6777) the question of the definition of crusade again arises, and Gregory’s

allusion to Jerusalem seems to represent a closer approximation to Urban II’s plan. Modern historians, however, remain divided. Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), pp. 87ff, agrees that this is the nearest thing thus 164

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cherished it during the whole of 1074. The idea first appeared in February of that year in the letter to William of Upper Burgundy that was already mentioned. As yet it was only a vague “perhaps” about what might be done after

the subjection of the Normans.*? The pope clarified his meaning a month later in an appeal “to all those who wish to protect the Christian faith.”’®* ‘The heathens advance with

violence against the “Christian empire” of Byzantium and

slaughter Christians by the thousands. Their brethren in the faith must give their lives to liberate them. The pope was therefore preparing to help the Easterners and called everyone in the name of St. Peter to do the same; resolutions on this matter were to be made known to him by emissaries.

If we understand ‘‘crusade” in the broader meaning it may have, the crusading appeal of Gregory is the first we know of since the days of Sergius IV. Was there any prospect of success? Although the crusaders who responded

to the call of Urban II twenty years later came mostly from France, some were also from Italy. In 1074 Gregory VII had to discount Italy completely. Robert Guiscard in the south was opposed to the pope; in the north, Gregory

surely did not wish to withdraw his followers from the skirmishes of the Pataria; those remaining who were ready to respond to a papal call had been collected to fight Robert Guiscard, and since the collapse of this enterprise greatly far to Urban’s plan of 1095. E. O. Blake, “Formation,” pp. 14-16, and Ullmann, Papal Government, take similar views. On the other hand, Fliche, in Fliche and Martin, Histoire, vil, 74, and Rousset, Origines, pp. 51-52, question Erdmann’s statement that this was the first crusade appeal. Brundage, Canon Law, pp. 26-28; Douglas, Norman Achievement, p. 159; and Mayer, Crusades, pp. 21-22, admit certain similarities

to Urban’s later plan, but find difficulties in identifying Gregory’s project with the real crusade of 1095. Cf. also Runciman, History, 1; G. Hoffmann, “Gregor VII.,”” pp. 170-73 (ecclesiastical reunion), 177-78 (crusade plan); D. M. Nicol, “Byzantium,” pp. 14-15; J. Gauss, “Orientpolitik,” pp. 41-68.] 67 GR, 1, 46, ed. Caspar, pp. 7of; see above, p. 161. 68 GR, I, 49, ed. Caspar, pp. 75f.

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diminished Gregory’s prestige, he could hardly have drawn

recruits from Italy for a new campaign soon afterwards. In France, however, the ground was prepared for a crusad-

ing plan. Though badly informed about the general response to Gregory's appeal, we do know that he received one affirmative answer: it came from the most important prince

in France, William of Aquitaine, who had fought against the Moslems in Spain in 1064 and now declared himself ready once more for “‘the service of St. Peter’; even by himself he could unquestionably supply a very imposing contin-

gent. Yet the pope responded evasively to his offer on 10 September 1074; he referred to a rumor that the Eastern Christians had won a victory over the infidels.®® It would be surprising 1f Gregory had allowed such a rumor to suspend

his plans. The real reason appears in another letter that he sent on the same day, the one to the French bishops threatening the king with deposition.7° Might Gregory have told

himself that the help of his French followers was indispensable for action at home, and that he therefore could not send them to the East? The conjecture is turned into a certainty by the next letter to William of Aquitaine. It was written on 13 November 1074, by which time Gregory must have known that the rumor of victory was false. Without

mentioning the Eastern plan at all, he writes only of the need to act against the French king; it is the letter that calls

the magnates of France to united action against Philip I. What kept Gregory from pursuing his Eastern plan with

his French supporters is plain: he preferred to subject Philip I to the papal will.

Nevertheless, the Eastern plan stayed with Gregory for a while longer and assumed quite fantastic shapes. He sent three more letters about it in December 1074. His idea now was to cross the sea in person as general and bishop [dux et pontifex]. Understandably fearing the reproach of levity, 69 GR, tl, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 128. On William’s relations to the papacy, cf. Brackmann, Heinrich IV., pp. 398, and Boissonnade, “Cluny,” pp. 283f.

0 GR, ll, 5, ed. Caspar, pp. 130ff. 166

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he hesitated to communicate all this.71 He was to be accom-

panied—grotesque as it may sound—by the old empress Agnes and Countess Mathilda of Tuscany, while none other

than Henry IV was asked to undertake the custody of the Roman church.” All this might be taken as a bad joke by a malicious opponent if Gregory’s own letters were not our source of information. The pope was in dead earnest. He renewed his call to the fideles of St. Peter for military aid to the Byzantine Empire.” “Hitherto you have fought bravely for passing rewards, fight more bravely now for the praise and glory that surpasses all desire’! Some of those who “wished to defend the Christian faith and serve the Heavenly King” were first to come hither to prepare the way for the crossing.’7* This call was addressed chiefly to the ultramontani, by which, in view of the almost simultaneous letter to Henry IV, Gregory meant primarily the Germans. Yet he must have known how occupied they were

with the Saxon rising, and how slight the prospect was of their supplying a considerable army. The crusading attempt

had become hopeless once the leading French notables were excluded. Even Gregory soon recognized this; five weeks later his famous letter of complaint to Hugh of Cluny included the statement that masses of Christians were being slaughtered in the East without any hope of succor.” Gregory’s plans had been comprehensive. He told Henry 71 JL. 4911: erubesco quibusdam dicere, ne videar aliqua duci levi-

tate. Gregory also speaks about the reproach of levitas in a letter dictated by himself (GR, vu, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 462). This offers further support to the idea that JL. 4911 was personally dictated; for the rest, O. Blaul, “Studien,” pp. 217f. Its authenticity was mistakenly questioned by Riant, ‘‘Inventaire,” pp. 65f, and Erdmann, “Briefe,” p. 367 Nn. 1.

72 JL. 4911, and GR, HW, 31, ed. Caspar, pp. 166f. 73 GR, Il, 37, ed. Caspar, p. 173.

74 Tbid.: ut cum eis viam... preparemus omnibus, qui per nos ultra mare volunt transire. “Preparing the way” is surely to be understood as referring to the conflict with Robert Guiscard. 75 GR, ll, 49, ed. Caspar, p. 190. According to Brackmann, Heinrich IV., pp. 399f, the understanding between Byzantium and the Normans explains the abandonment of the Eastern plan, but it took place only at the end of 1075. 167

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IV that he was urged to this undertaking above all [premaxime| by consideration of the schism within the church, for the Eastern church was awaiting the doctrinal decision of St. Peter.“° We may take him at his word that his principal motive was to bring about a union with the Eastern

church and to obtain its recognition of Roman primacy; hierarchical interests had been dominant with him even in regard to the war against the heathens in Spain. But this is no reason to deny the crusading character of the whole project. The warriors who followed the papal banner were to do nothing other than to recover the parts of the Byzan-

tine Empire that had been lost to the Turks: this was a crusade. ‘he pope’s ulterior motive of having the war serve

as political preparation for ecclesiastical union did not change its character as a war against the heathen. Who can

be certain that Urban II did not have a similar motive in organizing the First Crusade? Even the idea of liberating the Holy Sepulcher makes an

incidental appearance in Gregory’s plan. He wrote Henry IV that he believed, and even afhrmed,’? that more than 50,000 knights were preparing to set out under his leadership against the enemy of God and to march all the way to the grave of the Lord. Jerusalem was already the final aim of the conquest. The interesting thing is that Gregory does not claim this as his idea but ascribes it to the knights; it was a way Of saying that to them this objective had a partic-

ularly great appeal.”* Jerusalem obviously was not Gregory’s main objective for the campaign, as it later became

in the First Crusade. Foremost in the pope’s mind was 76 GR, Ul, 31, ed. Caspar, pp. 166f.

(Cf. Ullmann, Papal Government, p. 306 n. 4. Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), pp. 84-90, tends to emphasize Gregory’s charitable feelings toward Eastern Christians. He notes that in reference to Byzantium he uses the term imperium Christianum. Christian unity as well as the dangers facing Eastern Christians are concerns to which “no Christian can remain indifferent.’ 77 GR, u, 31, ed. Caspar. pp. 166f: ut reor,immo etiam omnino affirmo; similarly, JL. 4911: credo. 78 L. von Ranke, Weltgeschichte, vu, 71. 168

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surely the portion of Asia Minor that had only just been lost to the Turks, whose population could still be considered largely Christian. But we do see how easily the idea

of the Holy Sepulcher came to mind as soon as the theme of a war with heathens in the East was voiced. We will return to this subject after clarifying the origins of the First Crusade, for only then can an answer be given to the much disputed question whether Gregory’s plan for a crusade entitles him to rank as a precursor of Urban II. While Gregory’s Norman war depended in all essentials on the example of Leo IX, his plan for the East was original;

we may certainly trace it to the pope’s personal inspiration.?® The miscarriage of both enterprises, and the impos-

sibility of enforcing the threats against France, seem to have cooled Gregory’s military ardor: no other such plans are heard of for several years. Even in the spring of 1076, when Gregory set Henry IV under the ban and deposed him for the first time, he made no attempt to organize or to

promote military resistance to the German king; he was content to dissolve the oath and to leave the rest to the existing opposition. In the next year, after Henry had been absolved but Rudolf elected anti-king, the rebellious Saxons, who regarded the pope as their leader and called themselves “fideles of St. Peter,’®° repeatedly pressed him 79 According to Blaul, p. 226, Gregory composed all the letters concerning the Eastern plan himself.

80 See the letters to the pope in Bruno, Bell. Sax., c. 108, 110, ed. Wattenbach, pp. 77, 80.

[On the significance of the Investiture Controversy to the understanding of Gregory’s view of Christian society and the responsibilities of his office, see the bibliography cited above, addition to n. 3. From the selected list of Laarhoven, “Christianitas,” the following works, not used by Erdmann, may be mentioned: Tellenbach, Libertas, and “Bedeutung,” pp. 125-49; F. Kempf, Papstitum; G. Ladner, ‘“‘Aspects,” pp. 403-22, and “Concepts,” pp. 49-77; J. Rupp, Idée de chrétienté; Ullmann, Papal Government, chs. IxX-xul. On the concept of the world during the Investiture Controversy, see also W. Kolmel, “Imago mundi,” pp. 167-98. Gilchrist, “Canon Law Aspects,” pp. 36ff, notes the innovative character of Gregory’s actions against Henry in applying judicial

procedures formerly customary with bishops and other clergy ‘“‘to secular matters as well.”’]

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to give ecclesiastical sanction to their war against Henry. Gregory resisted their pleas for a long time, but during the two synods of 1078, he began to prepare the ground for declaring an ecclesiastical war upon the German king. The Lenten synod of that year decided to send legates

to Germany to restore the peace, that is, to decide the quarrel between Henry IV and the anti-king. If anyone resisted them, the official resolution of the synod declared,

‘we cast him in the chains of anathema, and by virtue of the apostolic power we bind him not only spiritually but also in the body and in all the prosperity of his life, and we take victory from his weapons.’’*! The synod thus ruled

over the fortunes of war and decided that the obdurate might not in future be victorious! This resolution might

be dismissed as an unfortunate spur-of-the-moment invention if Gregory did not repeatedly recall it in his letters. He announced it to the Germans as follows: “We decided at the synod to move with all means against the party who refuses the peace and is not in the right’; whoever resists the action

of the legates should “experience the vengeance of AlImighty God in all matters, have no strength in battle and no triumph in his entire life.’’*? In a letter written a few months later, he stated that, by the decision of the synod, those who resist are bound by anathema so that they cannot

win, whereas the just party may expect victory from God and St. Peter.’ The autumn synod of 1078 repeated the decision, and Gregory informed the Germans about it once again.*+ Soon after, he wrote to Duke Welf of Bavaria that

the sword of St. Peter would annihilate those trusting in injustice, while Welf and his people would soon have peace and victory if they followed God.®> Apparently, Gregory 81 GR, v, 14a, ed. Caspar, p. 371; cf. Martens, Gregor VII., 01, 3nf. [On the contemporary impact of Gregory’s actions against Henry IV, see Robinson, ‘Gregory VII,” esp. pp. 170ff.] 82 GR, v, 15, ed. Caspar, pp. 375f. 83 GR, vi, 1, ed. Caspar, p. 390. 84 JL. 5106; on the date (around November 1078), see Caspar in GR, p. 419 n. 2, and p. 710. 85 GR, vi, 14, ed. Caspar, pp. 418f. 170

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was convinced at the time that he could dispose of victory and defeat, for he said the same thing a few days later in

regard to another quarrel. He wrote to the bishop of Gerona that, unless the Catalan counts Raimond and Beren-

gar remained at peace with one another, he would set the transgressor under the ban so that he might never again have victory or luck, while the obedient party would receive the invincible assistance of St. Peter.*¢

The declarations applying to Henry IV were provisional

since they were to take effect only at a later time. This makes it the more interesting to observe that, at both synods of 1078, Gregory took further steps to propagate among the knighthood the idea of a holy war in the service

of church reform. Solemn notice was given at the spring synod of the miracles that had occurred at the graves of two knights who were regarded as champions of the church and

had died as such—Erlembald, the leader of the Milanese Pataria, and the Roman prefect Cencius.*? ‘The announcement, which we will return to, was obviously intended to appeal to knights by offering them two models for emulation. The autumn synod followed the same path by other means. Its sixth canon reenacted the old rule that penitents should not bear arms. One exception to this had often been made in the past two centuries: penitents were allowed to make war against the heathen.®® Gregory's synod made another exception: the use of arms was allowed “in defense of righteousness, on the advice of pious bishops.’’*? The concept

of an ecclesiastical war among Christians under episcopal leadership displaced that of a war upon the heathen. Simultaneously, the resolution about right and wrong in the Ger86 GR, vi, 16, ed. Caspar, p. 422. 87 See above, p. 143, and below, p. 215. 88 Above, p. 95 Nn. 2.

89 GR, vi, 5b, ed. Caspar, p. 505: arma deponai ulteriusque non ferat nisi consilio religiosorum episcoporum pro defendenda iustitia. Cf. also VII, 10, p. 472. (The terminology of Nicholas I had been: “let him not take arms except against pagans [arma non sumat nisi contra paganos].’’) Cf. K. Miller, “Umschwung,” p. 296, and Gottlob, Kreuzablass, pp. sof; the point is not a ban on feuds, as Gottlob supposes. 171

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man civil war explained what constituted the “defense of righteousness.”” An enactment about sins served also to prepare spirits for the coming war over the German crown. Whether the war would be waged against Henry IV or Rudolf had been left undecided. In 1079, Gregory began to clarify the point: a letter to Rudolf and the Saxons called Rudolf king and left Henry without a title. Gregory admon-

ished them not to lose their strength in battle or to doubt papal assistance; to protect ecclesiastical truth and to defend their freedom, they were to set themselves up as a wall before the house of Israel, as the prophet said.®° These remarks clearly align Gregory with the anti-king. But only in

1080 did he publish this to the world at large, when he set Henry under the ban for a second time and declared him deposed. He then took the conditional sentence of 1078 about victory and defeat and applied it most specifically to

Henry IV: “Henry with his followers is to have no power

in any battle, and no victory in his whole life.” Simultaneously, Gregory gave a new ecclesiastical sanction to the war against Henry: “So that Rudolf might rule and protect Germany, we grant to all his followers absolution from all their sins.’’®

Was this an actual indulgence, that is, a remission of penance, comparable to the crusading indulgences, or only the grant of a blessing without canonical content?®? The point probably cannot be decided with certainty, for Greg90 JL. 5108; cf. Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbticher, ul, 185; Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 1, 818 n. 4. The opposing view of Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, U, 375 n. 2, is irreconcilable with the wording of the text. 91 GR, vil, 14a, ed. Caspar, p. 486.

92 Interpreted as an indulgence by, among others, Gottlob, pp. 54f (but note that Gregory addresses the apostles Peter and Paul and not the bishops); Paulus, Geschichte, 1, 82f, speaks only of a papal blessing.

Paulus, 1, 77ff, contends that no indulgence whatever issued from Gregory, but his sole argument is the assertion that Gregory was particularly strict; likewise Wuhr, Studien, p. 9. This proves nothing since Gregory could also, when he held it to be appropriate, depart from all canonical rigor; note esp. his words in GR, Ix, 5, ed. Caspar, p. 580. [Poschmann, Ablass, pp. 43ff, does not include this among the first indulgences. |

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ory almost always avoided sharp distinctions in such matters. Neverthless, this absolution comes close to being a real

indulgence, for it ranks with the other decisions of the synod of 1078: the banning and deposition of Henry, the dissolution of the oath, the denial of victory, and the recognition of the anti-king. The absolution also played a certain role in the combats of the next year. Wenrich of Trier bit-

terly complained that Gregory absolved from sins those who killed a Christian ostensibly for Christ;®* Benzo of Alba

bemoaned that the Gregorian bishops in northern Italy gave penances that consisted only in renouncing Henry, Wibert, and their followers;*%* and the biographer of Anselm of Lucca tells us that, at the battle of Sorbaria, he was himself commissioned by Anselm, Gregory's legate, to convey to the warriors the apostolic blessing and to instruct

them in the aims and intentions with which they should enter combat if participation in the battle was to forgive their sins. Whether called indulgence or not, ecclesiastical forgiveness of sins was being politically exploited; such conduct by Gregory is the more significant since other cases show

him to have been well aware that free distribution of

absolution to an army was detrimental to the penitential discipline of the church.®* When he authorized the archbishop of Acerenza in 1076 to absolve the Normans fighting against the Sicilian heathens, he twice emphasized that they were not to neglect the penance on this account.®” It is no 93 Wenrich of Trier, c. 7 (MGH Libelli 1.296); as the context shows, the word ceciderit here is derived from caedere, not from cadere. 94 Benzo, 1, 21 (MGH SS. 11.608).

95 Vita Anselmi, c. 23 (MGH SS. 12.20). Besides, Anselm had given

him a mandate to absolve (from excommunication) those who had dealt with excommunicates. 96 In the majority of cases in which Gregory used words that admit of

an indulgence-like meaning, war is not in question; on this, besides Gottlob and Paulus, Caspar in GR, p. 412 n. 1.

97 GR, il, 11, ed. Caspar, pp. 271f. Similar but less clear in vill, 6, pp. 524f, for the Norman war against Byzantium. According to Gottlob, Kreuzablass, pp. 51ff, Gregory’s requirement of penance meant 173

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accident that a limit of this kind was not set upon the followers of the German anti-king. We have observed several times that Gregory valued war on the heathen less highly than wars within the church for hierarchy and church reform. He therefore granted to the adherents of the German anti-king what he did not even offer for his Eastern plan. After the twice-deposed king Henry took the extreme step of setting up an anti-pope, Gregory drew the ultimate consequence of his own standpoint and personally resorted to armed force in an effort to expel his rival, Wibert. In the summer of 1080, when he thought he could count on

help from Tuscany, the Normans, and the environs of Rome, he announced his intention of taking the field against the anti-pope in the autumn, in order to liberate the church of Ravenna and restore it to St. Peter; he offered the fideles of St. Peter the prospect of a speedy end to the turmoil and a return to peace.®** Once more his hopes came to naught.

The expected troops did not materialize; even Countess Mathilda was kept from advancing to Ravenna by the defeat she suffered at Castel Volta at the hands of the imperial forces.°? Gregory was again denied the opportunity to set

himself at the head of an army. But he continued to hope and formed new plans at the beginning of 1081. Using the

cardinal abbot Desiderius of Monte Cassino as_inter-

mediary, he turned to Robert Guiscard, who had renewed his feudal oath in June 1080 and committed himself to help in war. Gregory put three questions to him: Would he or his son participate in a campaign to the East that the pope might possibly undertake? How many knights would he otherwise supply for the ‘“‘domestic knighthood of blessed Peter [familiaris militia b. Petri]? Even before this, during the Lenten season when Normans do not normally fight, penitential acts, so that an actual indulgence would be excluded here; but Paulus, 1, 79, understands him to mean only repentance and resolve to reform. 98 GR, vul, 7, ed. Caspar, p. 525. 99 Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbiicher, m1, 316f.

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would he bring his armed service as a gift to God, by travel-

ing in military array through the land of St. Peter with the pope or his legate, so as to strengthen the good and to re-

turn the rebellious to the Roman church by terror or force??°° ‘These astonishing questions prompt one to ask

whether the idea of a holy war of the church was ever driven to further extremes. The Truce of God set aside certain seasons as holy, so that weapons might be stilled during them; Gregory turned this idea upside down by outlining a pious service to God that consisted in taking arms at precisely such a time, not for a profane cause but in the service of the church under papal leadership.

The papal plans were again denied success, for Robert Guiscard had projects of his own; he intended to attack the Byzantine emperor in the Balkans. Gregory helped Robert in the summer of 1080 by an encyclical to the south Italian bishops, specifying that the fideles of St. Peter were to back the emperor Michael of Byzantium, for whose benefit Robert Guiscard was ostensibly campaigning; the fideles were

not to abandon the emperor’s ‘‘armed service [mulitia]’ once they had resolved to enter it. At the same time, the knights received absolution for their sins after having done

penance.’ Gregory’s encyclical has many similarities to later papal instructions about crusaders and crusading vows. In any case, it gave ecclesiastical sanction to the

Balkan adventure of the Normans, and Gregory immediately sent congratulations to Robert Guiscard after his victory in the battle at Durazzo.1°? Since he recognized 100 GR, Ix, 4, ed. Caspar, p. 578. As regards the objective, one must compare the words of GR, Ix, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 574, where it is said that

the war fever of the Tuscan knights diminished if they obtained no aid from Germany, and that Welf of Bavaria and others should dedicate themselves entirely to papal service “for absolution of their sins [pro

suorum peccatorum absolutione]”’ in order to win over the Italians

from Henry IV. .

101 GR, vil, 6, ed. Caspar, p. 524. [This letter is not mentioned by Brundage; cf. also Nitschke, ‘““Wirk-

samkeit,” p. 189; Douglas, Norman Achievement, pp. 102, 106.] 102 GR, Ix, 17, ed. Caspar, p. 597.

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two holy wars at the same time, he had to be satisfied when only one of the two was carried out. Yet even then, right in the summer of 1080, a third war

plan crossed the pope’s mind, though only fleetingly. If the years before Gregory was pope are disregarded, his warlike activity is confined to two short periods, first 1074— 1075, then 1080-1081. In 1080, his anger was directed not

only against Ravenna and Byzantium, but also against Alfonso VI of Castile, who supported the simoniacal intrigues of the monk Robert in his kingdom, and who was said to have improperly treated the papal legate. Gregory there-

fore instructed Hugh of Cluny to threaten the king with the anger and vengeance of St. Peter; if Alfonso did not atone for his guilt, the pope would invite against him [ad confustonem suam sollicitare] all the fideles of St. Peter in Spain, and if they did not harken, he would go to Spain in person to proceed severely [dura et aspera moliri| against King Alfonso as an enemy of Christendom.'°* ‘These words

cannot reasonably be interpreted otherwise than as the threat of a personal papal expedition to Spain. Why it never took place need hardly be explained; Hugh of Cluny is unlikely to have conveyed even the threat to Alfonso.1°#

In the last years of his pontificate, Gregory no longer planned military offensives; he had to defend Rome itself against those of Henry IV. No one could take umbrage now when his letters called on the world for help. 103 GR, vil, 2, ed. Caspar, p. 518; cf. vill, 3, p. 520, the threat “to unsheathe the sword of St. Peter upon you [b. Petri gladium super te evaginare|.”

(Cf. Ullmann, Papal Government, p. 304 and n. 3; Nitschke, p. 189; Bernardine Llorca, “Derechos,” pp. 93-95. Cowdrey, Cluntacs, pp. 230-

39, finds this whole episode “an utterly untypical exception to the general rule of their (Gregory VII and Alfonso VI) collaboration both before and after.’’ Cowdrey also (p. 228 and n. 1) does not agree with Erdmann (Exkurs Iv of the German edition, p. 354) that there was a period of “open hostility” between Gregory and the Cluniacs “so far as Spain was concerned.” 104 Martens, Gregor VII., U1, 33.

[Cowdrey, p. 236, suggests that Abbot Hugh may not have forwarded Gregory’s letter to the king.] 176

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Only a few of our people [he wrote to the fideles of the Holy See] have hitherto resisted the godless to the point of bloodshed; very few have suffered death for Christ. Just think how many knights die daily for their lords for the sake of vile lucre. But what do we do or endure for the Highest King? Hold before your eyes the standard of our leader, the Eternal King, of which He Himself says: In your suffering you will redeem your souls. Let us not avoid death for righteousness, but ever strive after it for the love of God and the defense of righteousness. In the gripping phrases of his last encyclical, written after the capture of Rome, he comes back again to the same ideas

and closes with the appeal: ‘Help your father, St. Peter, and your mother, the Roman church, if through them you wish to obtain the forgiveness of your sins, blessings, and mercy in this life and the next.’’1°* The curtain was falling

on his pontificate with a full measure of tragedy. At this very moment, when Gregory was purely on the defensive, the papacy’s involvement in war was revenged upon it as never before. The Norman troops that came to Rome to free the pope so plundered and devastated the Eternal City that Gregory had to abandon it amidst the curses of the Romans. Never yet perhaps had the papacy received a more terrifying lesson.

Let us sum up this survey of the pope’s acts and plans. Hildebrand-Gregory never actually carried out a war of aggression: against Cadalus in 1062-1063, he was as much on the defensive as against Henry IV in 1081-1084. But he often

sanctioned and supported the wars of secular princes and knights with the blessing of the church, and he stamped them as holy wars; moreover, he planned and pursued certain wars of his own, in which he intended to take personal part. Measured by his own wishes, he certainly was the most warlike pope who had yet occupied the chair of St. Peter. He propagated the idea of crusade as no one before, 105 GR, Ix, 21, ed. Caspar, p. 602. 106 JL. 5271. 177

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though in its narrowest, hierarchical form. If the world was

then spared the sight of a pope taking the field against Christians in armed array, it was not for lack of Gregory’s wanting to. What prevented him was the lack of a regular

papal army and the failure of all attempts to create one. More will be said about this subject in Chapter vu. Our conclusions have been based not on the polemics of

anti-papal pamphlets, but on sources that withstand criticism; almost all the essential points have been documented by Gregory’s own letters. In closing, we shall nevertheless

adduce the opinions of a few contemporary publicists, exercising due caution in their regard but knowing that their credibility may be tested by what has just been discussed. Wenrich of Trier tells of a reproach leveled against

Gregory: he strove to acquire cities and fortresses, he equipped his people with weapons and horses, and he rode

in their midst in unmonkish array.1°7 Wido of Ferrara introduces the same theme in a more indulgent way; first borrowing from another source the allegation that Hildebrand’s interest in warfare dated from childhood,’°* he goes on elsewhere to tell the following in ostensible praise: As soon as he became pope, he acted as a careful adminis-

trator of church property by causing all cities, villages, and fortresses to be guarded, and by seeking to win back those that were lost. He formed a personal troop, not for earthly glory but to extend the Roman church, which was

hard pressed by the Normans and the other neighbors and appeared to be almost destroyed. Thus the interlopers were restrained, and the knights of Hildebrand were admired by all the surrounding people. By daily skirmishes, they beat back the enemy in a few months, reconquered castles and cities, and brought the rebels under control. No one was so brave as to dare to touch the goods of St. Peter.1°° 107 Wenrich of Trier, c. 2 (MGH Libelli 1.286). 108 Wido, 1 (MGH Libelli 1.554 lines 7f), probably from Wibert’s rn Wido, I, 2, p. 534. Cf. Schneider, Gregor VII., pp. 182f. 178

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Both Wenrich and Wido refer to fighting in the Papal States against neighbors and “rebels,” obviously meaning insub-

ordinate barons. Since the abortive Norman war of 1074 cannot be meant here, no other sources attest to these combats and there is hardly any indirect confirmation.1!° As a result, whoever wishes to may reject the allegations of Wenrich and Wido; no one, however, may deny that they agree perfectly with the confirmed reports of Gregory VII’s warlike attitudes. Is it accidental that Gregory’s letters and synodal deci-

sions fail to mention that clerics must not bear arms? He personally exacted an oath from the archbishop of Aquileia

to support the Roman church “by armed service [per saecularem militiam]” when requested to do so.11! Even his instructions to bishops and legates occasionally refer to

the use of armed force. The French bishops were to use “spiritual and secular weapons” to force Lancelin of Beauvais to liberate a papal fidelis whom he held prisoner;1!”

and a papal commission to legates and bishops provided

that the counts and fideles of St. Peter in the March of Fermo should aid the bishop of Pesaro with “spiritual and material assistance’ in combating the detainers of church property if they did not make restitution.14* In none of these

cases, of course, did Gregory mean that bishops should themselves bear arms, but they were certainly to organize and lead the fighting."4 110 Above, pp. 131, 153, on Hildebrand and William of Montreuil, and below, pp. 225-26, on Gisulf of Salerno, as well as the altogether believable report of Bonizo (cited above, n. 53) on the projected fighting

against the counts of Bagnorea. On papal castles (firmissima s. Petri castella), the Swabian Annalist a. 1076, MGH SS. 5.282, and beiow, p. 211, on the castle Albinium. Also worth noting is Gregory’s interest in the castles in Corsica (GR, vi, 12, ed. Caspar, p. 415). 111 GR, vi, 17a, ed. Caspar, p. 429. See below, pp. 213. 112 GR, il, 5, ed. Caspar, p. 133. 113 GR, i1, 46, ed. Caspar, p. 186. 114 This is somewhat different, however, from the method of ‘‘appeal

to the secular arm,” as exercised by, for example, Alexander II. Cf. his letter JL. 4537 to the archbishops of Rheims and Sens with the instruction to ask the French king and princes for the forcible expulsion of the illegal Bishop Hildegar of Chartres or else to impose an interdict. 179

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As other historians have often noticed, Gregory’s way of

expressing himself points in the same direction: he had a noticeable preference for similes and metaphors taken from military life.145 Some of these are met elsewhere and stand out in Gregory’s letters only by their frequency;1*® others, however, are so Gregorian in manner that they are a criterion for distinguishing letters he personally dictated

from those that are merely products of the chancery. The biblical phrase “cursed be he who begrudges blood to his sword” is his favorite quotation;!!” on the model of Gregory

I, he applies it to the duty of spiritual admonition. He is equally fond of comparing the temporal soldier, who daily gambles his life, to the servants of God, who should show no less readiness for sacrifice.1*®

The theoretical utterances of Gregory about war and peace lack originality and remain within the bounds of medieval theorems;'!® yet they do not contradict our observations. Naturally, Gregory regarded peace as the preferable condition, and his interventions in quarrels invariably favored appeasement whenever the papacy and church reform were not in question. War to him was, of course, an evil; it had value only as a means of bringing about a condition of righteousness and peace.1?° But this 115 Cf. Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 1, 756; Hammler, Gregors Stellung, pp. 51ff; Finke, Gedanke, p. 19. [For a discussion of one important example, Stickler, ‘““Gladius,” pp. 89-103. |

116 Withr, Studien, p. 6, explains such turns of phrase as being typical chancery style, but they are not nearly so frequent elsewhere. From the

Liber diurnus, Wihr himself (ibid., n. 14) can adduce only two examples (for vinculum cannot be included, since it stems at least as much from judicial language). 117 See Blaul, pp. 120, 132; Caspar, GR, p. 15 n. 2; Wuhr, p. go; M. Seidlmayer, in Rom. Quartalschr. 11 (1932), 396f. 118 See Blaul, p. 225, citing GR, 11, 4, m1, 18, VIII, 44 (=Ix, 21) and Ep. coll. 46 (JL. 5271); also GR, 1, 43. Cf. further Blaul’s demonstration (p. 226) that Gregory himself composed all the letters concerning his “favorite idea,” the crusade plan of 1074. 119 Cf. E. Bernheim, Zeitanschauungen, pp. 203ff.

120 See Hammler, where the pertinent statements are presented in detail, and it is shown (p. 64) that Gregory did not seek bloodshed as 180

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conventional outlook has never prevented a bellicose man from taking up the sword. In Gregory’s case it meant only that the pope harmonized warlike practices with the ethical ideal of the church and gave his wars the spiritual charac-

ter of a crusade. He regretted bloodshed but found it justified at any time for his ecclesiastical aims and for the rights of the papacy. The more sharply he condemned wars that were in no sense crusades, the more zealously did he support the idea of an ecclesiastico-papal war. More than anyone before him, he overcame the inhibitions that had once restrained the church from being warlike in preaching and warlike in action. For he was as much a warrior as a priest and politician, called by his very character to assist

in the general breakthrough of the knightly aspect of church reform, that is, the idea of crusade. an end in itself. Obviously he did not; but it is hardly correct to use statements of this kind as documenting Gregory’s readiness for peace.

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( regory VII set a particular stamp upon the church’s concept of knighthood; before examining it, we should continue the digression into the history of banners as symbols with which our study began. The “banner of St. Peter” has often been met in the preceding chapters. It may be regarded as a symbol of the papal crusade, affording a distinctive glimpse at various aspects of the papal crusading idea.

There are no reports of popes granting holy banners prior to the time of the emperor Henry III. The statements

to the contrary that have been made now and then are mistaken.' ‘The idea that the popes, like temporal rulers, “bore” a banner from early on, though widely assumed, lacks any convincing proof.? Apparently the levies of Rome

and the States of the Church made no use of a papal emblem of war, and this accords very well with our earlier observations regarding the papal attitude toward war. The

first report of a papal standard-bearer, and therefore of a papal banner, occurs during the Norman war of Leo IX (1053). The banner in question might just possibly have ranked as a vexillum sancti Petri, for this is about the time 1 Cf. Erdmann, “Kaiserliche Fahnen,” 1ff. The first part of this article

is identical in parts to the present chapter. The citations not provided there are supplied here.

[Apparently Erdmann’s articles cited here and in n. 2 remain the standard source for the history of the papal banner in the Middle Ages. See, e.g., the comments of Schramm, “Sacerdotium,” pp. 441-42, 456 (Bibl.), and Laarhoven, “Christianitas,” pp. 63-64.] 2 About the supposed cross-banners, Erdmann, ‘‘Kaiserliche Fahnen,”’

p. 35; on the supposed banner of the keys, Erdmann, “Wappen,” p. 230 nN. 1.

3 Above, p. 122.

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when the banner of St. Peter emerged. Prior to this, Henry III had petitioned Benedict IX to send him a victory banner

in 1044,* but since the initiative was not the pope’s, the history of the banner of St. Peter cannot begin with this incident. Besides, a discussion of the banner used in the Norman enfeoffment of 1059 and of its significance would

be premature. The trustworthy reports we have that the banner of St. Peter was used in the first half of the 1060s should be our point of departure. Our best information relates to the flag of the Milanese knight Erlembald, the military leader of the Pataria. In the vicinity of 1070, when Erlembald was still alive, the Milanese chronicler Arnulf wrote: Erlembald prides himself on having received from Rome itself the war-flag of St. Peter (bellicum sancti Petri vexil-

lum) [to raise] against all his opponents. It is fastened to a lance and is thus displayed as a symbol of homicide. Yet it is sacrilegious to think that Peter would ever have

had another banner (vexillum) than the one that the Lord speaks of in the Gospel: Whoever wishes to follow Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross. Arnulf goes on to say that no one should preach a new gos-

pel, and that, while he of course admits the teaching of Rome, the law of the church must be spoken for by an ecclesiastical teacher, not by an inexperienced layman.® Later he again refers to the flag that “Erlembald alleges to be St. Peter’s.’”*® No one really imagined that this banner was a relic left behind by Peter the Apostle; rather, it was the banner we saw Pope Alexander II granting to Erlembald on St. Peter’s behalf when Erlembald visited Rome in 1064.7 The Life of St. Ariald written by Andreas of Strumi in 1075 relates that the pope gave Erlembald a magnificent

banner in the name of St. Peter (ex beate Petri parte), in 4 Above, pp. 49-50. 5 MGH SS. 8.22. 6 Ibid., p. 28. 7 Above, p. 143. [Cowdrey, “Patarenes,” p. 35.]

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whose possession Erlembald was to suppress the heretics.® Landulf later offers a similar account: Ariald asked the pope to give Erlembald a banner of victory (vexillum victoriae) so that he might fight the heretics with greater security; the pope bestowed a banner upon him along with his blessing

and the command of obedience. What the banner of St. Peter meant at the time of Alexander II may be clearly inferred from these witnesses. It was a sign of victory

that the pope gave in the name of St. Peter to one of his ad-

herents for a war approved of by the church. It was a symbol of holy war, of crusade.

‘The skeptical words of Arnulf, while Alexander II was alive, confirm that the association of such a banner with St.

Peter was rather new: its novelty explains why Arnulf argued at length that this symbol was inadmissible. His reasoning allows us to realize that, by superimposing the war flag and the cross, the symbolism of banners brought into focus the whole problem of a Christian holy war. In the

banner of St. Peter, Arnulf shrewdly detected the selfexpression of a church that had become warlike and was departing from the teachings of Christ in doing so. He also

suspected that this symbol went together with a new attitude of the church toward the laity. Let us now collect the reports on the banner of St. Peter that point in the same direction as the foregoing. If the account of Orderic Vitalis 1s correct, the papal commander in the Campagna, William of Montreuil, must have received

the vexillum sancti Petri at just about the same time as 8 MGH SS. 30.1059.

9MGH SS. 8.83f. Galvaneus Flamma, ed. Ceruti, p. 625, who called Erlembald the vexillifer ecclesie, wrote only in the fourteenth century.

In “Wappen,” I mistakenly held the Bollandists responsible for the first reference to Erlembald as Romanae et universalis ecclesiae vexilli-

fer; it actually appears in the later Life of Ariald published in Puricellus, Arialdo, p. 141. This Vita, whose manuscript tradition begins in the fourteenth or fifteenth century, is dated before 1260 by Pellegrini, “Fonti,’ p. 224, on the basis of a citation in Goffredo di Bussero; if this is true, the wording of the passage in question must have been altered later (note also the words in publico consistorio). 184

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Erlembald.1° The same goes for Count Roger of Sicily according to Geoffrey Malaterra: after the great Norman victory over the Moslems in 1063, the pope sent Roger a banner, granted with apostolic authority by the see of Rome, with which he was to combat the Moslems, confident in the protection of St. Peter.1! The description tallies with what is called a banner of St. Peter elsewhere. Such would also have been the flag sent by the pope to the Barbastro cam-

paigners, if we are right in conjecturing that one of the leaders bore a banner of St. Peter.1? These four examples fall in the years 1063-1064; a fifth comes from a somewhat later date. According to the Chronicle of Monte Cassino,

Pope Victor III granted the vexillum beati Petri apostoli to the inhabitants of the Italian coastal cities when they undertook their campaign to North Africa in 1087.13 Here also

a crusade is obviously in question, with the banner as its symbol.

It is only natural, therefore, that from Urban II onward,

the popes granted the banner of St. Peter primarily to crusades going to Jerusalem. Contrary to the opinion of some authors, however, the banner of St. Peter in the First Crusade was not in the possession of the papal legate Adhémar of Le Puy;!* what he probably received from the 10 See above, p. 131. 11 Geoffrey Malaterra, 11, 33, ed. Pontieri, p. 45. Cf. above, p. 135.

[See also Douglas, Norman Achievement, p. 102. On the reliability of Malaterra’s account, above, ch. Iv, supplement to n. 64.] 12 Above, p. 139.

[As was remarked above, ch. Iv, supplement to n. 75, it is doubtful that a papal banner was bestowed here.] 13 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, WI, 71 (MGH SS. 7.751). Cf. the first part of ch. x.

14 The opinion that Adhémar received a papal banner stems from the account of Fulcher, 1, 22, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 254, that when the crusading army advanced upon Antioch (28 June 1098), Kerbogha recognized Adhémar’s banner (signum episcopi Podiensis) from afar and

allegedly said: Nam signum video magni procedere papae. H. von

Sybel, Geschichte, p. 371, recognized that, since the word papa is evidently meant in the old sense of “bishop,” it refers to Adhémar and not to Urban II. In any case, Adhémar could no longer have been carrying

a flag given him by Urban II, for he had lost his original banner in

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pope was a legate’s cross.1> If our information is correct,

the golden banner of St. Peter [ten chrysen tou hagiou Petrou semaian] went to the brother of the French king, Hugh of Vermandois, who traveled to the East via Italy.1¢ Similarly, Urban’s successor Paschal II granted the vexillum sancti Petri to Bohemond of Taranto and appointed him the

standard-bearer |[signifer] of the Christian army, when Bohemond came West from the Holy Land in 1105 to gather a new army.'? Paschal also gave a Roman or papal flag [Romana signa, sedis apostolicae vexillum] to the Pisans in 1113, when they undertook a campaign against the Moslems in the Balearic Islands;!8 the context allows us to regard this as a banner of St. Peter. ‘The identification 1s less

clear in the report that Stephanus Normannus was left in Rome as defender and standard-bearer [protector et vextllifer] when the next pope, Gelasius II, abandoned the city;1°

the inference that the banner of St. Peter was granted to Stephanus is open to question. Calixtus II, however, is December 1097; see Gesta Francorum, c. 14, para. 2, ed. Hagenmeyer,

p. 255 (ed. Bréhier, p. 74), and the parallel passages adduced there. Adhémar’s original banner is certainly referred to when Raymond of Aguilers, c. 7 (RHC, Occ., 11, 247), says that the Turks captured the vexillum b. semper virginis, for the cathedral of Le Puy was dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Adhémar, therefore, bore the banner of his cathedral church; the circumstances also make this more probable than that he should have borne a papal banner. Cf. Erdmann, ‘“Kaiserliche Fahnen,” p. 39.

15Jn its account of Adhémar’s journey, the Chronicon monasterii s. Petri Aniciensis, c. 424 (Cartulatre Saint-Chaffre, ed. Chevalier, p. 164),

says: vexillo s. crucis, quam ferebant, praecedente .. . elevatis aliis signis. On the expression, vexillum crucis, above, p. 36; that this particularly refers to a processional cross may be inferred from the papal charters indicated there at n. 10. 16 Anna Comnena, Alexiad, x, 7. The report needs critical analysis. 17 Bartolf, c. 65 (RHC, Occ., WI, 538). 18 Tiber Maiolichinus, vv. 74f, ed. Calisse, p. 8; v. 1688, p. 68. In this case as well, what the archbishop of Pisa—a cleric—received from the

pope was a processional cross (v. 74), not the banner of St. Peter, which was borne by Atho, a layman. See also on this passage, Erdmann, “Kaiserliche Fahnen,” p. 18. 19 Liber pont., ed. Duchesne, U, 317. 186

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specifically said to have bestowed the vexillum beati Petri upon the doge of Venice for a crusade in 1122.2° Grants of the banner evidently became rarer later on. This is understandable when it is noticed how far in the background the papacy stood in the Second Crusade. In its place we then see Bernard of Clairvaux handing a banner to the German king at the altar of Speyer cathedral.2* An unreliable report states that, in 1188, Clement III granted the banner of St. Peter to the papal crusading legate Hubald, archbishop of Pisa, and appointed him standard-bearer of the Christian

army;** if true, it would be the sole example of a grant to a clergyman. There is no doubt, however, that Innocent III sent the vexillum beatt Petri in 1199 to the Armenian king Leo for a war against the enemies of the cross.2?? The history of the banner of St. Peter eventually merged with the papal office of ‘“‘standard-bearer of the church [vexillifer ecclesiae],”’ an office encountered from the time of Boniface

VIII onward, which at first was still connected with the crusading idea.4 The banner of St. Peter should therefore be grouped with the crosses that all crusaders affixed to their clothes. By con-

trast with them, it was a symbol for the preferred leader, and not for everyone. A further distinction must be made: 20 MGH SS. 14.73; Italia pont., vil, pt. 2, 21 and 39. 21 Vita Bernardi, vi (MGH SS. 26.126). Bernard probably imitated the elevation of the French oriflamme: H. Meyer, “‘Biirgerfreiheit,” p. 286n.

22 The report comes from the Pisan aliud fragmentum in Ughelli, Italia sacra, x, pt. 2, 120. According to P. Scheffer-Boichorst, “Beitrage,”

p. 519, the accuracy of the reports in this part of the fragment allows one to suppose a contemporary author; Kehr, in Italia pont., U1, 362, no.

+*39, rejects the report and doubts the authenticity of the source. But it was used in the fourteenth century by Michael de Vico (SchefferBoichorst, p. 527), who also reproduced the report about the banner of St. Peter: RIS, vi, 191.

23 Innocent III, u, Ep. 254, 255 (MPL 214.814f; Potthast, Regesta, 909, 910).

24 Erdmann, “Wappen,” p. 239. A French epic of the thirteenth century, the “Destruction de Rome,” vv. 817f, ed. Groeber, p. 28, tells of a—legendary—pope who personally fought in a battle with the Saracens and bore a banner on which the figure of St. Peter was painted. 187

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the taking of the cross first appeared at the Council of Cler-

mont, as a special novelty for the Jerusalem campaign, whereas the granting of the banner of St. Peter was older by about a generation. The historical significance of the banner stems partly from this: it guides us back to the genesis of the crusading idea and illustrates the links of this idea with earlier developments. But the meaning of the banner of St. Peter was not quite so clear as it has just been made to seem. Several instances when it was granted have been bypassed and must now be discussed.

Perhaps the most famous grant is the one made to William the Conqueror for his English campaign (1066); it has already been mentioned.?* According to the account of the

contemporary William of Poitiers, the Norman duke received the banner by the kindness of the pope, as the help of St. Peter, so to speak, so that he might attack the enemy with confidence and in security.2° Two generations later, Orderic Vitalis wrote that Alexander had sent the vexillum

sancti Petri apostoli to the Conqueror, so that by its help William might be protected from all danger.?” William and

Orderic portray this particular banner of St. Peter as a symbol of holy war, just as in the other cases we have discussed. But there is more to be said. In particular, there 1s

the intriguing interpretation of William of Malmesbury, whose Chronicle states that William the Conqueror received the banner from the pope “as a portent of [royal] rule [in omen regni}.”*8 While these words convey the idea

of a promise of victory, they also embody the conception of a banner as an insignia of kingship. Did the banner that was sent on this occasion have the character of a grant of 25 Above, pp. 154-55. Also Lange, Staatensystems, pp. 57f; K. Jordan, “Eindringen,” pp. 72f. 26 William of Poitiers, MPL 149.1246.

[Douglas, William the Conqueror, p. 188; Cowdrey, “Gregory VII,”

a. ae Vitalis, 111, 11, ed. Le Prevost, Il, 123. 28 William of Malmsbury, II, 238, ed. Stubbs, 1, 299.

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insignia and an investiture? The attitude later adopted by Gregory VII particularly prompts this question. As is well known, Gregory asked William for a feudal oath, which William refused on the grounds that he had undertaken no such obligation.?® The pope’s request, for which there was no clear basis in law, has long been supposed to have had some relation to the grant of a banner. Banners rank among

the known symbols of feudal investiture, especially for “princely” fiefs. It would be wrong to overemphasize the point, for the grant of a banner did not have to signify an investiture, the less so when the incident of 1066 lacked every other essential of an enfeoffment, especially the swear-

ing of an oath. What matters, however, is that this banner occasioned a dispute. One party interpreted its bestowal in a feudal way, though presumably only after the fact, while the other party contested such an interpretation. We must therefore ask what made it possible even to conceive of the banner of St. Peter as a symbol of enfeoffment. Until the middle of the twelfth century, investiture with a banner was an imperial or royal prerogative; others might

occasionally usurp this prerogative, but without changing its legal character.°° We may therefore gather what would be meant if the same custom was adopted by the popes when they began to be feudal lords themselves. From the Donation of Constantine, Gregory VII drew the principle that the pope bore the imperial insignia: exactly the same thing was implied when the popes of the time began to grant feudal banners. 29 Lanfranc, Ep. 7 (MPL 150.517; 148.748); Bohmer, Kirche und Staat, pp. 84f, 134ff; Fabre, Etude, pp. 136f; Caspar, in GR, p. 5o1 n. 3,

Z. N. Brooke, “Demand,” pp. 226ff, and English Church, pp. 140ff; Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, i, 345ff. [Cowdrey, “Gregory VII,” pp. 89-92, agrees that the bestowal of a

banner did not necessarily mean fealty in a feudal sense. Though William’s firm reply makes such an interpretation possible, the two cannot be connected incontestably.]| 30 See Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, pp. 885ff.

189

VEXILLUM SANCTI PETRI The first notable vassals of the Curia?!1—the south Italian Normans—had previously been vassals of the emperor, who

had invested them with a banner. But the Normans then wished to receive their territory from the pope as a fief. Amatus relates that, as early as 1053, they had brought to Pope Leo IX the feudal banner they had received from the emperor with the request that Leo should invest them with

it for his part.8? Naturally, Leo denied their request. Six years later, however, the pope and the Normans entered

into a feudal relationship. Only Romuald of Salerno testifies to the form of this investiture: the enfeoffment took place per vexillum.*? Although Romuald wrote toward 31 Jordan, “Eindringen,” pp. 44ff. (I omit minor feudal grants in the Papal States, ibid., pp. 38ff.) See, moreover, Kehr, Belehnungen, and above, p. 128.

32 Aimé, Ystoire, i, 39, ed. Delarc, p. 123; cf. Chalandon, Domin. norm., I, 136f. Kehr, Belehnungen, p. 7fn. 4 and p. 11, questions all the reports of Amatus about the imperial investiture of the Apulian Normans and regards only Capua as an imperial fief (p. 15). In any case, however, the emperor’s supremacy over the whole Norman territory in 1047 may be inferred from the original text of the Chronicle of Monte

Cassino, 1, 78 (MGH SS. 7.683, with nn. / and m): “the emperor... confirmed to the Normans... all the land they then held . . . confirming the entire Beneventan territory to the Normans by his authority [tmperator ... Normannis ... universam quam tunc tenebant terram firmavit ...cunctamque Beneventanam terram Normannis auctoritate sua confirmans|.” See also Hermann of Reichenau a. 1047 (MGH SS. 5.126): “(The emperor) established leaders for the Normans residing in those lands [(imperator) duces Nordmannis, qui in illis partibus commor-

antur, constituit].” Similarly, Robert Guiscard’s feudal oath before the pope (1059) alluded to the relationship of fidelity to the emperor: “T will

swear fealty to no one unless saving the fealty to the Holy Roman Church [nulli iurabo fidelitatem nisi salva fidelitate sanctae Romanae ecclesiae|.” In 1111, the Apulian Normans again recognized imperial lordship, along with the pope’s; see the words, “they pertain to the Roman church and desire to be subject to the king to the extent that he wishes [pertinent ad Romanam ecclesiam et regi esse subditi volunt usque ad voluntatem suam],” in the letter published by Holtzmann (“Geschichte,” p. 301). Thus, the original imperial lordship over the Normans cannot be dismissed and is essential for an assessment of papal actions.

33 Romuald of Salerno, MGH SS. 19.406, according to which the re-

newal of the investiture by Alexander II (1062) also took place per vexillum,. Kehr, Belehnungen, p. 8, rightly emphasized that the en190

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the end of the twelfth century, the circumstances make his report thoroughly probable; for, if the account is correct, the enfeoffment would have been taking place in precisely the way that the Normans had previously wished: even in the symbols he used, the pope would have stepped directly into the place of the emperor, since he invested his vassals with the imperial banner, unintentionally revealing in this way that the enfeoffment of the Normans was an encroachment upon the rights of the Empire. While doubts still surround this first papal enfeoffment, the situation is quite clear when the ceremony was repeated by Gregory VII in 1080. On that occasion, Robert Guiscard

renewed the feudal oath and received a banner from the pope.** ‘That this was a real investiture by banner is attested

not only by Romuald but also by another twelfth-century witness, namely Boso,?> whose account is undoubtedly accurate, for later enfeoffments of the Normans by the popes were regularly carried out with a banner.** In reference to Gregory VII, Boso speaks of a “papal” banner [per vexillum sedis apostolice investivit], and though the expression may

be anachronistic, it is as justified in substance as the term “imperial banner” that was normally applied in the twelfth century to the feudal symbol used by the emperor.” At the feoffments of 1059 were of another kind than Alexander’s grants of the banner of St. Peter; they were proper enfeoffments with banner-lances. I differ with him only to the extent of not regarding eleventh-century feudal banners as yet having been “emblems of the feudal territory”; see below, n. 38, on the first appearance of territorial banners. Kehr, p.

7, does not quite accurately convey my statement in “Kaiserliche Fahnen,” p. 6, that the feudal banners of the popes used after 1059 were first equated to the banner of St. Peter in 1080 by Gregory VII. 34 Chronicle of Amalfi, in Muratori, Antiquitates, 1, 214, c. 40; Romuald, MGH SS. 19.408; GR, vu, 1 a-c, ed. Caspar, pp. 514ff. Cf. Kehr, Belehnungen, pp. 288. 85 Liber pont., ed. Duchesne, Ul, 366. 36 Romuald of Salerno a. 1090 (1089), 1115 (1114), 1118, 1120, 1128, 1139, 1156 (MGH SS. 19.412, 415-18, 423, 429). Cf. Innocent III’s sending of a banner to the Bulgarian king (Potthast, Regesta, 2141). 37 Of the names for medieval papal banners given by D. L. Galbreath,

Heraldry, p. 5, only the following belong to the High Middle Ages: 191

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famous double enfeoffment of the Norman Rainulf at Alife

in 1137, the emperor Lothar was present and naturally claimed for himself the right to conduct the ritual. But he agreed with Pope Innocent II that both together would invest the Norman with the banner, with the pope holding the upper end of the pole and the emperor the lower.** This gesture, which may seem grotesque to us, conveys the essence

of medieval symbolism and is highly instructive. No other incident more clearly demonstrates that the papacy claimed

imperial rights and prerogatives for itself, and that the Empire ultimately yielded to this claim. Another aspect of the event is important. The emperor and the pope might conceivably have each carried out an investiture with a banner of his own. Instead, both together handed over the same banner: there was only one power of feudal lordship. As a result, the feudal banner in this case was both imperial and papal. vexillum s. Petri and vexillum sedis apostolicae. The term signum magni papae does not refer to a papal banner; see above, n.14. Vexillum

ecclesiae first occurs under Boniface VIII (Erdmann, “Wappen,” pp. 236ff); vexillum Romanae et universalis ecclesiae is also very late (see above, n. 9); and the name vexillum sanctae crucis et ecclestae is given by Philippe de Maiziéres (d. 1405) in the Vita s. Petri Thomasii, c. 4 (AA. SS., Jan., 1, 615). But high medieval usage does include the term signum Romanum, as well as signifer papae for the standard-bearer (in Orderic Vitalis, above, p. 131 n. 52). 38 Falco of Benevento, RIJS, v, 122; Otto of Freising, Chronica, vu, 20, ed. Hofmeister, p. 339; Romuald of Salerno, MGH SS. 19.422. Cf. Caspar, Roger, pp. 203-6. A different procedure was used two years later, when Innocent II enfeoffed King Roger with Sicily and his sons Roger and Alfonso with Apulia and Capua respectively: he gave each one a banner.

See Caspar, Roger, p. 229; Kehr, Belehnungen, p. 42. The Annales Cavenses (MGH SS. 3.192), which are of later date (notably they set the event in 1138 instead of 1139), incorrectly portray the episode as though

Innocent had enfeoffed only Roger, but with three flags representing Sicily, Apulia, and Capua. This was the form in which the investiture in fact took place in 1156; see the report of the eyewitness, Romuald, MGH SS. 19.429. This is the earliest known example of the use of a territorial banner in enfeoffments; the next one occurs when Frederick I granted investiture of Bavaria and Austria in 1157. As a result, a feudal banner of the duchy of Apulia should not be mentioned in relation to the enfeoffment of Rainulf in 1137. Cf. the somewhat different view of K. Jordan, review of Mitteis, pp. 140f. 192

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The decisive point for our purposes is that, under Gregory VII, this singular imperial-papal symbol was none other than the banner of St. Peter. When relating the enfeoffment

of Robert Guiscard by Gregory (1080), the Chronicle of Amalfi and Romuald of Salerno both specify that the pope handed the Norman a vexillum sancti Petri at the investiture.2® Moreover, the contemporary William of Apulia says that Robert trusted in this flag in battle,*° which means that

he held it to be just as much a symbol of crusade as the Petrine banner was in other circumstances. Our sources therefore ascribe to Robert’s banner the dual character of a religious and a legal symbol, and we have no reason to doubt the accuracy of this notion. Such ambiguity is wholly in character with the papacy of the High Middle Ages, and it explains what was noted in the case of William the Con-

queror: on one occasion, the pope gave a religious interpretation to a legal symbol; on another, a religious symbol was politically twisted in the direction of papal claims to overlordship. Equating a religious symbol with an ecclesias-

tical consecration was the chosen course of Gregorian policy, precisely because it involved constitutional infringement in a foreign sphere.

From both the legal and the religious standpoint, the 39 Above, n. 34. The passage belongs to those which the Chronicon Amalfitanum has in common with Romuald of Salerno (but with additions here); according to F. Hirsch, De Italiae annalibus, pp. 64ff, both stem from a good source dating from the beginning of the twelfth century. Kehr, Belehnungen, p. 7, believes that the Chronicon is Romuald’s direct source; even if this is so, there is no reason to dismiss the

substance of the report. Kehr (ibid.) supplies an additional source reference communicated to him by H.-W. Klewitz: the Registrum Petri

Diaconi includes a charter of Robert Guiscard whose seal bears the legend, vexillum Petri, quod dux gerit, ecce beatt. Whether the charter is genuine is uncertain; but even supposing that Peter the Deacon invented the line, he must have believed in any case that Robert, as duke,

bore the banner of St. Peter. Thus, no less than four mutually independent sources—Boso, the Chronicon Amalfitanum (or Romuald), Peter the Deacon, and William of Apulia testify that Robert Guiscard had a papal or Petrine banner. 40 William of Apulia, Iv, vv. 408ff (MGH SS. 9.287): vexillo quod stbi

papa ad Petri dederat ...honorem ... fidens. [Cf. Douglas, Norman Achievement, p. 202.|

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decisive turn occurred in the days of Gregory VII, whose interest in the banner of St. Peter was many sided. We may

not flatly assert that Hildebrand invented the vexillum sanctt Petri; yet he had an outstanding role in the use of this symbol under Alexander II, in the cases of Erlembald of Milan, William the Conqueror, and probably also Wil-

liam of Montreuil.*t Gregory seems to have exercised restraint in making new grants during his own pontificate. The only known case is the enfeoffment of Robert Guiscard, which was a renewal anyway.*? In 10747, a request came to the pope from Michael of Serbia for a vexillum—

surely meaning a banner of St. Peter—by way either of enfeoffment or at least of papal support for his war. Gregory refused.*? On the other hand, the battle cry “Saint Peter” was demonstrably used in Gregory’s own time by papal partisans, the Saxons in 1078 and the troops of Countess Mathilda in 1084.44 The close association of banner and battle cry*®? makes it highly possible that at least the Mathildine troops possessed a banner of St. Peter, even though the fact is not otherwise attested. The close connection we have noted between the banner of St. Peter and the imperial banner may be pursued in yet

another direction. The actual course of events appears to have been that the popes began to bear the imperial banner in some sense, while deriving it directly from St. Peter; 41 Above, pp. 131, 143, and 154.

42 The investiture of the Croatian king Demetrius Zwonomir by banner, sword, scepter, and crown (Deusdedit, 11, 278, ed. Wolf von Glan-

vell, p. 383) does not count among the grants of the banner of St. Peter. Note the highly questionable report of Sigeberti Contin. Aqutcinct. (MGH SS. 6.408), that in 1159 Hadrian IV granted the banner of St. Peter to William of Sicily; about this, P. Wagner, Eberhard IT, pp. 118f; Italia pont., VI, 49, no. 189N. 43 GR, v, 12, ed. Caspar, p. 365; portrayed as an enfeoffment by Kehr, Geschichte, p. 366.

44 Bruno, c. 97, ed. Wattenbach, p. 71: velut suum salutavit socium dicens “Sancte Petre’; quod nomen Saxones pro symbolo tenebant omnes in ore. Donizo, Vita Mathildis, tl, v. 551, ed. Simeoni, p. 68: Petre auxiliare tuis! (Cf. Donizo, v. 364: turba Petri.) 45 Above, pp. 92-93.

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yet the banner of St. Peter was so firmly naturalized after

a few decades as to reverse the relationship: the belief arose that the imperial flag had originated from St. Peter and came from Rome. This is the idea we find in the French Chanson de Roland, which probably dates from the end of the eleventh century. It speaks of the orie flambe, the ban-

ner of Charlemagne: “It was St. Peter’s and was called Romaine [Seint-Piere fut, st aveitt num Romaine].’*® ‘The

poet regards the banner of Charlemagne as equivalent to the French royal banner of his own time. Nevertheless, he equates it with the banner of St. Peter, thus supposing that it was granted by the pope. There are various ways to interpret this astonishing fact. The information that Leo III had actually given a banner to Charlemagne may have come to the poet’s knowledge from a literary tradition, ultimately deriving from the Frankish Royal Annals, or by personally seeing the mosaic in the Lateran, even though the banner

on that mosaic probably had a blue field rather than a golden one.*?7 While the banner granted by Leo III had not been a banner of St. Peter, a confusion of this kind might well have suggested itself in the poet’s time. On the other hand, it would have been easy for the poet to invent

the detail for himself. The banner of St. Peter, prince of the apostles, was certainly the most outstanding and 46 Chanson de Roland, v. 3094; on this and what follows, see Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, pp. 880ff, and “Kaiserliche Fahnen,” pp. 7f. 47 See Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, p. 871 and “Kaiserliche Fahnen,’ p.

14. When my book was in press, Dr. Karl Jordan kindly drew my attention to yet another possibility: in the investiture privilege of Leo VIII, Privilegium Maius (MGH Const. 1.668), forged at the end of the eleventh century in the circle of the anti-pope Wibert, it is said that Charlemagne received the vexillum b. Petri apostoli at his triumphal reception in Rome in 774. The inspiration for this statement appears to have come from the reference to the bandora in Liber pont., ed. Duchesne, 1, 496f, especially since the notions of the Petrine and the Roman banners began to intermingle at an early date (cf. Erdmann, ‘“Kaiserliche Fahnen,” p. 18). In any case, there can no longer be any doubt about the confusion of Charlemagne’s orie flambe Seint-Piere with the vexillum s. Petri. [On the banner sent by Leo III, Schramm, “Anerkennung,” pp. 468f.]

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miraculous of banners: reason enough to imagine that it had been in Charlemagne’s possession.

The identification of the banner of St. Peter with the imperial banner allows us to infer its external appearance. The pattern had no particular significance and need not always have been the same, for the banners of the time did not yet have a heraldic character.*® Nevertheless, it was possible even then to express the symbolic significance of a banner by its cloth, to select the colors and emblems in a special, meaningful way, such as we noted in the case of the carroccto of Milan.

The outward appearance of the Petrine banner is little known because what has been written about it is mostly based on error.*? The banner of St. Peter that Alexander II gave Erlembald has been thought to have had a red cross on a white field;®° but this description derives from a much later picture in which Erlembald, who had meanwhile been set among the Milanese saints, was shown holding the flag of Milan——a red cross on a white field.®! The notion that the

keys figured on the banner of St. Peter given by Victor IT]

for the Mahdia campaign stems from a pure misunderstanding. The basic source says nothing of this.5? The ban48 Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, pp. 878ff, and ‘“Kaiserliche Fahnen,” pp. 10f.

49D. Scheludko, “Wilhelmslied,” p. 13, says without citing a source that the banner of St. Peter was red with gold ornamentation; I assume that this is merely an inference from the late medieval oriflamme of St. Denis. 50 F. Gregorovius, Geschichie, 1v, 147; Whitney, Hildebrandine Essays, p. 151.

51 About this picture, the Bollandists (4A. SS. June, vil, 250) say that, in their time [ca. 1700: Tr.], it was located in the church of St. Babyla in Milan, and that it depicted the arms of the Cotta family. If so, it could date from no earlier than the second half of the twelfth century (and probably was much later), that is to say, at a time when the Milanese were already bearing a white flag with a red cross. 52 P. Pecchiai, Pisa, pp. 69 and 82, asserts that, in the Mahdia campaign, the Romans had a signum cum scarsellis, alias a banner with keys. But, for one thing, scarsellae are not keys but pilgrims’ pouches; secondly, the source on which this is based does not speak of a banner at all. The passage is from a Pisan song, most recently in F. Schneider, Rythmen, pp. 37ff, where it is said (v. 34) that St. Peter strengthened the 196

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ner granted by Paschal II for the Balearic campaign (1113) has occasioned further confusion.®? Late medieval and modern historians referred to this incident to explain the later banner of Pisa, which sometimes was plain red and sometimes showed a stump-ended white cross on a red field. Accordingly, they have asserted that the papal flag given by

Paschal was either plain red** or bore a white cross on red.5> Neither design has a basis in contemporary sources. None of these incidents tells us what the banner of St. Peter looked like.

Only one case seems to support the contention that a

definite banner of St. Peter bore a cross. This is the banner that Alexander II granted to the Norman duke William in 1066 for the conquest of England. On the Bayeux tapestry, which is dated to the last quarter of the eleventh century Genoese and Pisans in the battle, “for he saw his symbol—people with pilgrims’ pouches [nam videbat signum sui, cum scarsellis populum)”;

elsewhere, the signaculum s. Petri is the pilgrim’s staff: A. Franz, Benedtktionen, ul, 275f n. 6. Pecchiai’s translation is: “perché il popolo (romano) vedesse la propria insegna colle chiavi.” 53 Italia pont. , 11, 359, no. 25; cf. above, p. 186. According to the Liber Maiolichinus, vv. 74f, the pope gave the Pisan archbishop a (processional) cross, while the military leaders received banners. Pecchiai, Pisa, pp. 68f, turns this into a banner with a cross and states (p. 59) that the white cross was an emblem of the church. 54 According to the Annales rerum Pisanarum (Ughelli, Italia sacra, x, Anecd. 101) and the Breviarium Pisanae historiae (RIS 6.169) deriving from them. But these annals are an extract from the Annales Mara-

gones, with a few additions, compiled in 1267 at the earliest; see Scheffer-Boichorst, ‘“Beitrage,”’ p. 520 (where at line 18 the misprint 1276 should be corrected to 1267). The passage on the banner, which is not in the Annales Maragones and begins with Et nota quod, is one of

the additions; its value is further diminished by being mistakenly entered under 1118 (1119 by Pisan dating), instead of 1113 (1114). The word vermilium should therefore be struck from the summary in [talia

pont. (above n. 53); moreover, the grant of the banner took place in 1113, Cardinal Boso was sent only in 1114, and the Annales rerum Pisanarum are not identical to the Breviarium Pisanae historiae, published by Muratori (RIS 6). 55 According to the often-repeated statement of Constantino Gaetani, who, besides, dates the event to 1118; see Italia pont. I, 359, no. +27.

G. B. di Crollalanza, “Storia,” p. 19, attributes to Benedict VIII the grant of the white cross to the Pisans; see Erdmann, ‘‘Kaiserliche

Fahnen,’ p. 3. ,

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or the first half of the twelfth at the latest, William or his army are frequently portrayed with a cross-bearing banner, and it is easy to conclude that this was the banner granted by the pope. But there are problems. To begin with, we cannot be sure that the artist always intended to depict the same banner. He often varied the form of the cloth and

of the cross, as well as the number of tongues, and the colors range freely from yellowish brown to red, blue, and white.5* Similar uncertainties surround the questions whether and where William’s principal banner is meant. Some

commentators stress the banner flying from the mast of William’s ship on the crossing, while others maintain that this is not a flag at all but only a lantern.®’? Other authors have identified the banner of St. Peter with the one of outstanding size borne by the knight riding next to William in the Recognition scene.** This too is questionable, for the 56 See the photographic reproduction in A. Levé, Tapisserie, nos. 18, 44, 1, 53, 56 (cf. the frontispiece), 64. Colored reproduction in Vetusta monumenta, Vi, pl. 4, 9, 11 (cf. 17), 12, 15; also W. G. Perrin, British Flags, pl. 1, no. 3. The background is always white, the cross is yellow

or golden brown three times (once with round patches in the four quadrants), once red, once white with dotted edge lines, once only dotted. The colors of the border or of the individual border lines vary between blue, yellow, brown, and red; those of the points (of which there are three three times, one of them with large bulges; four once; five once; none at all once) vary between blue, red, white, and green. According to Levé, William’s cross banner is also depicted in scenes 52 and 55

(light cross on dark ground in 52), but the banners have a different appearance in Vet. mon.; the difference probably results from the various restorations.

[See now Bayeux Tapestry, ed. F. M. Stenton e¢ al.; L. Thorpe, Bayeux Tapestry; C. H. Gibbs-Smith, Bayeux Tapestry. It does not seem that the problems Erdmann suggests here have been thoroughly examined. |

57 Most recently, Perrin, Brit. Flags, p. 15, with whom I cannot agree on this point. [According to Bayeux Tapestry, ed. Stenton, scene 43, the object at the masthead of William’s flagship is a signal lantern.] 58 See Perrin, p. 14, and pl. 1, no. 3. As it happens, there is an explanation for the particularly large size of this banner: for reasons of space,

the artist could not fit a banner into the center panel—the only place where the narrative cycle of images appears elsewhere; by exception, he positioned the banner in the upper ornamental border; the natural result was an enlargement of the format. 198

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inscription identifies the standard-bearer as Eustace of Boulogne, whereas the Norman tradition invariably names other persons, never Eustace, as chief standard-bearer at the battle of Hastings. Besides, there is no advantage in supposing that this banner, and only this, portrays the banner of St. Peter, for, in the artist’s conception, the flag that William personally possessed before the banner of St. Peter was unfurled also bore a cross. A panel representing events

long before the English campaign, and thus before the banner of St. Peter was granted, shows a flag with a cross in the duke’s hand; at the embarcation for England (that is,

immediately after the banner of St. Peter was received), William is seen leading his knights with a flag that has no cross on it; and on later panels of the campaign, he again has a banner with a cross.5® In fact, the whole cycle of pictures lacks any allusion to the papal grant of a banner. We therefore cannot be sure that the banner of St. Peter is portrayed anywhere in the tapestry, and we must stress that

the cross and the cloth constantly change their form and color.

Naturally, the cross would have been a suitable emblem for the banner of St. Peter as a religious symbol of holy war;

a “cross banner” expresses the union of “war banner [vexillum bellicum]” and “‘sign of the cross [vexillum cru-

cis|” and accordingly bridges over the contradiction that was still a stumbling block to Arnulf of Milan. It is quite conceivable, therefore, that not only the flag of William the Conqueror, but also the other banners of St. Peter given in

the time of Alexander II were banners bearing the cross. Yet even if this sign had really been used, it need not have endured. In the time of Gregory VII, and later as well, the banner of St. Peter cannot have been distinctively different

from the imperial banner; the double enfeoffment of the Norman Rainulf makes this particularly plain. Moreover, the Chanson de Roland supplies us with at least the main 59 According to Levé on scenes 18 and 43. To be sure the identification

of William is not always certain; but if other persons were assumed to bear cross-banners too, the basis of the argument would be lost. 199

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color: the imperial banner of Charlemagne, which is thought to be simultaneously the banner of St. Peter, is said to be gold [orze].® Additional witnesses confirm this at the close of the eleventh century. Iwo sources describe the imperial banner as golden,** and Anna Comnena gives gold

as the color of the banner of St. Peter bestowed by Urban Ii upon Hugh of Vermandois for the First Crusade.®? This consensus leaves no doubt that gold was the color preferred

at the close of the eleventh century for both the imperial banner and that of St. Peter. Since we have no pictures, we

cannot be certain that both banners consisted of only an unornamented piece of gold cloth;* but even if the banner was embroidered, gold thread must have been lavished to such an extent as to leave the golden color as the banner’s most noticeable feature. All in all, the vexillum sancti Petri seems to have had a peculiarly shifting role: at first, it was a military-religious symbol without juridical significance, but then, from Greg-

ory VII’s time onward, it came also to represent the constitutional claims of the papacy and was equated with the imperial banner. ‘This is precisely why the banner most fit-

tingly sums up the militia sancti Petri, that singular turn Gregory VII gave to the crusading movement even before it had reached its full development. 60 See above, p. 195. When the book was in press, I found another important source for the legend of the golden banner of Charlemagne: the Chronicle of Benedict of San Andrea (end of the tenth century)

states that, on his alleged pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Charlemagne

adorned the Holy Sepulcher with gold and jewels and also placed there a vexillum aureum mire magnitudinis (MGH SS. 3.710, and Chronicon

dit Benedetto, ed. Zuchetti, p. 114). The context proves that what is meant is a valuable banner made of real cloth of gold. 61 Aimé, Ystoire, 11, 31, ed. Delarc, p. 87: “gonfanon d’or’; Chronicle of Monte Cassino, 10, 74 (MGH SS. 7.754): fano imperialis totus aureus. See Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, p. 870, and “‘Kaiserliche Fahnen,” pp. 2ef. 62 Above, n. 16.

63 But this seems to be indicated by the inventory of Monte Cassino, quoted above, n. 61.

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| he deep chasm that an earlier age had regarded as

separating piety from soldiering was mirrored in the concept of militia Christi: the “knights of Christ’ were unwarlike and contrasted with the militia saecularis.1 ‘They engaged in prayer and asceticism, good works and spiritual exercises, and suffered even martyrdom for the faith; they had nothing to do with the profession of arms. So fixed was the terminology surrounding the concept of militia Christi

that the chasm was only slowly bridged by the idea of a Christian knighthood. In general, the concept of militia Christi (Dei, coelesti, etc.) still retained its old spiritual meaning in the days of Gregory VII.? Peter Damiani often used the traditional metaphor and even wrote a sermon

about the ascetic life as the “spiritual combat’ of the “knights of Christ.”* He reproached clerics who took office

at court for deserting the militia spiritualis.t Yet even his writings contain one instance where this conceptual level mingles with ideas of real war—predictably in the case of the

Milanese Pataria. Peter hails its leaders, clerical as well as 1 See above, pp. 12-14. 2 See the Oda excitativa militibus Christi of Alfanus of Salerno (MPL

147.1248f), and the opposition of terrena militia and militia Christi in William of Jumiéges, MPL 149.781. Gozechin of Mainz, MPL 143.895f, distinguishes two combats as taking place “in the camp of the Christian soldiery [in Christianae militiae castris]”: externally against the servants

of Satan, internally against the spirit of wickedness. The distinction referred to is only that between secular clergy and monks; by external combat he means ecclesiastical activity in the world as contrasted to flight from the world. 3 Sermo 74 (MPL 144.919ff). Among many other passages, see also Ep. vi, 23 (MPL 144.407 and 412), and Opusc. IT (MPL 145.41). About this, M. Mende, Petrus Damiani, pp. 17f. [On Peter Damiani, above, ch. Iv, supplement to n. 95.] 4 Opusc. XXII (MPL 145.463). 201

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lay, for fighting for the church with unconquerable faith against the enemies of ecclesiastical discipline.® Since this is

said with reference to the Pataria, we must infer that the fighting in question embraces both temporal and spiritual weapons.® Only a short step more and armed combat for the church would be conceptually recognized as militia Christi, a divine service.

Gregory VII crossed this threshold.? He applied the traditional term christiana militia to the church, or Christendom,® and spoke especially of bishops as milites Christz.®

In complete conformity with the old ideas, he liked to compare the servants of Christ with the secular milites, whose 5Eb. Vv, 14 (MPL 144.367f): “to Rudolf, Vitalis, Ariald, Erlembald,

and the others struggling with invincible faith for the fortresses of Christ... to fight with untiring spirit against the foes of the church’s discipline .. . how vehemently they take up arms, how forcefully they

struggle hand to hand with them, with what tireless courage they contend against the devil and his minions [Rodulpho, Vitali et Arialdo atque Erlembaldo et caeteris pro castris Christi invicta fide certantibus ... adversus hostes ecclesiasticae disciplinae indeficientis animi viribus

dimicare ... quam violenter videlicet arma corripiant, quam robuste manus manibus conserant, quam denique infatigabili contra diabolum eiusque satellites animositate confligant].”

6 See also Alexander II to the people of Cremona: JL. 6437.

7In what follows, I adduce chiefly those letters of Gregory that scholars accept as having been personally dictated by the pope. In the present context, however, no discernible contrast appears between them and those presumably drafted by the chancery, even allowing for the fact that the boundary between the two categories is often doubtful. As a result, I make no attempt to prove Gregory’s personal participation and generally base myself on the totality of the letters. In any case, it is established that the pope personally determined all essential points.

[On the question to what extent his Registrum contains his own words, A. Murray, “Pope Gregory VII,” concludes that he probably wrote far fewer than hitherto believed. Cf. also Borino, ‘‘Note Gregoriane,” pp. 363-90.

The problem of analyzing Gregory’s motives in developing the militia s. Petri continues to provoke considerable discussion. See, e.g.,

3, 4, and 5, |

Delaruelle, “Essai” (1944), and “Saint Grégoire VII,’ as well as the works of Nitschke and Laarhoven cited above, ch. v, additions to nn. 8 GR, 1, 75, ed. Caspar, p. 107: ad custodiam christianae militiae; cf. also I, 76, p. 108: fortiores in militia Christi et fraternis negotiis. 9 GR, 1, 43, ed. Caspar, p. 67; U1, 5, p. 133; IX, 18, p. 598.

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readiness for sacrifice, and courage in the face of death, should be an example.’° But Gregory avoided the ascetical interpretation of militia Christi. On the contrary, “Christ’s

war [bellum Christi] for him was effective ecclesiastical activity in the world, as contrasted to monastic seclusion;}+ for example, he characterized the quarrel over the bishopric

of Milan as a “contest for Christ [certamen Christi].’! He also celebrated the servants of the church who fought

with the sword as combatants of Christ or of God; the epithets were applied to the warriors of the proposed crusade and to Erlembald, the knight-leader of the Pataria, whom Gregory called the ‘“‘very energetic soldier of Christ [strenuissimus Christi miles].”% His usage of “the military service of Christ’’ was sometimes literal, sometimes metaphorical; and, occasionally, the meaning was left unclear, as when he wrote to the German princes, after the day of Canossa, that he had a common cause with them “in the combat of Christian militance [in agone christianae muilitrae}.’’14

In the language of Gregory’s letters, this wavering between literal and metaphorical meanings characterizes the

expressions drawn from military life. The ‘sword of anathema” was a commonplace in ecclesiastical language;

the “sword of St. Peter [gladius s. Petri] referred to ecclesiastical punishment, like excommunication or deposition. Gregory used the expression in this sense,'> but he also 10 Cf. Blaul, “Studien,” p. 225, adding GR, 1, 43, ed. Caspar, p. 64, and IX, 21, p. 602.

11 GR, vi, 17, ed. Caspar, p. 423. 12 GR, I, 12, ed. Caspar, p. 20. 13 GR, I, 27, ed. Caspar, p. 45; Il, 37, p. 173: “you who wish to defend

the Christian faith and fight for the heavenly king [qui christianam fidem vultis defendere et coelesti regi militare].” 14 GR, Iv, 12, ed. Caspar, p. 312. GR, Ill, 15, p. 277, is equally unclear

in regard to the activity of the leader of the Pataria “ad confortandos

milites.” 15 GR, il, 76, ed. Caspar, p. 239; V, 5, DP. 354; VI, 26, p. 439; VI, 4, p. 464; JL. 5147 (Jaffé, Bibliotheca, ul, 560).

[A. Stickler, “Gladius,” pp. 89-103, indicates that the term gladius was often understood as signifying judicial-coercive power and could imply actual use of force.]

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used it on occasions when actual combat was obviously involved. In the wars over the German throne, the “sword of St. Peter’ was to consume the opponents of the pope;?° it was to be drawn from its scabbard against the king of Castile, at the time when the pope threatened Spain with

a campaign.'7 The same ambiguity marks a favorite Gregorian expression: the ‘“‘defense’’ of the Christian faith.18

Its meaning is frequently nonmilitary and refers especially to the duty of bishops;*® in other cases, like the two calls to crusade, the use of armed force is undoubtedly meant;?° most often, a definite interpretation is impossible. Recognizing the irridescence of Gregory’s language is the prerequisite for understanding it. Attempts to supply con-

cretely theological or juridical definitions for Gregory’s most important concepts are always doomed to failure.?? Such is also the case with the phrase that is most central to us, namely, the “knighthood of St. Peter [militia s. Petri].” To all intents, Gregory VII was the first personage to give

currency to the phrase. Of course, he did not invent it; his great exemplar, Gregory I, had used it in the metaphorical sense of clerical “service,” not that of bearing arms.?° Vas16 GR, vi, 14, ed. Caspar, p. 418. Cf. above, p. 170. Cf. GR, vil, 5, p. 522: “the sword of apostolic revenge [apostolice ultionis ... gladius].” [Cf. Stickler, p. 101.]

17 GR, vull, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 520; cf. vil, 2, p. 518, and above, p. 176. 18 Cf. Blaul, pp. 142f.

19 GR, Iv, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 300: “you defend the Christian faith, as is proper for bishops [fidem christianam, ut decet episcopos, defenditis|.” 20 GR, I, 49, ed. Caspar, p. 75, and Il, 37, p. 173. 21 GR, index, s.v. defensio.

22 P. Schmid, “Entstehung,”’ pp. 140f, attempts to establish a conceptual distinction between filius s. Petri and filius Romanae ecclesiae.

The attempt breaks down when, for example, Berengar of Tours is found being called filius Romanae ecclesiae in JL. 5103. [Both Stickler, p. 91, and Laarhoven, “Christianitas,” pp. 80, go-92, agree that Gregory’s method of expression was often imprecise.] 23 JE. 1102 (MGH Ep. 1.54), to the Roman subdeacon Peter, rector of

the Sicilian patrimony: “then will you truly be a soldier of the holy apostle, if you safeguard the truth in his lawsuits [tunc vere b. Petri apostoli miles eris, si in causis etus veritatis custodiam .. . tenueris].” Further on this, JE. 1235, and E. Caspar, Papsttum, u, 409. Cf. the 204

MILITIA SANCTI PETRI sals of a bishopric also happened to be called the mulites of the patron saint in question, as in Mainz the “knights of St. Martin [milites s. Martini|” and in Magdeburg the “knights of St. Maurice [milites s. Mauriciani].”*4 This usage hinges on the fact that miles had become the technical term for a

feudatory. Gregory interwove both meanings. He demanded that the German king who was to be newly elected

should undertake to become a miles of St. Peter and the pope by a formal oath on his first meeting with the pope;?5 the feudal implications of such language are beyond question. Yet Gregory addressed the following admonition to the French knights: “Those who love St. Peter should not love secular princes more than him, if they truly desire to be his sons and mulites.’”’?6 Pious devotion is clearly in ques-

tion here, and not vassalage. A third case marks the midpoint between the two meanings just discussed: when Pope Gregory contemplated a campaign against Wibert of Ra-

venna in 1081, he caused Robert Guiscard to be asked whether he would send him knights “‘so that they might be in the domestic armed service of St. Peter [ut in familiart militia b. Petri sint}.”?7 Although Robert was a papal vassal,

this letter did not demand feudal service from him but asked only for voluntary assistance. ‘The Swabian chronicler, Bernold, one of Gregory’s most passionate partisans,

confirms that a miles s. Petri did not have to be a papal vassal. He regards the term as a title of honor and uses it epitaph of Boniface II, most lately F. Schneider and W. Holtzmann, Epitaphien, p. 12: “on the muster roll [lit. soldier] of the apostolic see from his earliest years [sedis apostolicae primaevis miles ab annis].” — 24 Thietmar, Iv, 2, ed. Kurze, p. 65; Annales Quedlinburgenses a. 1015, MGH SS. 3.84. G. Biscaro, “Estimi,” p. 351, reports the name militia s. Ambrosi for the vassals of the archbishopric of Milan.

25 GR, Ix, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 576; the future king is to assume the obligation that: eo die, quando illum (papam) primitus videro, fideliter per manus meas miles s. Petri et illius effictar. 26 GR, Ul, 49, ed. Caspar, p. 190: eos monendo et exhortando, qui b. Petrum diligunt, ut, si vere illius volunt esse filtt et milites, non habeant illo cariores seculares principes. 27 GR, Ix, 4, ed. Caspar, p. 578; see above, pp. 174-75. 205,

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in this way in the obituaries of a series of counts and knights who distinguished themselves in war against the adherents of Henry IV;?° he also accorded the title to the living countess Mathilda and her husband Welf.?° To him, the expression meant no more than “‘champion of the cause of

St. Peter,” a phrase that also appears frequently in his obituaries.*° Unlike Gregory VII, Bernold avoids confusion

with actual vassalage; by applying the expression “sworn knight of the lord pope [turatus miles domni papae}\” to Robert Guiscard, he precisely differentiates the papal vassal from the merely pious “‘knights of St. Peter.’’31

In Gregory’s letters, the term miles s. Petrt occurs only in the three passages quoted. The pope usually speaks not of the “knights” but of the “faithful” of St. Peter [fideles s.

Petri|. If need be, this expression includes clerics and 28 MGH SS. 5.434, on the Roman city prefect Cencius: ‘indefatigable

knight of St. Peter against the schismatics [indefessus miles s. Petri contra scismaticos]”; p. 446, on Count Berthold: “most faithful knight of St. Peter fighting most vigorously against the schismatics [s. Petri fidelissimus miles contra scismaticos strenuissime dimicans]”; p. 447, on

Hezilo, advocate of Reichenau: “most faithful knight of St. Peter [fidelissimus miles s. Petri]”; p. 449, on Count Hugo of Egisheim: “indefatigable knight of St. Peter [¢ndefessus miles s. Petri]; p. 454, on Count Kuno of Wulflingen: “Very vigorous knight of St. Peter [strenuissimus miles s. Petri].” 29 MGH SS. 5.443: fidelissimam s. Petri militem; p. 456, milites s. Petri. Elsewhere, Mathilda is also called filia s. Petri (pp. 455, 465). 30 MGH SS. 5.436, on Rudolf of Rheinfelden: “he died in the service

of St. Peter ...an indefatigable defender of holy church [in servitio s. Petri occubuit . . . indefessus propugnator s. ecclesiae]’”: p. 454, on Count Frederick of M6mpelgard: ‘in secular dress after the manner of St. Sebastian [on St. Sebastian, above, p. 14], a most vigorous knight of Christ . . . indefatigable defender of catholic peace ... he struggled against the schismatics in the fidelity of St. Peter [sub habitu saeculari more s. Sebastiani strenuissimus miles Christi ...catholicae pacis indefessus propugnator ...in fidelitate s. Petri contra scismaticos certavit)”’; p. 465, on Count Udalrich of Bregenz: ‘“‘most fervent defender in the cause of St. Peter against the schismatics [in causa s. Petri contra scismaticos propugnator ferventissimus]”; p. 467, on Count Liutold: ‘‘indefatigable defender in the cause of St. Peter against the perversity of the schismatics [7m causa s. Petri contra scismaticorum pravitatem propugnator indefessus|.” 31 MGH SS, 5.440.

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often designates all Gregory’s adherents.’? Papal appeals are frequently directed to “all the faithful of St. Peter’; this means no more than another prominent phrase, ‘‘all those who love St. Peter.’’*? Then the phrase “fideles of St. Peter”

took hold as a reference to Gregory’s partisans. In 1077 and 1078, the Saxon opponents of Henry IV referred to themselves in writing to the pope as “the faithful men of St. Peter and of himself,”’** and the faithful of St. Peter play

a large role in the Chronicle of Bernold.** But, with the same irridescent ambiguity as “knight,” fidelis could have a feudal meaning in some cases and only a moral one in others. For fidelis, like miles, also denoted a vassal in the language of the eleventh century. The promise “I shall be faithful [fidelts ero)’ formed the core of the feudal oath demanded by Gregory.** Though not synonymous with vassality, fidelity was a fluid concept.27 When Gregory writes

to William the Conqueror as “the fidelis of St. Peter and ourselves,’?* when he praises his vassal Sancho of Aragon for being fidelis to St. Peter,® or when he says of the Ger32 GR, Index, s.v. fidelis; cf. Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, ul, 334ff. [In discussing Gregory’s use of the terms militia s. Petri, fidelitas., etc.,

Zerbi, ‘‘Fidelitas” notes the difficulty in assigning a precise meaning in many cases. He attempts to distinguish between those instances where the term has a strictly feudal meaning and those—the great majority—where it has a more generic significance. For example, it is frequently used simply to signify religious loyalty or, in the case of certain lay princes, to imply an obligation of assistance or cooperation, generally religious in intent, often including military aid against the Moslems, heretics, supporters of the anti-pope, etc. Rarely does it have a purely economic or political meaning. See also F. Bock, “Gregorio VII,” pp. 243-79, esp. 256ff; Nitschke, “Wirksamkeit,” pp. 164, 188; Laarhoven, “Christianitas,” pp. 92-93; and Robinson, pp. 176-80.] 83 GR, Vill, 14, ed. Caspar, p. 534, similarly, JL. 5001, 5271; also in the text of GR, I, 49, p. 190. 34 Bruno, c. 108, 110, ed. Wattenbach, pp. 77, 80. 85 MGH SS. 5.435, 442-47 passim, 450, 457, 461. Cf. also the fidelitas s. Petri, ibid., 444 (twice), 446. 36 GR, I, 21a, ed. Caspar, p. 35; VII, 1a, p. 514; IX, 3, p. 575. 37 Bibliography in R. Holtzmann, Kaiser als Marschall, p. 40 n. 1. 38 GR, vil, 23, ed. Caspar, p. 500. The same letter contains a possible

imitation of the demand for a feudal oath (p. 501 n. 3). 39 GR, 1, 63, ed. Caspar, p. 92.

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MILITIA SANCTI PETRI man anti-king that he was elected “for the fidelity [ad fidelitatem|” of the Apostles Peter and Paul,*® the meaning of the key word is ambiguous: a feudal sense may be as easily

asserted as denied. To that extent, the phrase is synonymous with miles s. Petri;*1 and, notwithstanding its wider meaning, Gregory had a preference for using it in contexts where real fighting was in question.*?

The concept of the “service of St. Peter [servitzum s. Petri|” also deserves to rank with miles s. Petr: and fidelis s. Petri.*® In the Register of Gregory’s letters, the word servitium often retains its general sense corresponding to our “service.”*+ Yet it is also a technical term for feudal military service, as in the letter of protection for the monastery of Aurillac, where Viscount Berengar of Sarlat is said to have refused the “due service and fidelity [debitum servituum et fidelitatem]” that he owed as a vassal of the monastery.45 The same two meanings occur when the service of

the pope or St. Peter is expressly meant. In most of these instances, we encounter the general sense of “‘service,” for example, by bishops who are to come to Rome or to undertake a legation at the pope’s request.‘® Gregory also expects

laymen to serve St. Peter, and service here is usually a synonym for devotion or obedience.*7 In other instances, 40 GR, vil, 14a, ed. Caspar, p. 486.

41In GR, ul, 49, ed. Caspar, p. 190, as well as 1X, 3, pp. 575f, fidelis occurs very Close to miles s. Petri. 42 GR, I, 46, ed. Caspar, p. 70; Il, 37, p. 173; I, 46, p. 186; 1, 49, p. 190; II, 54, Pp. 199; VUI, 2, p. 518; VII, 6, p. 524; VIL, 7, p. 525; VI, 14, Pp. 535; IX, 21, p. 606.

43 Cf. E. Jordan, “Bulletin,” pp. 76f. 44 See GR, index, S.v. servitium; Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, 11, 354f, 338ff.

45 GR, vil, 19, ed. Caspar, p. 494. 46 Cf. GR, I, 5, ed. Caspar, p. 84, and I, 62, p. 91.

47 For example, GR, vi, 29, ed. Caspar, p. 441 (to the king of Hungary): ‘“‘to serve the Blessed Peter ... and to obey us [ad serviendum b.

Petro ...et ad oboediendum nobis)”; 1X, 11, p. 589: “the Romans... ready for the service of God and ourselves [Romani . . . dei et nostro servitio parati]”; Vv, 4, pp. 351f (about the Corsicans): ‘‘showing no service, no fidelity, no subjection or obedience whatever to the Blessed Peter [nichil servitti, nichil fidelitatis, nichil penitus subiectionis aut

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however, the servitium s. Petri expected of secular magnates has a definite, precisely definable meaning. When Gregory called upon Count William of Upper Burgundy to come forth with an army 17 servitio s. Petrt, when he told Duke William of Aquitaine that participation in the plan-

ned Eastern expedition was servitium s. Petri, when he sought to summon Duke Welf of Bavaria to seruitium s. Petri so that the Italian knights might receive support in war against Henry IV, and when he wished the bishop of Trent to send his knights ad servitium s. Petri: in these cases he unmistakably meant military service.*®

All these concepts have the characteristic of interweaving religious symbolism with feudal-military meanings

to the advantage of papal power. In the vocabulary of his letters, Gregory reveals a turn of mind that, when express-

ing the relations of the faithful to the papacy, drew no hard and fast line of demarcation between pious devotion and an obligation to feudal military service. Militia s. Petri was the clearest concept—and therefore the most important —tfor the milites s. Petri, whether vassals of the pope or only pious adherents, were invariably laymen and warriors, real knights or princes, and not spiritual servants of an idea,

fighting only with words or in their souls. A significant step in the development of Christian attitudes toward war is completed. Militia Christi draws apart from militia s. oboedientis b. Petro exhibentes].” A similar expression with regard to bishops, Iv, 14, p. 318: “you show obedience or service [oboedientiam vel servitium exhibeatis].” 48 See the individual passages below, pp. 212, 216, 218-19, and above,

pp. 161, 166. See also below, p. 211 about the grant to the town of Albinium in the Papal States (milites ... pro utilitate et servitio s. Petri) and the servitium to be generally performed by the territory of St. Peter. When it is said (GR, vill, 10, ed. Caspar, p. 529): “that the greatest services .. . had been promised [maxima servitia .. . fuisse promissa]” to the pope for the grant of Sardinia, it seems reasonable to connect the statement with Godfrey of Lorraine’s promises of military assistance (ibid., 1, 72, p. 103): “the soldiers whom you promised us to lead for the honor and aid of St. Peter [milites quos ad honorem et subsidium s. Petri te ducturum nobis promisisti].” See also Exkurs Iv [of the German edition].

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Petri. The former always retained its old metaphoricalspiritual sense and acquired ambiguity when, with Gregory VII, the literal-military meaning of militza came into use. Hence a distinction arose between the two phrases: militia Christi meant the service of Christ in general; militia s. Petrt meant that of the papacy in particular. ‘The prominence Gregory VII gave to the “knighthood of St. Peter,” “fidelity to St. Peter,” and the “service of St. Peter” expresses

a hierarchical tendency, oriented to the rights of the papacy, the same tendency we have observed in his attitude

to holy war; the pious zeal of the knighthood was to be directed to the support of the papacy in particular, and not only to Christian objectives in general.

The vexillum s. Petri has an obvious relationship to this same context. The banner of St. Peter given by Gregory to Robert Guiscard in 1080 was to be simultaneously an expression of pious crusading intentions and a feudal symbol of papal overlordship;*® as Cardinal Boso appropriately writes, the grant turned Robert into a “particular knight of St. Peter [specialis b. Petrt miles].”®° ‘The pope also envisioned the relationship to St. Peter in this case as having a dual sense: in addition to being a papal vassal, Robert was

also, as a pious protégé of St. Peter, to profit from the solicitude of the victory-bringing saint.* Gregory VII united various elements into a singular combination of spirituality and military power. This becomes

completely clear only when his actions and sayings, and especially his relations with armed princes and knights, are analyzed in detail. The principal issue is: how did Gregory acquire fighting men for his actual or projected wars? In

49 Above, p. 193. |

50 Liber pont., ed. Duchesne, U1, 366. In Boso’s source, Bonizo (UGH Libelli 1.612), it says: etus (papae) proprius factus miles. The concepts miles s. Petri and miles (homo) papae were often quoted; they were different to the extent that the first was ambiguous, while the second could be understood only in the feudal sense. See Holtzmann, Kaiser als Marschall, p. 40 n. 1, on the basis of the ordo for imperial coronation of 1209. 51 GR, 1x, 17, ed. Caspar, pp. 597f.

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all his thinking about war, the gathering of armed forces

was and remained the crucial point; yet none of his predecessors had regularly had an army at his disposal. In principle, popes could acquire an army in five ways: a levy

from the papal states, recruitment by the ecclesiastical hierarchy, mercenaries, volunteers, and feudal contingents. In some rare and isolated cases, the papacy before Hilde-

brand had resorted to one or the other of these means; Gregory VII tried all of them at once! As lord of the Papal States, he could dispose of the forces of Rome and the Campagna, but established custom limited this at most to home defense and excluded foreign war. The

attempt of Sylvester II to domesticate feudalism in the Papal States had not yet succeeded.®? Under Nicholas II, the inhabitants of fortified towns in the Papal States owed a money due, suit to court, the fodrum, and purveyance to papal legates.5* Gregory VII attempted to broaden these obligations in a manner corresponding to the military and court duties of feudal law: the burghal rights he granted to the fort of Albinium in the Papal States retained the money due and court attendance; but Gregory specified in addi-

tion that the inhabitants owed military aid and counsel [expeditio and colloquium], as was the custom of faithful milttes, and that they were bound to support the knights whom the pope might occasionally install in the fortress “for the needs of St. Peter [ad wtilitatem s. Petri]”; for that reason, fodrum and purveyance to legates were omitted.5+ Since the charter for Albinium is the only known grant of burghal privileges by Gregory, no general statement

may be made about his burghal policy, but the duties he imposed in other cases cannot have been very different. He 52 Cf. K. Jordan, “Eindringen,” pp. 38ff. 53 Italia pont., 1, 72, no. 1; O. Vehse, “Herrschaft,” pp. 173, cf. 153f. On this, Jordan, ‘“Eindringen,” p. 46. 54 Deusdedit, 11, 201, ed. Wolf von Glanvell, p. 361; Liber censuum, ed. Fabre and Duchesne, I, 349. It is characteristic that the knights were

to be supported “for love of St. Peter [pro amore b. Petri], that is to say, on religious grounds.

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MILITIA SANCTI PETRI caused the Lenten synod of 1079 to decree penalties against all those who possessed property of St. Peter without performing the “‘service [servitium]” he owed for it;>> in spite of the many meanings of “‘service,’ the word should certainly be interpreted here in tne sense of the obligations of Albinium. On the other hand, there are no grounds for in-

ferring that Gregory vindicated claims of this kind in the Papal States.°® No contingent from there ever performed military service for him. When he planned the campaign against Ravenna in 1080, he announced that those living “far and wide around the City [circa Urbem longe lategue] had promised to make war for the Roman church, along with the Normans and the princes of Tuscia.®? His words do not reveal whether the promise stemmed from a duty to perform military service or from a voluntary decision; in any case, the campaign never took place. As head of the universal church, Gregory had even less claim to exacting military service. The remarkable thing is that, in spite of this, he occasionally tried to induce bishops to supply him with troops. In 1076 he asked the bishop of Trent to send him as many knights as he could aftord “for the service of St. Peter [ad servitium b. Petri].’5* ‘The same request went to Archbishop Manasses of Rheims two years later, but was soon withdrawn on condition that Manasses

would support the claims of Countess Mathilda in Lorraine.5® ‘These requests might be taken as exceptions, occasioned by special needs. But there was method in them, as 55 GR, vi, 5b, ed. Caspar, p. 405.

56 See Jordan, ‘‘Eindringen,” pp. 47ff. With regard to the period of Urban II it may be noted that the citizens of Velletri owed military service, but only in the Campagna and Marittima: Italia pont., "1, 104, no. 2. Innocent III was not the first to establish military service for

Frosinone (Jordan, pp. 43f); rather, he specifies that expeditio and guerra et pax ad mandatum curie facienda were already old customs (Liber censuum, 1, 340). See also Jordan’s remarks in his review of Mitteis, p. 139 n. 1. 57 GR, vill, 7, ed. Caspar, p. 525. 58 JL. 4997 (Jaffé, Bibliotheca, v, 110). 59 Letter of Manasses to Gregory in Hugh of Flavigny, MGH SS. 8.420.

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shown by the changed formula for the episcopal oath. In the time of Alexander II, the bishops who came to Rome to be consecrated or to receive the pallium swore fidelity to the pope in a form already very similar to the feudal oath; they also swore to support legates, attend synods, and perform the annual journey to the “threshold” of St. Peter in Rome [visitatio liminum].® The oath of the archbishop

of Aquileia, copied into Gregory’s Register as a model, shows that Gregory kept the core of the older oath, but with a characteristic alteration: the visitatio liminum drops out, and the following sentences appear among other additions: “Upon request I shall faithfully assist the Roman church by lay military service [per saecularem militiam].”* The whole Gregory is epitomized by this added sentence, which is surely unique in all church history in a papal oath for bishops. Yet it is quite evident that the pope could not

win such a commitment from the mass of bishops; every now and then, he might obtain a small contingent in this way, but never a whole army.

Mercenaries were obviously more important to Gregory than episcopal levies. The money he spent on troops for his wars has previously been discussed.*2 Nothing more

definite may be established, for neither the pope nor his supporters entered into details; the maintenance of mercenaries, which became a widespread practice in the West only

in the eleventh century, was still regarded by many as disreputable.®* As a result, we are denied a closer look at 60 Juramentum episcoporum, qui in Romana ecclesia consecrantur etc., in Deusdedit, Iv, 423 (162), p. 599. 61 GR, vi, 17, ed. Caspar, pp. 428f. In the census book of Albinus and

Cencius, the oath is entered as formula for the iuwramenitum episcoporum: Liber censuum, 1, 415, no. 145; cf. Ul, 93, no. 37. The reworking

of the older formula can be clearly identified: the phrase Consilium vero is inverted and now lacks a subject; the closing words licentia remanserit are understandable only when the model is consulted. 62 Above, pp. 159-60. Schmitthenner, Sdéldnertum, p. 51. 63 See also Hugh of Flavigny, MGH SS. 8.342 (unrelated to Gregory):

militibus, quos soldarios vocari mos optinuit, ... causa quaestus ... genus infestum et improbum. | 213

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this method of acquiring forces; nor do we need to do so, for volunteers and feudal contingents are what matter most in our context. Gregory counted on volunteers in all his war plans; he promised them heavenly rewards. When he called on William of Upper Burgundy to join in the Norman and East-

ern wars, he wrote: “Peter and Paul, the princes of the apostles, will, we believe, bestow doubled, nay multiple, rewards upon you and all those who labor in this campaign’’;** similarly in his second call to crusade: “With momentary pains you can obtain eternal reward’’;® and in his last appeal after the loss of Rome: “Bring help, if you desire to receive forgiveness of sins, blessings, and mercy in this life and the next.’** The forgiveness of sins was the

prospect that he frequently proffered or regarded as the object striven for by his helpers. He wrote to the Piacenzans fighting for a new bishop: “Whoever among you dies for the defense of righteousness will be freed from all sins by the intercession of the apostles Peter and Paul.’®? He expected help against Wibert from German dynasts who would place themselves in the service of the Apostle “from love of St. Peter and for the forgiveness of sins.”*® To these passages

should be added the various promises resembling indulgences that we have already encountered.*® Whenever Gregory did not explicitly promise heavenly reward, he appealed at least to piety; Christian faith and the love of St.

Peter made it the moral duty of knights to fight for the church.7° Robert Guiscard should present his military serv-

ice to God as a free-will offering over and above his vassalage to the pope; even if he had promised nothing, he must assist the hard-pressed Roman church “out of Christian obligation [ex ture christianitatis].”"™ 64 GR, 1, 46, ed. Caspar, p. 71. 65 GR, Il, 37, ed. Caspar, p. 173. 66 JL. 5271 (Jaffé, Bibliotheca, ul, 574f).

67 GR, ul, 54, ed. Caspar, p. 199. 68 GR, Ix, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 574. 69 Above, pp. 172-73, 175. 70 For example, GR, 1, 7, ed. Caspar, p. 12; I, 49, p. 75; JL. 5108 (Jaffé, Bibliotheca, il, 553). 71 GR, Ix, 4, ed. Caspar, p. 578, and Ix, 17, p. 598.

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What all this means is that Gregory went very far in embracing the general idea of crusade—the ethical idea of Christian knighthood. The clearest sign of this comes from

his encouraging the cultual veneration of two men who died as pious knights while fighting for the church: Erlembald of Milan, the military leader of the Pataria often mentioned before, who fell in battle in 1075, and Cencius, the

prefect of the city of Rome. Cencius had been known to Peter Damiani as a particularly pious man, who prayed so incessantly that he neglected his judicial duties.7? Gregory VII calls him his familiaris, with whom he had grown up since youth.7? Cencius wished to become a monk, but was forbidden to do so by the pope; he then proved himself an “untiring knight of St. Peter against the schismatics.”’* In

the summer of 1077, he was murdered in Rome by the enemies of the pope. The Romans buried him with great honor and soon believed in miracles that occurred at his grave. Both Cencius and Erlembald were regarded as martyrs. ‘Ihe decisive step was taken by Gregory at the spring synod of 1078, when he caused official proclamation

to be made of the miracles that had taken place at the tombs of the two men.?> This was not really a canonization,

but had similar value as propaganda. From then on, Cencius and Erlembald were the great exemplars of ecclesiastical knighthood. Both the Swabian Annalist and Bonizo of Sutri add to their reports of the miracles an almost identically phrased admonition that all “warriors of God” should, like them, conduct the war against heretics.”¢ 72 Peter Damiani, Ep. vil, 1 and 2 (MPL 144.461ff).

73 GR, 1, 21, ed. Caspar, p. 288: duo familiares nostri Albericus et Cincius. That this is about the prefects, as Jaffé noted, may be inferred from the embassy to the Mauretanian king. Caspar, GR, p. 288 n. 1, doubts it, but then confuses the city prefect Cencius Johannis with Cencius Stephani, the known opponent of Gregory; on both, Bonizo, MGH Libelli 1.603. 74 Swabian Annalist a. 1077, MGH SS. 5.304f; Bernold a. 1077, ibid.,

- 18 Swabian Annalist, loc. cit.; Bonizo, MGH Libelli 1.611; Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbiicher, i, 81f, 111. 76 Swabian Annalist, MGH SS 5.306; Bonizo, MGH Libelli 1.620.

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But Erlembald and Cencius had not simply fought for Christian objectives: they had also stood in a special relationship of obedience to the pope. This pattern is typical of Gregory VII, who propagated a specifically papal idea of crusade. Chapter v reported a number of cases where Gregory relied solely on religious ideas in attempting to win troops for definite papal wars. Even more significant are his efforts, based also on religious grounds, to obtain commitments from princes and knights to perform military tasks for the papacy on a durable basis. Such efforts had begun under Alexander II, and had very probably been influenced by the archdeacon Hildebrand. It was then, in the presence of the pope and a large gather-

ing of churchmen, that the counts William of Upper Burgundy, Raimond of Saint-Gilles, Amadeus of Savoy, and other ‘“‘fideles of St. Peter” had taken an oath to supply their forces at any time upon request for defending the property of St. Peter [res s. Petrt].77 Apparently no reciprocal com-

mitment was made by the papacy, for Gregory VII mentioned only heavenly reward when he later referred to this promise. The counts had not received their territories as fiefs from the pope; yet they assumed military obligations as though the pope had been their feudal lord. Gregory regarded their promise as an act of religious devotion, and even today we are in no position to suggest anything else; rather, we should recall that Raimond of Saint-Gilles, the only survivor among the three counts, was first to respond

to the papal appeal when the First Crusade was proclaimed.7®

A different case was that of King Sancho of Aragon. He established a real feudal relationship with the Holy See in 1068, by conferring himself and his lands upon St. Peter and 77 GR, 1, 46, ed. Caspar, p. 70. Caspar (GR, p. 70 n. 2) rightly infers

from the wording that the oath was taken at a synod. Heinemann, Geschichte, 1, 389f, supposes that it happened in the period of con-

flict with the Normans (1067); see also W. Holtzmann, “Studien,” pp. ee Ce Holtzmann, pp. 195ff. 216

MILITIA SANCTI PETRI undertaking the obligation of “serving” him.7® This feudal service could be none other than military, and thus resem-

bled the commitment of the French counts mentioned above. We do not know whether the pope ever called on Sancho for feudal service; it is only clear that he never performed any, but he did acknowledge his obligation and re-

placed it twenty years later by a money payment. He too received no reciprocal commitment from the papacy. While he may have been influenced by political motives, particu-

larly the desire to secure the independence of his rule against the claims of stronger neighbors, his commendation nevertheless retained the appearance of a voluntary act of pious devotion, deserving heavenly reward.®°

Yet another image is presented by the negotiations of Gregory VII with the Danish king. Under Alexander II, Sven IT had tried to obtain the patronage [patrocinium] of St. Peter; he paid Peter’s Pence and showed himself a fidelis

of the prince of the apostles, without, however, being a vassal obligated to feudal services.*t But when Gregory sent

a legate in January 1075, he asked Sven point blank: “We also desire a communication from you as to the hopes we may rest in you when the holy Roman mother church needs your help with knights and the worldly sword against the impious and the enemies of God.”*®? Here, too, Gregory hoped to obtain a general commitment of assistance in case

of need, without offering a practical counterpart; he re-

garded military assistance to the papacy simply as a religious duty, needing no additional basis. Nevertheless he added: “If, as a bishop of your country reports to us, you will send one of your sons with a number of trusty knights 79 On this and what follows, see Exkurs Iv [of the German edition]. 80 According to Kehr, Papsttum und Aragon, p. 13, it was “only an

act of ecclesiastical devotion and of quite personal submission,” “a

spontaneous declaration of religious sentiment”; yet ‘‘a need for protection and security” in close connection with Rome was also expressed. 81 JL. 4495; GR, ll, 75, ed. Caspar, p. 238 and V, 10, p. 361.

82 GR, il, 51, ed. Caspar, p. 194. Gregory did not know that Sven had died nine months before. [Cf. Stickler, “Gladius,” pp. 99-100. ] 217

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to perform military service for the papal court, we intend

to make him prince and protector of Christianity in a particularly rich province on the coast, which is at this moment in the hands of dirty and cowardly heretics.” The king’s son was not just to be in a state of preparedness in case he were mobilized; he was to be present in person with a contingent of troops to serve the pope. In contrast to the cases mentioned before, Sven’s son was to be rewarded for

his service by the pope, probably with Dalmatia. The fundamental scheme of feudalism—land grant in return for military service—is apparent even without Gregory’s mentioning a reward. In sum, this papal letter successively men-

tions pious Christian duty and professional soldiering rewarded by wordly goods, without making the least distinction in war aims. Gregory VII entered into a similar agreement with God-

frey of Lorraine. Godfrey promised to reinforce the pope with a contingent of knights “for the honor and assistance of St. Peter [ad honorem et subsidium s. Petri],” in return for which Gregory made him a promise concerning Sardinia;** the pope claimed the whole island for the Papal States, and Duke Godfrey was probably to receive half of it as a fief.°+ Nevertheless, Gregory regarded the agreement

[pactto] as a moral and religious matter. Godfrey had promised “to belong wholeheartedly to St. Peter’; for this Gregory “owed [him] much in true love” and would be as “a good father to his dearest son.” When Godfrey did not send the troops at the appointed time, the pope complained in the words of the Psalmist, calling it a defec-

tion from virtue, and he reminded Godfrey of his late father, who had also failed in his promise to the Roman church and gave no cause for rejoicing.®®

Gregory's plans involving Welf IV of Bavaria point even 83 GR, I, 72, ed. Caspar, pp. 103f. 84 GR, vu, 10, ed. Caspar, p. 529.

85 GR, 1, 72, ed. Caspar, pp. 103f; see also above, pp. 155-56, on the pactio with Ebolus of Roucy.

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more clearly in the same direction. While the empress Agnes was still alive—that is, before 1077—-Welf IV had agreed with the pope to swear fidelity to St. Peter; in return, he was assured the succession to the fief of his father, Marquess Albert Azzo II of Este. We again find a regular feudal relationship. Gregory tried to obtain German allies for the troops of Mathilda of Tuscany in 1081; wishing to “set [Welf] in the bosom of St. Peter’ and particularly ‘‘to summon [him] to the service of St. Peter,” he caused Welf to be admonished to carry out his prior commitment.®* At the same time, other German dynasts were to be sought out who were ready to do the same “out of love of St. Peter and

for the forgiveness of their sins.” So feudal service converged with piety: this was the militia s. Petri.

In order to understand the close relationship repeatedly encountered between papal recruitment and feudal over-

lordship, we must address ourselves to the question of Gregory’s feudal policy—what has been called “hierocratism.” Although an untold amount has been written on this policy, its many-sidedness continues to prevent us from

obtaining a clear picture. For while Gregory made many claims vis-a-vis temporal princes and knights, hardly two instances are alike. All of them have only one thing in com-

mon: they brought, or were meant to bring, the papacy some increase in power and influence. The question whether Gregory regarded the acquisition of political power as an end in itself, or only as a means, is sterile and superfluous; it suffices that acquiring power was an integral component of his regime. Neither do we need to rack our brains over the meaning and significance of the fidelitas and obedientia he constantly demanded, especially since, as we saw, Gregory's usage of such terms was always ambiguous. We would do well to leave in the background the broadly 86 GR, Ix, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 574. We see from this letter that the knights of Countess Mathilda had refused to resist Henry IV any longer

unless they obtained assistance from Germany; the pope hoped that through Welf, Azzo’s son, he might again draw the Italians to his side. It is also clear that the subject is aid in war. 219

MILITIA SANCTI PETRI political and constitutional side of the problem and simply ask what practical consequences the pope drew from feudal lordship, what actual services he demanded from his real or supposed vassals and from subordinates of other kinds outside the Papal States. The financial advantages that the papacy derived from feudal lordship*’ and from the furthering of church reform have been written about, whereas the military aspect of vassality has received remarkably little attention hitherto. Invariably, the first duty of vassals was not to pay money

but to serve at war—the obligation to attend the lord’s campaigns. I’wo qualifications must always be made in this

respect where the papacy is concerned. First, Gregory’s claims on temporal states for subordination to the papacy or other services did not all, by any means, have a feudal character; this qualification applies especially when only a money payment, Peter’s Pence, was received or claimed. Secondly, the practice of the Curia since Sylvester II had been to combine enfeoffment in the feudal manner with an older form of bestowal in return for a rent, apparently on the understanding that the payment of rent was a recognition of ownership.** In this way, there gradually arose a con-

cept of “feudal rent’ of a kind that seems to have been peculiar to the feudal relationships of the Curia. Owing to these complexities, the role of money payments in Gregory's feudal policy is difficult to grasp.

Nicholas II had attached the condition of a money due to the grant of the miter to Spitignev, duke of Bohemia, and

so did Gregory.*® When he claimed Peter’s Pence from 87 W. Schneider, Gregor VII., pp. 196ff; Fliche, Réforme grégorienne, 1, 350; Hampe, Hochmittelalter, pp. 93f. See also Exkurs tv [of the German edition]. 88 Jordan, “Eindringen,” pp. gof. 89 GR, 11, 7, ed. Caspar, pp. 135f, with Caspar’s notes. We hear nothing under Gregory VII about the Polish Peter’s Pence that had been established ca. 1000; rather, the pope speaks expressly (GR, Ul, 73, p. 234) of

oblationes made voluntarily (gratuita devotione) by the Polish king; see Maschke, Peterspfennig, pp. 23f, who, however, mistakenly translates

gratuitus as “thankful” and therefore misses the point. 220

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France, he voiced the opinion that it was due from of old, basing himself on a supposed charter of Charlemagne that he believed genuine.*° From other evidence, we know that

the tradition of a Gallic Peter’s Pence long antedated Gregory.® Denmark paid Peter’s Pence since at least the time of Alexander II; Gregory went far beyond this when he attempted to draw the Danish king into military commit-

ments.°2 With regard to England, which had long paid Peter’s Pence, Gregory likewise attempted unsuccessfully to establish a feudal relationship.®* In sum, the non-feudal obligations to pay money were either existing practices or

attested by old documents or traditions. ‘I'wice Gregory tried to enlarge obligations of this kind by the addition of a feudal homage or voluntary military service, but in no case did he establish a new relationship consisting solely of a money payment.

Gregory worked hard, however, at binding princes to the papacy by ties of feudal law. We shall not consider every instance, for little is known of the vassal services demanded from Hungary, Russia, Saxony, Spain, Sardinia,

and Corsica.** In some of the remaining cases, a feudal rent was to have been paid. A pensio was paid by the south

Italian Normans, whose status as papal feudatories since 1059 had probably been influenced from the first by Hilde-

brand.®* Demetrius Zwonomir of Dalmatia and Croatia promised a tributum when he was crowned and invested by papal legates in 1076.°* Count Bernard of Besalu under90 GR, vill, 23, ed. Caspar, p. 566, cf. Exkurs Iv [of German edition]. 91 Chronicon Novaliciense, 1, fragm. 4 (Monumenta Novaliciensia, Ul,

107f). To my knowledge, this report has not hitherto been noticed. 92 See above, pp. 217-18. 93 Above, pp. 188-89. 94 The material has most recently been assembled in Witihr, Studien, pp. 52ff; there is also the generally overlooked claim to protection over Brittany in JL. 5072 (Cartulaire de Quimperleé, p. 257), cf. B.-A. Poquet

de Haut-Jussé, Papes, pp. 25f; but it mentions neither vassalage nor specified duties.

95 See above, pp. 128-36, and Jordan, “Eindringen,” pp. 71f; Kehr, Belehnungen, pp. 12f. 96 Deusdedit, 11, 278, p. 383. 221

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took to pay a census when he acknowledged himself to be a ‘special knight of St. Peter [peculiaris miles s. Petri]” in 1077.97 Count Peter of Melgueil gave the county of Substan-

tion to the Roman church in 1085 and likewise committed himself to payment of a census.°* But in other cases we hear nothing of a feudal rent. Count Bertrand of Provence swore fidelity to the pope in 1081 and gave him his lands, but without a rent.*® In the same year, Gregory demanded a feudal oath from the German king with various obligations, but also without feudal rent.1°° Other instances where

no rent is mentioned are those, already discussed, of the king of Aragon, of the prince of Denmark, and of Dukes Godfrey of Lorraine and Welf of Bavaria.

Since these last four feudatories were supposed to perform military service, we should add to their cases that of the Normans, who not only paid rent but also undertook the armed defensio of the papacy. Gregory seems to have considered the latter duty to be more important, for his letters repeatedly mention that the Normans swore to render military assistance but never refer to the rent.1°? While it is true that the other vassals are not said to owe military services, the totality of our findings nevertheless justifies the conclusion that Gregory held the military obligations of vassals to be at least equal in importance to the financial ones.

As other authors have rightly pointed out, Gregory’s feudal policy also had ecclesiastical aims.1°? Our remarks 97 Espana Sagrada, xLiul, 480; cf. Kehr, Prinzipat, p. 35. 98 Gallia christiana, vi, Instr. 340f. 99 GR, Ix, 12a, ed. Caspar, p. 590.

100 GR, Ix, 3, ed. Caspar, pp. 575f. The reference to the lands and revenues that Constantine and Charlemagne gave to St. Peter stems

from the relevant parts of the imperial privileges for the Roman church, and therefore are not related to feudalism. 101 GR, vu, 7, ed. Caspar, p. 525: sicut iurati sunt, ad defensionem,

etc.; IX, 11, p. 589: adiutorium, sicut iuramento fidelitatis nobis promisit; IX, 17, p. 598: memento quod sibi promisisti, etc. 102 Particularly, Wuhr, p. 48, who, however, generalizes too much and confuses many details; see Deutsche Literaturzeitung (1931), Pp. 1998.

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on this subject will be limited to what may be directly inferred from the feudal oaths. The Normans promised to hand over their proprietary churches to the papacy and to give support at papal elections.°? Demetrius Zwonomir swore to protect the church and church tithes, to oversee clerical morals and canonical marriages, and to hand over the monastery of Urana.’** In various ways, the counts of Besalu, Provence, and Melgueil renounced their proprietary rights over churches.1°° The German king was to conclude an agreement with the pope with regard to investiture and the papal proprietary churches.’° In all the cases

known to us in some detail where the pope vindicated feudal overlordship, it may be said that he claimed either ecclesiastical concessions or military services, and sometimes a rent as well.

Gregory's hierocratism hardly had its sole roots in his ef-

forts to acquire fighting forces; yet the two were closely

bound together. One purpose of feudal lordship over secular rulers was to bring a papal army into being. It is no exaggeration to say that Gregory VII sought to make the

papacy into a military power: to him this may have been only a means to an end—who will ever know?—but he wanted military power, even if only as a means. He explored every way he could think of to reach this goal. The subordination of whole countries to the Curia was one approach; another was the loosening of state structures by the

estrangement of vassals from their feudal lords and the direct binding of knights to St. Peter. The well-known alliance of the papacy with the German dynasts is only one aspect of these activities, which recall our point of departure in Chapter 11.1°7 In Gregory’s view, the same pur103 Deusdedit, Il, 285 (157), p. 394; WI, 288 (159), p. 396. GR, I, 214, ed. Caspar, p. 36, and VIII, 1a, p. 515. Cf. Kehr, Belehnungen, p. 13. 104 Deusdedit, Il, 278, p. 384. 105 Espana Sagrada, XLil, 481; GR, Ix, 12a, ed. Caspar, p. 591 (cf. 29a, p. 615); Gallia christiana, v1, Instr. 350. 106 GR, Ix, 3, ed. Caspar, p. 576. 107 Cf. above, pp. 57-58. [See above, supplement to n. 7.]

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pose was to be served by the concept of Christian knighthood; logically and unavoidably, it blended with the pope’s feudal ideas and assumed the form of the peculiar militia

s. Petri, whose character we have been trying to understand.

That Gregory’s military policy was a total failure need hardly be proved. What mattered for the further development of the idea of crusade was the attitude of the outside world toward Gregory's plans. Some feudatories entirely rejected the papal solicitation;

of the few who became milites s. Petri and made general commitments to perform military service for the Curia, almost all left the pope in the lurch when asked to fulfill them. Gregory's appeals to William of Upper Burgundy and his allies, and to Godfrey of Lorraine, for the Norman war of 1074 were in vain. William of Aquitaine, though

ready in fact to undertake an Eastern expedition at the time, never accepted a general obligation to make war for the papacy. We have no information on what Ebolus of Roucy accomplished in Spain, on the basis of his treaty with

the Curia; it could not have amounted to much. From among Gregory’s vassals, Robert Guiscard once answered the papal call for help in war, but he too disappointed the pope when it counted most. His long years of insubordination caused the pope to place him under the ban and to prepare for war. Robert was eventually ready in 1080 to renew

the feudal connection, but he still let his lord wait for years, making futile appeals. When he finally came to Rome

in 1084, the behavior of his army had disastrous consequences for the pope. Gregory did not have another opportunity to draw a conclusion from this event, but for his successors the experience with the Normans must have been a warning that the militarism of the papacy led to the abyss. A single miles s. Petri did live up to all Gregory’s wishes

and demands throughout his pontificate, and tirelessly waged war for him. But this was a woman, Countess 224

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Mathilda of Tuscany. This singular state of affairs, which was not a chance phenomenon so much as a sign of the eccentricity of Gregorian ideas, gave contemporaries something to think about. The false rumors about Gregory’s rela-

tions with Mathilda could have arisen only because the role of the great countess was in fact unnatural. Even Bonizo of Sutri, who concluded his Liber ad amicum with praises of Mathilda as an exemplar of holy war, was obviously thinking of her in a later work where he used hard words against women acting as generals.1°* She is, of course,

the great heroine of the other Gregorians, and often compared to Deborah and Jael.1°® She was especially praised for uniting a vita militaris with the highest piety.1#° Moreover, she gave all her estates to the Roman church and received them back from the pope as though in fief.444 When Bernold gives her the honorary predicate of a miles s. Petri,

he meant it in the double sense in which Gregory himself used the term.11?

The role of Prince Gisulf of Salerno is much less clear. He unquestionably enjoyed papal favor to an exceptional degree; he was among the few who received one of Gregory’s notifications of election, and was the only layman whom Gregory entrusted with a legation.113 In 1074 he was

in the papal army that was to have made war on the Normans.11* According to Amatus, Gisulf was all obedience to 108 MGH + Libelli 1.620; Bonizo, De vita, vu, 29, ed. Perels, p. 249; cf. P. Fournier, “Bonizo de Sutri,” pp. 294f. Cf. also Liber de unitate, MGH Libellt 2.263. 109 Vita Anselmi, c. 11 (MGH SS. 12.16); Rangerius, v. 3589 (MGH SS. 30.1232); Paul of Bernreid, c. 59 (Watterich, Vitae, 1, 506); Bonizo, MGH Libelli 1.620; Donizo, Vita Mathildis, ed. Simeoni, p. 80 (cf. also pp. 64, 101, and passim). Anselm’s quotation (MGH Libelli 1.527) refers

to Judith. 110 Vita Anselmi, c.7 (MGH SS. 12.15); cf. c. 21, p. 20.

111 See now, Jordan, “Eindringen,” p. 48. 112 Above, n. 29.

113 GR, I, 2, ed. Caspar, p. 4, and VIII, 23, p. 566. Cf. on this W. Holtzmann, “Geschichte,” pp. 274f. 114 Above, p. 161. 225,

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the pope while in Salerno, so that he concluded no alliance without Gregory’s consent; and when he lost Salerno (1077), he was put in charge of the Papal States and made a confidential counselor of the pope.1!® We cannot verify

these reports, and we should be suspicious of them, since Gisulf is not named as an exemplary servant of the pope in other accounts from the Gregorian camp. Besides, what Amatus himself tells us about Gisulf’s cruelly arbitrary rule

in Salerno hardly suits the image of the pious knight. Although Gisulf did in fact fight for Gregory, his conduct should probably be judged in the same way as that of the Roman partisans of the pope: local struggles and factions were the primary consideration, followed as a distant second by consideration for the pope and the church. The most dificult question to answer is whether the idea of a holy war of the church significantly affected the fighting between Henry IV and his opponents in Germany. The papal efforts to give warfare against Henry the character of a crusade unquestionably found a certain echo. Bruno tells us that, at the battle on the Elster, the Saxon bishops had the soldiers sing the eighty-second Psalm—a prayer for the destruction of God’s enemies.'1® Moreover, Bernold

depicts the battle of Pleichfeld as a holy war, at which the fideles s. Petri bore a high cross on their banner wagon as the sign of their trust in God;™7 and he frequently commemorates the services of individual German “knights of St. Peter.”11® But such incidents could not produce a coherent theory because the opposite side invoked similarly ecclesiastical ideas. Henry IV declared that his Saxon op-

ponents could not be regarded as Christians because of their crimes,'!® and he called on the pope to depose the Saxon bishops as oath-breaking fomentors of civil war.1?° 115 Aime, Ystoire, vi, 7 and go, ed. Delarc, pp. 325 and 354. 116 Bruno, Bell. Sax. c. 122, ed. Wattenbach, p. 94. 117 MGH SS. 5.444f. Cf. Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, pp. 896f.

118 Cf. above, pp. 205-206. 119 Bruno, C. 33, p. 23. 120 Bruno, c. 64, p. 40.

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Bruno’s previously mentioned account of the battle on the Elster adds that, when the imperial forces thought they were victorious, they sang the Te Deum and Kyrie Eleison.1?1 ‘The

consequences must have been general confusion. Everyone

was aware that a war of the princes against royal power was taking place, and that this was older than the conflict with the church. ‘The Swabian Annalist betrays his uncertainties: at the years 1077 and 1078, he calls the anti-king Rudolf and Duke Berchtold defenders of the church, but then adds that the pope withheld ecclesiastical sanctions so

that the civil war of the princes might first end.1?2 Even more characteristic is his story that the French king and other foreigners promised help to the anti-king against Henry IV, “for the sake of God and St. Peter’ and “for the defense of holy church and the whole kingdom of the Germans.’*23 ‘The role of the French king in internal German strife strikes a note that became all too familiar thereafter,

filling a long, murky chapter of German history. Such a situation could not offer favorable ground for the growth of an idea of crusade. |

Gregory VII did not reckon with men as they were. Nevertheless, his concept of a militia s. Petri did not fall flat;

rather, it merged with a powerful contemporary current—

the idea of holy war, an idea with a future—to produce a far-reaching movement. No one before Gregory embraced

the idea as he did in his personal conduct; he carried it even to the point of exaggeration.1** But far from seeking to place holy war in the service of all, he tried to harness 121 [bid., c. 122, pp. 94f. 122 MGH SS. 5.300, 309, 313.

123 Ibid., p. 311. On the assertion that the war against Henry IV was

also in the interest of the empire, see further Gregory VII to the German princes (JL. 5108): “To defend the liberty of your nobility [bro defendenda vestrae nobilitatis libertate].” 124 What A. F. Gfrérer, Gregorius VII., tv, g09f, says about Gregory’s significance for the development of Christian knighthood is, of course,

slanted, but it is half true. Its rejection by K. H. Roth von Schreckenstein, Ritterwiirde, pp. 127ff, 257ff, goes too far.

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MILITIA SANCTI PETRI it to the chariot of the papacy.1?5 ‘The change consequently experienced by the idea of Christian knighthood can hardly be overestimated; even the position of the papacy was basi-

cally transformed as a result. We established that the idea of crusade reached a high point of evolution in the 1060s, followed ostensibly by an interruption of several decades. The fact is that Gregory, while continuing to develop the idea of ecclesiastical war, momentarily changed its direction by narrowly confining it to the papacy. His multtza s. Petri was not only the most striking historical phenomenon along the road to the formation of the idea of crusade, but also the stumbling block that brought on a crisis. It is little wonder that the first independent theoretical discussions of the ethics of war took the form of a debate over Gregory

VI.

125 Gregory also did not encourage the Peace of God. The contrary statement by L. Huberti, Studien, p. 393f, is based on the counciliar acts JL. 5260, which are unquestionably apocryphal; see Caspar in GR, p. 374n. On the attitude of Nicholas II and Alexander II to the Peace of God, Fliche, Philippe Ier, p. 501; Gorris, Denkbeelden, pp. 232ff.

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FOR AND AGAINST ECCLESIASTICAL WAR

| he church, which once depended exclusively on the state for support, had entered into immediate contact with the knighthood ever since the appearance of the Peace of God. At first, opposition to this course was only occasional; there were a few comments, but the attitude of the church toward war was not yet envisaged as a problem for theorists.1 Gregory VII, however, attempted to weave such

close ties with the knighthood that state power itself was endangered; he even sent knights into a war of the church against the state. Such activities called forth opposition of a fundamental kind, and the ensuing discussion was not only concerned with the agitation against the state but also

extended to ecclesiastical war as such. The age of intellectual awakening had come, and the first independent ideas stirred. One topic being seriously considered was the question of war; in the polemical literature, it turned into one of the themes of the Investiture Contest. Hitherto, scant

attention has been devoted to this subject; constitutional and canon law have been the preferred terrain, whereas the problem of war leads into the delicate field of ethics.? Yet 1 The treatise De bono pacis by Magister Rufinus, which is entered under the year 1056 in MPL 150.1593ff and is treated as eleventhcentury literature by Gorris, Denkbeelden, pp. 33f, 244ff, belongs in reality to the second half of the twelfth century. H. Fuchs, Augustin, po. 224ff; G. Morin, “Discours,” p. 124. 2In the standard work of Mirbt, Publizistik, pp. 456-61, the question

of the application of force against heretics is on the whole suitably treated; but its evident connection with the general problem of war is only briefly sketched (pp. 46o0f) while its relations to the dissolution of the oath (pp. 220ff) and to Gregory’s warlike character (pp. 593f) are not even recognized. E. Voosen, Papauté, pays even less attention to the

problem of war. How inadequately the import of these matters has hitherto been recognized may be illustrated, for example, by the short229

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the theoretical controversy over war is no less important on this account; it is a significant stage in the origins of the crusades.

The conduct of Gregory VII was what directly provoked theoretical considerations about war. The initiative for introducing the subject came from the imperial side, where the debate was launched with a fundamental criticism of Gregory VII and his actions. It took a long time for the real

issues to be clarified. The deposition decree of Worms (1076), opening the contest, accused the pope in general terms of breaking the peace and hiding violence under the cloak of religion; but only clergymen were included among the inferiors whom he was reproached for arousing against their superiors.*? ‘Though the pope’s mercenaries were alluded to, the reference was confined to Gregory’s election—

that he had used cold steel to carve his way to the throne of peace.* It is characteristic that, later on, the beginnings of Gregory’s reprehensible militancy were projected into the earliest period of his pontificate. In the version of the

deposition decree entered into the Codex Udalrici, the passage referring to violence is altered to say that the pope comings of Hauck (below, p. 261 n. 149) and Gorris (see Exkurs 11 [of the German edition]). [Though evidently aware of the work of the eleventh-century canon-

ists, Erdmann did not fully explore the connection between military policy and the broader canonistic implications of Gregory’s pontificate. As J. T. Gilchrist has pointed out in “Canon Law Aspects,” pp. 21-38, the impact of canon law on the papal reform has only recently been adequately understood. On this subject, articles by Gilchrist, R. Knox, and

G. Fransen in Studi Gregoriani; K. Jordan, “Reformpapsttum,” pp. 128ff, and ‘““Entstehung,” pp. 97ff; J. Sydow, “Untersuchung, pp. 18ff.’’] 3 MGH Const. 1.110f, no. 62; on the date, K. Hampe, “Absagebrief,”’ pp. 315ff.

[The views of the disputants mentioned in this chapter—on the

Investiture Controversy, but not specifically on the problem of war by the church—are outlined in R. W. and A. J. Carlyle, Political Theory, vol. Iv, pt. 2, ch. mI, and pt. 3, ch. 11. See also the articles by Kolmel, Laarhoven, Nitschke, and Schramm, cited above, ch. v, supplements to nn. 4 and 5; Gilchrist, “Canon Law Aspects’; Robinson, “Gregory VII.”] 4 See above, p. 158 n. 43.

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preached the violence of war instead of the teachings of St. Peter;> and Rangerius (ca. 1096) has the king accuse Gregory of making war and maintaining armies at the very beginning of the quarrel.®

In reality, this reproach took quite a while to obtain currency, and did so as a result of the pope’s conduct in the war over the German throne from the late 1070s onward.

His dissolution of the oath of fidelity and promise of spiritual rewards to the opponents of Henry IV in the spring of 1080 called forth passionate protests. Everywhere, the complaint arose that the head of Christendom was sow-

ing dissension in the church. In a circular issued during the summer of 1080, Archbishop Egilbert of ‘Trier called Gregory a banner-bearer by whose fault the world was dip-

ped in blood, whereas Christ marked his milites with the

seal of peace and love; the godless pope roused some against the king, and summoned others to a war that he wished to lead in person against the whole world.” At the same time, Huzmann of Speyer anticipated the election of a new pope, who would strive for peace in the church and

not dissension and war.? Right afterwards, the Brixen decree of deposition loosed a flood of passionate accusations that included the following charges: Gregory, who 5 Jaffé, Bibliotheca, v, 102 note s (cf. MGH Const. 1.111, n. w): “let another ascend to the throne of Blessed Peter, one who would teach, not the violence of war, but the sound doctrine of Blessed Peter [alius in solium b. Petri ascendat, qui nullam violentiam belli, sed b.

Petri sanam doceat doctrinam].” The original text reads: qui nulla violentiam religione palliet, sed, etc. 6 Rangerius, Vita Anselmi, v. 2284 (MGH SS. 30.1205): “He has time for lawsuits, wars, and violence [Litibus et bellis saeviciaeque vacat)”, vv. 23933f, p. 1206: “But he fights, hires soldiers, destroys the city and

denies us our paternal rights [Sed pugnat, sed miliciam conducit et Urbem dissipat et nobis iura paterna negat].”’ See also v. 2325: “Let him leave military service and the royal diadem to us [Nobis militiam, nobis diadema relinquat}.” 7 Egilbert’s appeal of 1080 in the Codex Udalrict, Jaffé, Bibliotheca, v, 128, no. 161. 8 MGH Const. 1.118, no. 69.

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had terrorized the Roman clergy with bought troops at his election, brought confusion to the Christian empire, sought the lite of King Henry, sowed conflict among the peaceful, and stood for oath-breaking and murder.® As may be seen,

the pope is reproached tor disrupting the old order of state and society, and not yet for warlike activity as such. The two actually went hand in hand; papal militarism and hierarchical policies mutually influenced each other. Both endeavors were therefore countered by the theory of the separation of the two swords, and of the divine calling of kingship; the opposition to Gregory operated above all with the old ecclesiastical concept of pax, which expressed not

just an actual state of peace but the harmonious world order desired by God.° Very soon, however, a process of intellectual clarification

began to take place in the literature, as the individual components of the problem were isolated from one another.

The first to take a step in this direction was Wenrich, the scholasticus of Trier (1080-1081). After extensively discussing the competence of kingship and the injustice of dissolving oaths, Wenrich gives an independent place to censure of papal war. He addresses the pope in person:

It is said that you encourage laymen to bloodshed while they look only for an excuse for their sins and use any permission you give as a pretext, even mistaking it for an order. You are thought to have declared that killing is unobjectionable provided it takes place for some definite purpose or other; St. Peter is to be defended by force [res b. Petri defendendas manu esse], and you promise true freedom from all sins to whoever dies in doing so, for you take upon yourself to answer for those who do not shrink from killing a Christian for Christ. You are said to have incessantly preached in this way to all listeners, so 9 Ibid. 119, no. 70.

10 Bernheim, Zeitanschauungen, 1, 2g9ff; Fuchs, Augustin, pp. 182ff, 218ff.

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that there are even bishops today who afhrm that, among

other admonitions, they have heard even these things from you.1?

The papal statements that Wenrich adduces are credible, since most of them are borne out by Gregory’s own letters and declarations. Wenrich recognized the essential point: war for the sake of the church, which Gregory propagates, is what he generally rejects. But, however clearly Wenrich grasped the standpoint of the pope, he had little insight into his own reasons for rejecting such war. The extract above

continues: “Since the unfitness of this matter [rez inconvenientia] is self-evident, the opponents declare that they will not take the trouble to engage in disputation; they leave it to all men of sense to judge how poorly this befits the episcopal, the apostolic, and even the Christian ideal [perfectio].” Wenrich knows only that he, like the other opponents of the pope, condemns the Gregorian teaching on war, but he gives little thought to the question why. The

various aspects of the problem were uncovered step by step.

Similar opinions were voiced in the years to follow. Let

us skip the periodic complaints about the wars Gregory proclaimed’? and turn at once to the pamphlet of the Ravenna jurist Peter Crassus, completed in 1084. Here Gregory is accused of the fundamental fault of bearing the sword to which he had no right.1* His partisans are attacked 11 MGH Libelli, 1.296. Elsewhere (p. 286) Wenrich also reports the criticism of Gregory’s military activities in the Papal States, but without personally commenting; cf. above, p. 178. [On Wenrich, Robinson, “Gregory VII,” pp. 173-74, 180.] 12 Dicta cuiusdam, MGH Libelli 1.459f; Wido of Osnabrick, ibid., p. 468.

183 MGH Libelli 1.439: “the monk Hildebrand enjoys having royal power over troops [gaudet habere regiam in militia potestatem Ildebrandus monachus]”; p. 442: ““Why then do you occupy the seat of the prince of the apostles, you whose sermons consist in holding in your hand an unsheathed sword ready to strike [Quid tu ergo in apostolorum principis sedes sede, qui pro praedicatione gladium ad percutiendum evaginatum manu tenes|?”

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for asserting that they defended the pope for the sake of God. Peter Crassus, like Wenrich, finds this to be a con-

tradiction: God wants peace, but Gregory wages war against peace; to wish to defend him for the sake of God is equivalent to offending God for God’s sake.1* While this does not sound bad, it remains pure rhetoric. Peter Crassus wants to prove most of all that the quarrel between King-

ship and Priesthood ought to be decided by a canonical tribunal, a synod, and not by war. For in a war the same danger threatens both sides, whereas in a judicial contest punishment comes to the guilty. Gregory should therefore have been brought to a court before he learned to gather armies with gold and to fight with secular weapons.'® Thoughts like these could hardly penetrate to the depths of the ethical problem of the ecclesiastical crusading idea. Their significance was limited to popularizing the reasons for opposing Gregory’s martial endeavor; they shifted the question to the terrain of theory and established the principles for the imperial party’s rejection of a war of the church.

Thus challenged, the Gregorians were forced to supply a theoretical justification for the warlike activities of the pope and his followers. ‘Fhe pamphlet of Wenrich of ‘Trier

provoked a rebuttal from the passionately Gregorian Manegold of Lautenbach (ca. 1085). A thinker of remarkable originality, Manegold came directly to grips with the fundamental problem of war; while Wenrich had merely protested, he supplied arguments. Manegold set forth the following proposition as having to be proved: “Whoever, acting not from personal revenge or avarice but as a helper of Catholic princes, kills a Henrician in a public war for the homeland, for righteousness, or for the apostolic see, or in the exercise of his judicial functions, does nothing unjust.’’?°

If the reference to judicial execution is disregarded (its in-

14 Ibid., p. 437. 15 Ibid., p. 438. 16 [bid., p. 377. 234

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clusion stems from the known confusion of war and the lawcourt), what we have here is a definition of permitted war.'? In part, it contains traditional elements: the war must be a public one for the homeland, led by a legitimate prince

and conducted for a just cause. The real novelty—aside from the formula “Catholic” prince, necessitated by the condition of church politics—is the equation of war for the apostolic see with war for the homeland, and the absence of

any reference to kingship. Although this agrees with Gregory’s viewpoint, it especially coincides with Manegold’s revolutionary theory that the king is an official of the people

and subject to deposition, while the pope alone is an unlimited ruler.1®

The crux of the thesis is that the “Henricians’’ are to be fought as excommunicates, men under the ban. Manegold argues the point in various ways. Criminals must be killed if they cannot be otherwise coerced; hence, the Henricians are to be persecuted, for they are oath-breakers and _ parricides, they encourage the worship of idols and apostasy, they rend the church, thus killing and reviling Christ and

despising St. Peter; they fight only to avoid the healing punishment for their crimes and do wrong not from ignorance but from envy and willful wickedness.1® ‘The basis of the argument is the ordinary power to use coercion against the wicked, whose suppression counts as a good work, comparable to giving alms.?° Unassailable though the argument may be on theoretical grounds, it was highly dubious in its 17 The superscript of the chapter (zbid., p. 376) more briefly reads: “Those who kill excommunicates not on account of private injury, but in defense of the church [qui excommunicatos non pro privata iniurta, sed ecclesiam defendendo interficiunt].” Similarly later (p. 379): “not on account of private enmity, but for ecclesiastical defense and revenge [non pro privata inimicicia, sed ecclesiastica defensione atque vindicta}.” 18 Mirbt, Publizistik, pp. 227f; Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 1, 852f. 19 MGH Libelli 1.377, 379, 382f.

20 Ibid., p. 380. In any case, the passage at lines 28-35 is a quotation from Augustine, De sermone Domini in monte, 1, 20, 64 (MPL 34.1262).

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factual premises. Manegold therefore supplements his proof by comparing the Henricians to pagans. ‘““‘Whoever

kills in the defense of the church, or otherwise oppresses the pagan who devastates it, is known to incur no guilt,

but rather to deserve praise and honor. Since they [the Henricians] are more loathsome than professed pagans, he who kills one of them in defense of righteousness 1s even less guilty than he who kills a pagan.” Here is a true disciple of Gregory VII, to whom the enemy within the church always appears more wicked than the pagans.?2 When the subject is envisaged in this way, the difficulty resides in the question whether pagans might rightfully be killed; as we earlier saw, there was no complete agreement that such a

right existed.2 Manegold simply stated that this right is recognized, and to the extent that he spoke of defending the church against pagan attacks, he was in line with current teaching. What he failed to say was that the crucial point in such cases was the defense of the church, regardless of whether the aggressors were pagans or not; as a result, the thesis that Henricianism was even worse than paganism was irrelevant. A similar argument put forward by Manegold is even more obviously defective. To justify the

fight against Henry, he refers to the Maccabees and other Old ‘Testament examples, and goes on to say that, even in Christian times, Catholic princes have waged many wars against the hostility of the pagans. ‘“Chese deeds are so pleas-

ing to God that some of those who were killed in such struggles are regarded as martyrs by the Catholic Church because proved so by signs and miracles. Such a one is the holy king Oswald, who fought for his homeland and faith against the barbarians and was killed by the Mercian king Penda.”?* Without dwelling on this case, Manegold again asserts that these things ‘“‘are known.” They were in fact highly problematic. It is true that King Oswald ranked as a saint, but primarily for having led a holy life and having 21 MGH Libelli 1.381. 22 Cf. above, pp. 154, 166, 171-74.

23 Cf. above, p. 12. 24 MGH Libelli 1.399.

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spread Christianity among his people.2> Other examples proving Manegold’s point would not have been easy to find.?* Attitudes toward war against pagans had long been in flux, and the majority of men in the later eleventh century would have agreed with Manegold in regarding the value he set upon such wars as self-evident. But he would soon have run into difficulties if he had tried to give this proposition a doctrinal justification. It is no accident, there-

fore, that these are the two points where he departs from

his usual method and resorts to the phrase ‘as is well known.”

However that may be, the center of gravity of Manegold’s proof lies elsewhere, namely in the statement that secular force must be applied against schismatics and excommunicates. He undertook to subject this proposition to a regular theological proof, adducing authoritative extracts from the church fathers and early Christian councils.?’ Basi-

cally, the texts he quoted had other situations in view— disciplinary power over unruly clerics and the state’s police power over its subjects, rather than a war against the state

itself or between princes. Nevertheless, Manegold could refer to the conduct of Roman emperors toward heretics and schismatics, which the church fathers had approved. The words of Augustine against the Donatists explicitly

affirmed that state action against schismatics was not persecution but a just disciplina. Manegold’s main inten-

tion, therefore, was to apply the laws against Donatists directly to the “Henricians.”’?* The farthest-reaching consequences followed from this, such as that the enemies were to be deprived of all their property.

Since Augustine had prepared the ground, the whole of this doctrine was theologically tenable. But it was bound to be irreconcilable with public opinion; the situation was much too different from that of early Christian times. More25 Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, Il, 1-13. 26 On Abbo’s Life of Edmund, above, p. 33.

27 MGH Libelli 1.369—76. 28 [bid., pp. 373, 374. 237

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over, the precedent did not justify either the military activities of the papacy or Manegold’s radical theory of kingship. From a practical standpoint, the crucial result was to elim1nate once and for all the teaching that killing even in a just war occasioned guilt; this precept was fundamentally and

explicitly jettisoned.2? What Manegold said about killing pagans has been quoted above: his statements about excommunicates are as follows: “It has, I believe, long since been the custom of the church that he who kills an excommunicate is not considered a murderer and is not punished according to the laws on murder. For whoever withdraws from humanity by his monstrous crime and becomes antl-

christ is rightly not considered a man even when murdered.’’°° ‘The words “I believe” correspond exactly to the previous ‘‘as is well known.” They conceal the fact that a novelty is being introduced that cannot be substantiated in this form. The very weakness of Manegold’s argumentation

on these points illustrates how significant he is for the development of theory.

The pamphlet of Bernard of Constance, which belongs to the same period (1085), is less extreme in its individual statements. When writing about war, Bernard also proceeds from the desire to refute the words of the opposition. Bishops are expected not to defend themselves but to turn the other cheek when struck, in accord with the Sermon on the Mount,*! yet the pope and his supporters are blamed

for the murders and robberies of the German wars.*? Bernard joins Manegold in adducing the Augustinian

passage distinguishing just from unjust persecution.®® For the rest, however, his views are more strongly determined

by the factual needs of the moment. Once the church had taken on the fight with Henry IV and installed an anti-king, it also had to support the military solution of the conflict: 29 Cf. above, pp. 80-81. 30 MGH Libelli 1.376. The application to the Henricians, pp. 377 and 379:

31 [bid., p. 482. 32 [bid., p. 509.

83 Ibid., p. 513, top of page.

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Who would regard us [the bishops in whose name Bernard wrote] even as men if we abandoned canon law and did not now protect a man [the anti-king Herman] who is devoted to righteousness, on whose shoulders we have laid the cross of Saxony and the martyrdom of church defense in the raging evils of these days and with the pope’s consent?%4

It is the other side that devastates the church with murder, looting, arson, and persecutions;** the anti-king only defends himself ‘“‘with zeal for righteousness, against the op-

ponents of the church, not wanting to be at peace with those who tear assunder the unity of ecclesiastical peace.’”’?* If bishops followed the precepts of the Sermon on the Mount

and offered no resistance to the attackers, then canon law

would go under, and Satan would once more attain the lordship that Christ had once wrested from him.*? All this

is highly untheoretical and bypasses the core of the opposing criticism. Unlike Manegold, Bernard makes no attempt to relate the new ecclesiastical practice to a new theory about the relationship of Kingship and Priesthood. Rather, he maintains the idea that the functions of kingship include the defense of the church. “It pertains to our lord

king as defender of the church to suppress the daring of the opponents with the visible sword.”** But then he grad-

ually enlarges the circle of those called to defend the church, for after referring to the God-inspired battles of Constantine and Theodosius, he says: “It is the task of the king, and of the others who now rule in the realm of Christianity and of ecclesiastical majesty, to draw the sword of persecution against the excommunicates and public enemies

of the church, for the ones who deserve persecution for protecting injustice are the criminals, not those who practice persecution for the sake of righteousness.’’%® ‘he circle 34 Ibid., p. 509, bottom of page. 35 Ibid., top of page. 36 Ibid., p. 510. On this formulation, Fuchs, Augustin, pp. 220ff. 37 MGH Libelli 1.482, top of page; cf. p. 483, top of page.

38 Ibid., p. 482, top of page. 39 ITbid., bottom of page. 239

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grows even larger as he goes on: “So that the law of the

church might be saved, we regard it as necessary that all members of the church, lay and ordained, rise up—the former with the material sword, the latter with the spiritual —and set themselves as bulwarks before the house of Israel, to stand there doing battle on the Day of the Lord.’’*° This is a call to the whole community, without the least attempt at a compromise with the traditional teaching on the vocation of kingship.

Bernold of St. Blasien was even less successful than Bernard in coming to grips with the fundamentals of the problem. He plaintively sets forth that the church has often

needed military help against the enmity of the excommunicates and cannot be liberated from their tyranny without bloodshed.*! Completely avoiding the question whether

the church’s conduct is right or wrong in such circumstances, he takes interest only in the problem of how to judge the individual soldier who kills an excommunicate in defense of the church—a point on which he comes to a very

involved conclusion. He stresses, on the one hand, that the soldier’s fighting in such a case is not for himself but in

defense of the church and out of obedience to God, and therefore he should not be condemned as a murderer. On the other hand, Bernold admits that such a deed can hardly

ever be committed without some guilt. He therefore declares: ‘“We do not intend to give complete absolution to all those who kill excommunicates, but neither do we judge them so harshly as the opposition would like.’’*? ‘This was

a compromise between the novelty offered by Manegold and the older teaching found, for example, in Burchard of Worms. Soon afterwards, a similar solution became the official teaching of the church. Urban II decided that those

who kill an excommunicate out of zeal for the church should not be regarded as murderers but should neverthe40 [bid., p. 483, top of page; cf. Ezek. 13:5. 41 MGH Libelli 2.08. 42 Ibid. Cf. O. Greulich, ‘“‘Stellung,” pp. 46ff.

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less be reconciled to God by a certain penance, in case duplicitas, that is, an unworthy side issue, had been implicated in the deed.*

However important these rulings were for everyday practice, they were irrelevant to the basic problem. They did nothing to disarm religious objections to a warlike papacy. The decisive intellectual labor in this respect was performed by two Italian canonists, Anselm of Lucca and Bonizo of Sutri. —

Bishop Anselm of Lucca is particularly significant because of the consistency with which he combined theory with practice in his life’s work. Hardly anyone among the adherents of Gregory VII came so close as Anselm to approximating the great papal exemplar; even Gregory regarded him as a possible successor. “Above all, he endeav-

ored to imitate his holy teacher, the pope Gregory, in all things, for he intended to differ from him in no way,” his earliest biographer writes.44 Like his master Gregory, Anselm was deemed a saint as soon as he died, and miracles

were believed to occur at his grave in Mantua, “not only because he led a pious life, but because he had shown himself reliable and obedient [to the pope], by completely hat-

ing the party of the excommunicates and by loving and defending catholic unity.’’*® Among the effects attributed to his miracles was that, at Mantua, “many men from the

bishoprics of Brescia and Verona and other districts [i.e. in the obedience of the anti-pope] were converted to the Lord, renounced the devil and his followers, and swore rather to shed their blood than to abandon this vow.’’*¢ Bernold of St. Blasien states even more clearly that Anselm’s

miracles strengthened the fideles of St. Peter in resistance 43 JL. 5536. Cf. Ruinart in MPL 151.74; I. von Dollinger, Papsttum, ed. J. Friedrich, pp. 395f n. 82. 44 Vita Anselmi, c. 31 (MGH SS. 12.22).

45 [bid., c. 23, p. 23; cf. Ps. 138:22.

46 Ibid., c. 54, p. 28.

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to Henry IV.* ‘The bishop of Lucca therefore impressed pos-

terity most of all as a fighter in Gregory’s cause; he was compared to David in battle against Goliath.*® In fact, the last years of his life were spent in exile from his bishopric

and wholly dedicated to combating the imperial forces, both by religious propaganda and by the organization of actual war. From about 1081 onward, when Gregory VII made him papal vicar for Lombardy and spiritual adviser to the countess Mathilda, he was the soul of the opposition to the Wibertines in northern Italy.4® He concentrated

particularly upon fostering a warlike spirit at Mathilda’s court. The verse Life of Anselm by Rangerius of Lucca portrays Anselm instructing and motivating Mathilda’s

warriors by comparing them to Judas Maccabeus;*° strengthening the people of Moriana in battle by invoking

saints powerful in war to whom he had dedicated their fortress;*? bolstering the spirit of the troops at the battle of

Sorbaria by admonitions and prayer;*? and, in general, occupying himself at Mathilda’s side by caring simultaneously for the army and the church.®? Far from confin-

ing his activity to northern Italy, Anselm tried to set the whole world in motion against Henry IV. Bernold of St. Blasien tells us that after Gregory’s death Anselm forcefully goaded the fideles of St. Peter against the tyranny of Henry IV.*+ In a surviving letter to William the Conqueror, 47 MGH SS. 5.445. Cf. E. Kittel, “Kampf,” p. 247: “Anselm became something like the saint of the church reform party.” 48 Rangerius, vv. 37-46 (MGH SS. 30.1157). 49 Vita Anselmi, c. 12, 20, and 21 (MGH SS. 12.12, 19, 20); Liber contra Wibertum, MGH Libelli 1.527: Rangerius, vv. 3565ff (MGA SS. 30.1232).

50 Rangerius, vv. 3659ff (MGH SS. 30.1234). 51 Ibid., vv. 4927ff, p. 1260 (cf. vv. 4870ff, 4945f). 52 Ibid., vv. 6511ff, 6565f, p. 1292, 1293. Cf. Vita Anselmi, c. 23 (MGH SS. 12.20).

53 [bid., vv. 6720ff, p. 1296. Also vv. 3581f, p. 1232, where the expres-

sion Christi milicia should be interpreted in a military sense. 54 MGH SS. 5.445.

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Anselm admonishes the king to come to Rome to liberate the humiliated Roman church from the hands of foreigners.55> Even the commentary on the Psalms that Anselm was

composing while Rome was under attack includes arguments against Henry IV for besieging the pope and, as

Anselm puts it, thereby crucifying Christ for a second time.®¢

Here, as in many of his other writings, Anselm’s literary activity is closely related to his involvement in politics and war. His main work is a canonical collection (composed between 1081 and 1086), which opened a new era in the history of canon law.®? The collection shows, among other things, that Anselm was the first canonist to give extensive

consideration to the problem of ecclesiastical coercion and war. He brought back to the surface the widest range of Augustine’s teachings on this subject and assembled the authoritative selection that would serve for a second time 55 Most recently in Erdmann, Briefe, pp. 3off, cf. pp. 7f. 56 Fragments in Paul of Bernreid, c. 112 (103), in Watterich, Vitae, I, 541 (MPL 148.96). Quite similar in Anselm’s letter to Hermann of Metz (1085): H. Sudendorf, Registrum, 1, 58ff, no. 19; see also the ending of

the letter to Abbot Poncius of Frassinoro in Hugh of Flavigny, MGH

SS. 8.443f.

57 P. Fournier and G. Le Bras, Collections, u, 25-37; Ddllinger, Papsttum, p. 41. We are concerned with Books 12 and 13 of this thirteen-book collection. But Thaner’s edition of Anselm reaches only the beginning of Book 11. For the remainder, we have the table of chapters published by Mai (reprinted in MPL 149.485ff) and the concordance of

the texts appearing in Gratian, provided by Friedberg (Corpus, I, Proleg., pp. xlix ff); but neither of these is based on the original version. As a result, the references to follow are to MS Vatican. lat. 1363, which

contains Version A; for convenience, chapter numbers according to Mai’s numbering are provided in parentheses. G6rris, Denkbeelden, pp. i5ff, is unsatisfactory, since he knew only the table of chapters in MPL. [On Anselm of Lucca’s doctrine of the church’s coercive power, see A. Stickler, “Potere,”’ pp. 235-85. According to Stickler, Erdmann was the first to recognize the unusual significance of the coercive power of the church in the Middle Ages. In fact, it was Erdmann’s discussion of

Anselm which prompted him to undertake the juridical analysis he attempts in this article: See esp. p. 279 n. 165. Also Robinson, “Gregory VII,” pp. 186-88, who calls attention to the recently discovered Sermo Anselmi episcopi de caritate (ed. E. Pasztor, “Motivi’).]

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as the foundation of the Catholic theory of war. For while

the previous centuries had always used Augustine and quoted some of his pronouncements regarding war, there had been nothing like an Augustinian system on the topic.®®

Manegold of Lautenbach, working at the same time but independently, ransacked the works of Augustine with the same intent, but Anselm far surpassed him in systematic clarity and logical rigor. Moreover, Anselm included letters of Popes Pelagius 15° and Gregory I, as well as the imperial edicts on heresy from the Justinian Code.®° Anselm’s selection of texts and the superscripts [lemmata] he gave them created a solid edifice of ideas.

Forcible coercion of the opponents of the pope is the point of departure for Anselm’s exposition. Accordingly, he invokes texts about the suppression of heretics, and he ex-

pressly mentions haeretict in his superscripts.*t Other passages relate to scismatic: (and were also used by him in

this context).6? Twice, however, he speaks of excommunicates—first of their coercion, then of the confiscation

of their property.** The passages of Augustine that he 58 Basically, they may be traced back to the twenty-four chapters on

the state compiled in the ninth century: G. Laehr, and C. Erdmann, ‘“Konzilsbrief,” pp. 120ff. They were used by Hincmar in his Mirror of Princes, but had no other influence. In spite of accidental agreements, Anselm did not use them. 59 Cf. Caspar, Papsttums, ul, 297f.

60 Anselm, xll, 68-72 (66-70 in MPL 149.532ff) from the Codex Justinianus, 1, 5,5; 1, 5, 2-4; I, 1,2.

61 Anselm, xl, 53: De hereticis per seculares potestates coercendis (from Augustine, cf. Gratian, C. 23 q. 4 c. 39); further, the imperial edicts, above, n. 60. Also important is x1, 28 (24 in MPL 149.534; with-

out tithe in MS Vatican. lat. 1363), from Gregory I, cf. Gratian, C. 23 q. 4c. 48. 62 Anselm, vi, 182, ed. Thaner, p. 352; xl, 44-46 (45-47 in MPL 149.532) from Pelagius 1, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 5 c. 42-45. Further, xl, 56 (also 56 in MPL 149.532) from Augustine (MPL 35.1436f), only partially in Gratian D. 8 c. 1; x1, 60 (59 in MPL 149.532) from Augustine, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 4 c. 24. 63 Anselm, x0, 54 (from Augustine, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 4 c. 37): Ut excommunicati cohibeantur a saecularibus; xu, 57 (from Augustine, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 7 c. 3): Ut catholici res possideant excommunicatorum usque ad conversionem eorum.

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quotes refer to the Donatists and have nothing to do with excommunication; their usage by Anselm is therefore a distortion and the more significant inasmuch as the reference to excommunicates was crucially relevant to the Investiture Contest. While Anselm takes it for granted that executive power rests with the state, he also says that the

church may conduct persecution:** to act against the wicked is not really persecution but an expression of love.®

Even though all this pointed to the practical needs of the moment, it was supplied with such solid theoretical founda-

tions and was so well thought out that the later system of

ecclesiastical coercion grew out of these very sections of Anselm’s collection.®

The outstanding importance of Anselm is evidenced in yet another way. He recognized that, if ecclesiastical doctrine was to be firmly based, passages dealing with ecclesiastical coercion had to be supplemented by general prin-

ciples about war and fighting. He procceded from the Augustinian idea that, even in war, one may envision the salvation of the enemy; the will to war is reprehensible in itself, and war should therefore be waged only in case of necessity, but when need arises and war is waged, weapons may serve the objective of peace.*7 “Iwo decisive conclusions follow. First, even warriors can be righteous and holy men; in fact, soldiers have a special ethos, consisting in service to the general welfare.6* Secondly, even church64 Anselm, xml, 14-16 (same in MPL 149.533): Quod ecclesia persecutionem possit facere-—De eadem re—De eadem re. All from Augustine, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 4 c. 42 (with §1) and 43.

65 Anselm, XII, 44 (45 in MPL 149.532); XW, 1-2 (same in MPL 149.533) from Augustine, cf. Gratian, C. 23 q. 4 c. 44 and c. 51 §1. 66 Cf. Dollinger, Papstium, p. 58. 67 Anselm, xIll, 3: Quod bella cum benevolentia sunt agenda; XI, 4:

Quod militantes etiam possunt esse tusti, et quod hostem deprimere necessitas, non voluntas debet; both from Augustine, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 1 c. 2 and 3. The teaching that pietas should also prevail in war has left traces in Rangerius’s verse Life of Anselm, vv. 3665ff and 4o005f (MGH SS. 30.1234, 1240).

68 Anselm, XIII, 3-4, see n. 67; xIll, 5: De eadem re, Pseudo-Augustine,

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men—Gregory I serves as example—may wage war under certain circumstances, encourage troops to battle, and give the command to pursue the enemy and take booty.®* None of this was revolutionary; it signified only the victory of a tendency that had long been present and had continually

gained strength in the past century. Nevertheless, it was an ideological breakthrough: a way of thought that had long been veiled became fully articulate for the first time. The statement that, in the realm of theory, Anselm heralds the crusades is largely true.” Anselm touched upon war against pagans only in a single

canon and gave it no emphasis.” His theorizing was too closely allied with the aims of Gregory VII in church poli-

tics for him to have done otherwise. His biographer had

good reason to describe the canonical collection as a “Justification [Apologeticus],” a legal defense of the principles and actions of Gregory, and he ended the catalogue of Anselm’s writings with the statement that they either converted heretics and schismatics or made them ashamed.7”

Anselm also left a polemical work in which the arsenal of arguments assembled in the canonical collection is applied to the war actually taking place. This is the Liber contra Wibertum, Anselm’s rebuttal of a pamphlet by the anti-pope (1085-1086) that will later be examined. Almost

half of it concerns the accusation that Gregory had shed blood. Anselm does not confine himself to turning this Ep. 13 (MPL 33.1098; not in Gratian, but—otherwise delimited—in the twenty-four chapters, Laehr-Erdmann, “Konzilsbrief,” p. 122, c. 9); XIU, g: De habenda oboedientia, from Gregory I, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 1c. 4. 69 Anselm, xl, 6: De persequendo hostes, from Gregory I, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 8 c. 17; xul, 7: De eadem re, from Gregory I, JE. 1187 (not in Gratian); xul, 8: De praedando hostes, Gregory I, cf. Gratian, C. 23 q. 8 c. 18.

70 Fournier-Le Bras, Collections, 01, 37.

[Stickler, ““Potere,” p. 283.] ,

71 Anselm, xl, 29 (25 in MPL 149.534; without title in MS Vatican. lat. 1363), from Gregory I, cf. Gratian C. 23 q. 4c. 49. 72 Vita Anselmi, c. 21 and 26 (MGH SS. 12.20, 21).

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charge back upon the opposition;’* he conducts a theological proof to cleanse Gregory, complete with a long series of ecclesiastical texts, almost all of which come from

his collection.74 He insists that there is such a thing as holy persecution, which the church conducts against apostates, and that it must not be classed with unjust persecution directed against the church itself; if the writings of the fathers are interpreted otherwise, then they are not correctly understood.’ ‘Too subtle a thinker to sanction reckless assaults, he rejects revenge, joy over the defeat of the enemy, and enrichment from enemy property; he also

admits that, in view of Christian perfection and the ideal of the church, a Christian is forbidden to take up arms even for the defense of justice. But this restriction applies only

where individual rights are in question, and not to cases where the unity of the church is being torn by schismatics or the welfare of the whole is endangered.”* Fighting 1s forbidden “against Catholics [adversus catholicos],” not against heretics and schismatics.77 Such a struggle as the one conducted by Countess Mathilda for the repute and exaltation of the church is not in vain; it wins treasure in heaven.”® No one at the time supplied the Gregorian practice of war with a more elevated theoretical justification, and in all essentials it forms the basis for the later scholastic theory of war. Anselm’s contemporary, Bonizo of Sutri, though not quite his equal in depth of thought, surpasses him in individuality 73 MGH Libelli 1.526, top of page.

74 The quotations in zbid., p. 523 line 1, to 525 line 12, correspond in

abbreviated form to the chapters of the canonical collection: xlI, 14, 15, 16, 18, 3, 5, 45 XII, 55, 44, 45 (then p. 524 lines 28-35, two other items); XII, 17, 6, 8. [Stickler, “Potere,” pp. 246—59.]

75 Ibid., p. 522, bottom of page; p. 525, lines 14f. 76 [bid., pp. 525f. Cf. Mirbt, Publizistik, pp. 46of. 77 Ibid., p. 522 lines 39f, where the words adversus catholicos should be in quotation marks. 78 Ibid., p. 527.

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and forcefulness. Like Anselm, he was driven from his bishopric and wrote while in exile;*® and he too produced one work of polemic and a comprehensive book of canons.*° His

political activities mever attained the importance of Anselm’s, and this presumably is not unrelated to the extreme and undiplomatic manner of his thought and expression.

Bonizo’s Liber ad amicum, probably written in 10851086, is surely the most famous political pamphlet of the Investiture Contest; all historians of the Middle Ages are familiar with it. Yet its theme has either eluded commentators or been incorrectly defined, even by specialists. “This

is odd since Bonizo announces his intentions at the very beginning; he will answer two questions: why the church is now in such straits, and whether Christians are permitted to take up arms for the faith.*t By the end of the pamphlet, the second question has become the sole theme.*? Bonizo is expressly concerned with the problem of war, whose great

importance for the papal and anti-papal polemic of the age may be realized from this single work alone. His discussion is the more valuable to us in that he does not limit himself to doctrinal explanations but gives historical examples, and in doing so surveys all church history down to his day from the standpoint of legitimate war. Even the primitive church contributes to Bonizo’s examples of armed combat for the Christian faith. About the pre-

Constantinian popes, most of whom were regarded as martyrs, he reports only wars against the devil, which cannot very well be treated as feats of arms.** Better iulustrations follow, not of actual war perhaps, but certainly of the use of force for the sake of religion. ‘The Catholic people, 79 See now Perels’s introduction to Bonizo, De Vita, pp. xiiff. {Robinson, “Gregory VII,” pp. 188-90. |

80 Deusdedit, the third of the great Gregorian canonists, is not important for us, since he does not touch upon the problem of war and expresses no definite views about it. Cf. Gorris, Denkbeelden, pp. 18f.

81 MGH Libelli 1.571. 82 Ibid., pp. 618 ff. 83 [bid., p. 573, top of page.

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in their zeal for the truth and divine law, so lustily combated the prefect Hermogenes, who wished to imprison Bishop Paul of Constantinople, that they consumed him and all his household in flames. The inhabitants of Alexandria,

full of zeal for the faith, engaged in real battles with the Arians. When the emperor Constantine wished to imprison

several bishops, the Milanese resisted him in arms and freed the bishops by the use of force.** Bonizo contends that all these exploits found praise and approval in the Catholic

Church, even though the precise contrary is sometimes reported by his source, the Historia Tripartita.®* He further lists the passive or active resistance that Julian the Apostate met even from men “of the military class [militaris ordinis]”

like Jovian and Valentinian, when he tried to restore paganism.** Bonizo stresses that St. Ambrose allowed himself to be defended by the people in arms when threatened with expulsion,®? and he closes with a reference to Augustine’s well-known call for the persecution of the Donatists.** This ends the first series of historical examples of a reli-

gious war, for the incidents that come next are concerned

more generally with the relationship between state and church. Bonizo returns to his main theme only when the his-

torical survey reaches the pontificate of Leo IX—partly bearing out our appraisal of the role of the reform papacy; from then on, his narrative largely parallels what we have been saying since Chapter tv. He approvingly portrays Leo IX taking up the sword not only to defend church lands but also to protect Christians from the violence of the Normans; Leo’s fellow fighters died for justice, and miracles proved their elevation into the ranks of the saints, thereby giving living hope to all future fighters for righteousness.*® The 84 Ibid., p. 574. At the end of his work (p. 619), Bonizo reverts to this

example and adds that Cyril of Alexandria numbered among the

martyrs a certain monk Amonius who had struck the prefect Orestes with a stone and had himself been stoned on this account.

85 Ibid., p. 574 n. 6. 86 Ibid., p. 574, bottom of page. 87 Ibid., p. 576, top of page. 88 Ibid. 89 Tbid., p. 589.

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combats of the Pataria hold a prominent place, along with

the miles De: Erlembald, who led the army of God like Judas Maccabeus and at whose grave many miracles had taken place.*° Much the same is said about the Roman prefect Cencius.®! Bonizo is comparatively reticent about the battles of Gregory VII, since it was precisely they that were the object of hostile criticism. His evident intention is to depict Gregory as particularly peace loving, for he re-

peatedly says that the pope had ordered the contending German kings not to fight among themselves but to leave the settlement to a council; he adds that Henry IV’s osten-

sible refusal to accept this solution brought about his second excommunication.®? Nevertheless, Bonizo mentions the preparations of Gregory VII for a Norman war in 1074;

with an obvious view to future arguments, he takes the occasion to note that, at the time, even the future anti-pope, Wibert of Ravenna, promised the pope to campaign against

the Normans and the counts of Bagnorea.*? Bonizo concludes with a review of the incidents particularly important to the theme of war—the primitive Christians, the warriors

of Leo IX rewarded by God with miracles, as well as Erlembald and Cencius—all of them leading up to the admonition: ‘““Thus may the glorious milites Dei fight for

truth and righteousness and combat heresy in the truest sense.’’®+ Moreover, he points to the example of the coun-

tess Mathilda, the ‘daughter of St. Peter,’®> who stands ready to die in a virile spirit and combats heresy with all her strength; as Jael conquered Sisara, so will she overcome her adversary, Henry IV; meanwhile, as befits the episcopal office, Bonizo will pray that all heresy may perish in fire.% 90 [bid., pp. 597-99, 604f. 91 Tbid., p. 611, cf. p. 603. 92 Ibid., pp. 611f, 618 (at line 4, there should be a comma before renuisset).

93 Ibid., pp. 602, 604. 94 Ibid., pp. 610f.

95 See also ibid., p. 599, where the campaign against the Normans (1067) is singled out as the first of the many servitia to St. Peter that earned Mathilda the name of filia s. Petri. 96 Ibid., p. 620 (where n. 7 is incorrect: in view of the feminine forms incensa and suffossa, only haeresis can be supplied as subject).

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The historical argument is clear and impressive; Bonizo subordinates to it a much shorter theoretical proof. Every Christian, he declares, has the duty to fight heresy in the manner that befits his state in life®’—clerics by spiritual means and knights with weapons. Naturally, this is also the duty of the prince, but by no means his alone; Bonizo is far removed from the antiquated view that temporal power is allowed only to princes. With biblical and patristic texts in hand, he shows that soldiers are not at all denied salvation and that even the most saintly churchmen have not recoiled from war.®* Since the citations correspond almost exactly with Anselm’s canonical collection, this may have been Bonizo’s source.®*® But Bonizo coarsens Anselm’s work by

almost entirely bypassing the Augustinian teaching that an

attitude of love should be taken toward the enemy;?° he even goes so far as to attribute to Augustine the statement that those men are holy who practice persecution for the sake of righteousness.1°* On the other hand, he resembles Anselm in concentrating upon conclusions that will have practical use in the current war. Such conclusions are his almost exclusive concern: “If a Christian has ever been allowed to use weapons for any cause, then he is now allowed

to make war in any way against the Wibertines”; “If one may [fight] for one’s earthly king, may one then not for the

Heavenly? If for the state, then not for righteousness? If against the barbarians, then not against heretics?’’}°? In 97 Ibid., p. 573: “heretical novelties against which it is certain that every Christian must fight according to his rank [haereseos novitates, contra quas omni christiano pugnandum pro officiti sui consideratione nulli dubium est]. Cf. p. 618; the source is Gregory I, JE. 1859. 98 [bid., pp. 6186.

99 Cf. ibid., pp. 630f. The passages of Jerome (p. 618), which I do not find in Anselm, are surely the product of Bonizo’s own reading; cf. Bonizo, De Vita, ed. Perels, p. xxxiii, with n. 4. 100 He has only the phrase (p. 619, top of page), Hostem pugnantem necessitas perimat, non voluntas, which cannot be understood in this abrupt form. 101 [bid. Actually, Augustine’s statements stop far short of this (Ep. 185, paras. 9-11).

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advocating different standards for treating non-Christians and Christians, he carries the Gregorian distinction to unprecedented lengths: “When we suffer persecution from

those outside {the church], we must overcome them by patience; but when from those within, we must first cut them down with the evangelical scythe and then fight them with all our strength and weapons.’’!° In other words, force

of arms is to be used not against the pagans, but only against schismatics and heretics!

This impassioned plea for the idea of a crusade against heretics—expressly contradicting such teachings as those of Peter Damiani—is paralleled by Bonizo’s second major work, the Liber de vita christiana (probably between 1090 and 1095). A collection of canonical authorities occupies most of this handbook of Christian life, but Bonizo’s extensive personal comments turn it into something more than a collection.1°%* The seventh book, concerning temporal authority, is particularly interesting. Kingship provides the inevitable point of departure, with a long discussion (which will not be examined here) and many canons. Bonizo then

passes to the office of judge, introduces an ancient list of Roman judges (altering it),?°° says a few words about bad judgment, and then describes the duty of judges: “They are given to the church for its support, so that those whom ecclesiastical discipline does not induce to honor bishops will at least be forced to return to the unity of peace by fear

of the judge and his sword.”!°* Hardly anything is more typical of Bonizo than this sentence: in short order, secular justice turns into the handmaid of bishops, its dependence on the state and kingship is utterly disregarded, and the application of force is correspondingly demanded for the sake of religion. The eleven patristic passages that follow play on a single theme: the church, aided by secular authority, 103 [bid., p. 572.

104 Bonizo, De Vita, ed. Perels, pp. xxii f., where the earlier bibliography is cited. 105 Cf. Schramm, “Studien,” pp. 218ff. 106 Bonizo, VII, 16, pp. 242f.

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may practice persecution, especially against schismatics. The

extracts agree verbatim with Anselm, partly even in their

superscripts, and unless appearances entirely deceive, Bonizo took them from Anselm’s collection;?° there too they

were directly relevant to the conditions of war in the Investiture Contest.

Bonizo is altogether original when, after kings and judges, he launches into a discussion of knights, the milites.

Completely foregoing authorities, he simply sets out his Opinion in a few sentences. So far as I know, historians have not hitherto paid Bonizo’s remarks the attention they deserve:1°§ the core of the chapter is nothing less than a Christian code for knights. Some scholars have sought to make the ethos of Christian knighthood understandable by putting together artificial codes,!°® and since such attempts are obviously risky, the preferred course has been to quote a few twelfth-century texts concerning the duties of knights, such as the Policraticus of John of Salisbury.1*° But none

of these texts is so old or so significant as the words of Bonizo. He wrote them just before the First Crusade, in the period when Christian knighthood acquired its greatest élan; and he himself stood at the center of church life. What Bonizo says merits our closest attention:

The particular concern of knights is 1. to be devoted to their lords, 2. not to covet booty, 107 Cf, the concordance of canons in Bonizo, De Vita, p. 384; similarly,

VII, 19 is extracted from Anselm xi, 17. In any case, the questionable point (see Perels, “Briefe,” pp. 85 and 94; intro. to Bonizo, p. xxxi; Fournier-Le Bras, Collections, 11, 144) is whether Bonizo made use of Anselm ’s collection as well as of a lost source of Anselm’s. I regard this as highly probable for vu, 17-27. Otherwise, Anselm would have to be denied much of the credit for the canonical justifications of Gregory’s theory of war. A textual comparison with the still unpublished parts of Anselm’s collection is needed for a final answer. [Stickler, “Potere,” p. 272.|

108 Cf. Schramm, “Studien,” p. 225 (“nothing very factual other than biblical quotations’). 109 L, Gautier, Chevalerie, p. 33. 110 Cf. E. Ehrismann, “Grundlagen,” p. 144.

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3. not to spare their lives in defending the life of their lords,

_ 4. to fight to the death for the welfare of the respublica,

5. to combat schismatics and heretics, 6. to protect the poor, widows, and orphans,

7. not to break their sworn fidelity nor to commit perjury in any way toward their lords.11 Since there is no logical sequence, our analysis of this text

is in historical order. First comes the prohibition of booty (2), which had been the only commandment for warriors in the early Middle Ages;'!? that it should be just one of seven rules in Bonizo is an indication of how much progress

had taken place. Another clause stems from the army of ancient Rome. In a well-known saying, Horace spoke of dying for the fatherland, and Gregory I, speaking as a Roman, had addressed to soldiers the remark that a soldier’s highest merit is to be obedient to the needs of the respublica:*** both

ideas are recalled in Bonizo’s line about dying for the respublica (4), with the difference that military obedience goes unmentioned. Its transmuted form is expressed in the 111 Bonizo, De Vita, vu, 28, pp. 248f: His (militibus) proprium est dominis deferre, prede non iniare, pro vita dominorum suorum tuenda sue vite non parcere et pro statu rei publice usque ad mortem decertare, scismaticos et hereticos debellare, pauperes quoque et viduas et orphanos defensare, fidem promissam non violare nec omnino dominis suis perzurare. Similar, but shorter, also 1, 43, p. 56. 112 Above, pp. 17-18. 113 Registrum ul, 34 (MGH Ep. 1.130): “Among other worthy merits, the highest praise of the soldiery consists in this: to show obedience in

regard to the advantages of the holy commonwealth and to attend to what is profitably ordered [Summa militae laus inter alia bona merita haec est, oboedientiam sanctae rei publicae utilitatibus exhibere, quoque sibi utiliter imperatum fuerit, obtemperare|.” Professor Caspar has pointed out to me that Gregory I, in this letter to the milites of Naples, spoke to them in the military language they were used to. Sancta res publica, which Gregory avoids elsewhere, belongs to this language; it was a Roman expression [denoting the Roman Empire centered at Constantinople: Tyr.] with no _ specifically clerical or ecclesiastical meaning.

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command to be devoted [deferre] to the lord (1). This, together with sacrifice for the life of the lord (2) and maintaining one’s fidelity and oath (7), carries us over to the Ger-

manic idea of companionage and its development in feudalism. Bonizo shows that he recognized the RomanoGermanic ethics of secular warriors and took them over as ecclesiastical commands. Here for the first time, conscious form is given to a professional code for warriors, such as formerly had been unknown; in principle as well as in fact, the church had made its peace with the military vocation. Bonizo, moreover, does not fail to supply specifically Christian objectives for armed combat, in the form of the command to protect the weak (6); we have met this injunction before, in liturgical consecrations of knights, and identified it there as a transfer to knights of royal duties as envisaged

by the church.144 With room for even this shift in role, Bonizo’s commandments are an astonishingly clear expression of a millennial development; the age of the crusades is entering its maturity. A single item still seems missing, namely, the idea of war against heathens; one would expect it to be expressed with special force in a code of knightly ethics drawn up at such a date. Instead, Bonizo calls for war against schismatics and heretics (5). Even more stress is laid on the same idea else-

where in the book. Bonizo tells us that, while bishops Should not personally go to war, they should admonish kings, judges, and knights to persecute the schismatics and

excommunicates by force of arms. “For if this were not done, then the warrior class would be superfluous in the Christian fellowship.”445 The outlook could scarcely be more one-sided—and this on the eve of the crusade! Yet what would be incomprehensible to the superficial observer

can no longer surprise us, for we have encountered the same outlook not only in Bonizo’s Liber ad amicum, but 114 Above, pp. 85-86.

115 Bonizo, De Vita, Ul, 43, p. 56. See also the brief reference to the call for armed assistance, X, 79, p. 336.

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earlier still, in its rudimentary expression by Gregory VII himself. In this respect as well, Bonizo reveals himself to be basically an extreme Gregorian. But in doing so he offers an obvious contrast to Urban II, who soon afterwards sent

bands of Christian knights to fight the Saracens in the East.11° The significance of Urban’s action emerges only by comparison with the Gregorian position.

For the time being, let us continue with the conflict in ideas. The Gregorian theory of war attained its greatest ascendancy in the mid-1080s. From then on, the opposite side, which had opened the discussion but long lacked sophistication, markedly improved its teachings.

The anti-pope Wibert personally wrote a pamphlet (ca. 1085) that must have been very important. Though the text is lost, the writings of Anselm of Lucca and Wido of Fer-

rara supply enough references and direct quotations to allow an approximate reconstruction of the passages concerning our subject.147 Wibert wished to establish that his opponent, Gregory, had forfeited. the papacy, for he had stained himself with murder, sacrilege, and perjury. Naturally, the accusation of murder was based on Gregory’s warlike activities. Wibert, like many others, ascribed to Gregory the guilt for the bloodshed in Germany and declared that never yet had a Christian caused so much war and killed so many people.1+® With keen insight, he drew at-

tention to Gregory’s character: Gregory had been interested in warfare ever since his earliest youth, and accordingly he later banished peace from the world. Gregory is specifically said to have collected a large sum at an early 116 Fournier, “Bonizo de Sutri,” claims that Urban II and Bonizo were

also opposed on several other matters. But his demonstration seems contestable to me; see also Perels in Bonizo, De Vita, p. xv n. 3. 117 K. Panzer, Wido von Ferrara, pp. 10ff, 57ff. [K. Jordan, ‘‘Stellung,” pp. 155-64, agrees that Wibert abandoned the

Augustinian idea of just war and took an extreme position regarding the church and war. See also Robinson, “Gregory VU,’ pp. 189ff; Nitschke, ‘‘Verstandnis,” p. 161; Noth, Heilige Krieg, p. 109.] 118In Wido, MGH Libelli 1.541 lines 14f, 545 lines 25ff; Panzer, pp. 59, 60.

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date and to have used it to form an armed following for himself, on the pretext of defending and liberating the Roman church.1!® But it is not the business of clergymen to

persecute the king. “It is Christian to teach, not to make wars; to endure injustice with patience, not to avenge it. Christ did nothing of the kind, and neither did any of His saints.’ 12° For the first time we are offered the rudiments of

an argument against ecclesiastical warfare. Wibert expands the argument elsewhere by adducing patristic passages. Jerome said that the church, like a dove, does not

defend itself against robbery. Pope John VIII declared that a bishop should leave territorial defense to the temporal power, not make war himself. Next come the words of Peter Damiani—mistakenly ascribed by Wibert to Jerome —that the Christian may not make war for the faith, much less for transitory ecclesiastical property. Other quotes include Christ forbidding the use of the sword to Peter, who had just cut off Malchus’s ear; a censure by Pope Innocent

I of the Idumaeans and Damascenes, who permitted their priests to bear arms; and a solemn statement by Ambrose rejecting war, placing spirituai weapons above material

ones, and giving peace as his goal.12+ In this series of passages, the general idea that the church should not apply any military force is blurred by the special point, accepted by the opposition, that clerics are forbidden to bear arms. Nevertheless, the argumentation is weighty and impressive. Fven Anselm of Lucca could offer only a weak rebuttal; he quoted several patristic sayings offering opposite views and concluded from the contradiction that Wibert could

not have properly understood the authorities he adduced.1?? Yet Wibert’s proof was no worse than Anselm’s;

Christian tradition sided as much and indeed even more with him. In what he did as well as in his writings, Wibert

, 257

119 MGH Libelli 1.554 lines 7ff; Panzer, p. 58. 120 MGH Libelli 1.541 lines 15 ff; Panzer, p. 60. 121 MGH Libelli 1.554 lines 22ff; Panzer, pp. 58f. 122 Anselm of Lucca, MGH Libelli 1.525, line 14.

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consistently showed that synods were his weapon against the enemies of Christ, and he anathematized the bloody methods of the opposition.+?3

Wibert did not stop there. Quite appropriately adducing Paul’s statement to the Corinthians against litigation, he

concluded from it that one ought not to fight or quarrel even for the sake of justice.1*4 This argument struck at the

foundation of the dominant ethic of war. Wibert went on to make some astonishing statements: “What will he [Gregory] say at the Judgment, when the blood of the many slain cries out against him, ‘Lord avenge our blood! We gave our life for our lords, since we did not wish to break the fides that we swore in Your name. Whether the war was just or unjust,

we fought nevertheless so that we might not betray Your fides.’’’1?5 In these lines the idea of “just war,” which had been uncontested since Augustine, is set aside and replaced

by something else. As is well known, the word fides may mean both fidelity and religious faith. ‘The former meaning is applicable here, in the sense of the vassal’s fidelity to his

lord; Wibert clarifies the point elsewhere: “Hitherto warriors were controlled by the bonds of the oath, tolerating no injustice against their lord . . . and it seemed akin to sacrilege for them to undertake anything contrary to their vassalic duty [honor]. But now the knights are aroused [by Gregory] against their lords. .. .”1°° The reference to vassalic fidelity is unmistakable. In the first quotation, however, the same kind of vassalic fidelity is fused with religious faith by being described as fides toward God. If at any time the Middle Ages contained the rudiments of a Germanic Christianity, these sentences are their embodi-

ment. ‘The idea expressed need not have been funda123 Wibert, MGH Libelli 1.662, 625, 626.

124 Anselm of Lucca, zbid., p. 522 line 39, and p. 525 line 22. On Anselm’s reply, see above, p. 247.

125In Wido, MGH Libelli 1.545 lines geff; Panzer, p. 59: Bellum stud iustum fuerit vel iniustum, nos ea intentione pugnavimus, ne proditores tuae fidei videremur. 126 MGH Libelli 1.539 lines 38ff; Panzer, p. 61.

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mentally repugnant; to elevate the relationship of military fidelity to the religious sphere, and thus displace the old concept of just war, might have accorded with the Gospel and human nature as well or as badly as did the traditional doctrine. But doing so in 1085 was absolutely revolutionary, a hopeless attempt to turn back almost seven centuries of development. Wibert was completely alone in this teaching;

all other theorists, whether opponents of Gregory or friends, held fast to the idea that a decisive point in their favor was the justice of their cause.

Though neither typical nor average in the views expressed, Wibert’s pamphlet illustrates a deepening intellectual effort on the imperial side. A more representative

spokesman is Wido of Ferrara, whose two books (1086) argue on the same side as the anti-pope. Wido uses Wibert’s pamphlet, as well as that of Wibert’s opponent Anselm of

Lucca, and with their help he compiles the arguments for and against Gregory VII. Anselm’s profound ideas are simplified into the homely teaching that saintly men may resist an opponent as long as they act in defense of righteousness but not when they act on their own behalf.1?7 Unlike Wibert, Wido accepts Anselm’s standpoint to this extent, but he declares that the war of the anti-king against Henry IV, which the pope supported, was unjust and condemnable.}2®

Inevitably, we are told about Gregory’s military ways, to whose truth all Romans could testify.12° Wido begins by presenting these accusations as praise—Gregory thereby demonstrated his solicitude for the welfare of St. Peter.15° But this is meant only as a foil to later criticism. Gregory comes under special attack for having spent money for such

purposes, either to acquire a personal escort or to support the German anti-king; that 1s sacrilege, since church money 127 MGH Libelli 1.547 lines 10f; cf., however, Anselm, ibid., p. 525 lines 2eff. [On Wido of Ferrara, Nitschke, ‘““Verstandnis,” pp. 160-62.] 128 MGH Libelli, 1.556. 129 [bid., p. 554, using phrases from Wibert. 130 [bid., p. 534.

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belongs to the poor.t3! On the basic question whether coercion and armed force should be used at all for ecclesiastical objectives, Wido arrays on the one side the patristic arguments of Anselm and on the other those of Wibert; and he begins by agreeing with both.1%? His final decision against coercion rests on passages of Ambrose and Gregory of Nazianzus giving preeminence to free consent.1%5 There is little

individuality or depth to Wido’s argumentation, but his teaching is sound and reasonable, and could be accepted by the widest circles.

The defenders of the emperor in Germany achieved clarity over fundamentals somewhat later than the Italian ones. The high point among their writings is unquestionably the Liber de unitate ecclesiae conservanda, by an anonymous monk of Hersfeld (1090-1093). We again find many

personal reproaches against Gregory as originator of the strife,1*+ but some remarks are less severe and are meant to spare the pope, who is now dead.13> In any case what provoked the pamphlet was the bloodshed in Germany,

rather than the personal conduct of Gregory VII. The author seeks a way to recover the unity of the church. He

is full of enthusiasm for the idea that the conflict might now be fought with books instead of swords, for then the just cause will at once be revealed and no more blood need flow.1°° ‘The just cause, however, is that of Henry IV, who is on the defensive against the pope.**” To be sure, the antiking Rudolf also thought he was conducting a just war, because he had been called by virtue of papal obedience to

oppose Henry’s rights to the throne. This is the precise point against which the monk of Hersfeld directs the full 131 [bid., pp. 553, 555f. The essentials of this argument must also stem from Wibert; see Panzer, pp. 61f. 1382 MGH Libelli 1.541f, 546f, 554f. 133 [bid., pp. 56af.

134 [bid., 2.193, 212, 217; also found here are the well-known reproaches that the church was being despoiled to pay soldiers.

135 [bid., p. 185. 136 [bid., p. 234. 137 Ibid., p. 214. 138 [bid., p. 222.

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force of his argument: the king’s prerogative to bear the sword derives from divine institution; for the church to

bear any other than the spiritual sword contradicts its nature, which consists in the community of the faithful in the spirit of peace and love.18® Resistance to authority, and thus to God’s ordinance, is heresy.1#° The author invokes the Sermon on the Mount, “blessed are the peaceful’ and “love your neighbors,” and is filled with indignation at the statements of Gregorian bishops that those who fight, revolt, and murder for the papal party are blessed.1*1 “They say it pertains to the faith and to the faithful of the church to kill and

persecute those who have intercourse with the excommunicated king Henry or adhere to him, and who do not stop doing so despite the efforts of the papal party.’’!? Whoever appeals to the church fathers to justify such conduct twists their words.142 The Gregorian bishops are no longer shepherds, but generals,14* whose conduct the author illustrates by the examples of Hartwig of Magdeburg,

Burkhard of Halberstadt, and Gebhard of Salzburg.1# These bishops murder both body and soul and rejoice in bloodshed.'#* ‘They use the sword to enforce a party conspiracy. ‘This is even worse than to impose the faith by blows, a course disapproved by Gregory I.147 The author thus rejects all forcible imposition of the faith and recurs particularly to his theme of peace. Peter bore a sword only

as long as he did not know what pertained to God; on Christ’s instruction he returned it to the sheath.1#®

It has been thought that the teachings of the monk of Hersfeld were premature.'*? But are they basically different from those of Wido of Ferrara? Both authors ac139 Ibid., pp. 187, 213, 222, 224. 140 [bid., p. 237.

141 Tbid., pp. 210f. 142 [bid., p. 222.

143 [bid., p. 223. 144 Ibid., p. 234. 145 [bid., pp. 249, 251, 253, 262 (on Hartwig), 257 (on Burchard), 258 (on Gebhard).

146 [bid., pp. 213, 253. 147 Ibid., p. 222.

148 Ibid., p. 224. 149 Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 11, 856.

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cepted the idea of a just war of defense; what they denied

was that the church should use force for the sake of the faith, that it should itself bear the sword, and that it should take the offensive against the state. Everything they say 1s

rooted in ecclesiastical tradition. The monk of Hersfeld turned away some Augustinian teaching but could appeal to Cyprian in doing so; and had not the same been taught by Fulbert of Chartres and Peter Damiani?!5° The ideas had certainly become clearer and more sharply defined, the contradictions more conscious. Yet these authors did not propound anything novel; novelty came rather from the

Opposite side, where the doctrine of enforced conversion

began to be applied against the state and where, correspondingly, the call to enforcement was no longer addressed to the kingship itself but went to the next in line, especially the knighthood.

All the writings previously mentioned date from before the First Crusade. To round out the picture with as varied a presentation as possible of the ideological resources of the age, one more work should be added, namely the pamphlet

of Sigebert of Gembloux, written in 1103 against Pope Paschal II. In a letter to Count Robert of Flanders, who was fighting the imperial partisans of the schismatic bishop of Cambrai, the pope had praised these struggles as righteous and as offerings well pleasing to God, and had admonished Robert to be constant in persecuting excommunicates and

followers of Henry IV, especially the pseudo-clerics of Liege; Robert would thus obtain forgiveness of sins, and by such efforts and triumphs would attain the heavenly Jerusalem.1®! In response to this and on behalf of the church of Liege, Sigebert wrote on ecclesiastical war, that is to say, on the question whether the church should use armed force against its opponents. He is horrified that the pope should 150 See above, pp. 77-78 and 144-45. 151 MGH Libelli 2.451f; JL. 5889 (at 1102, but 1103 is certainly more likely).

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wish to bear the sword of death, that the preacher of peace should bring war into the church.1®? He invokes Gregory I

and others in order to prove that a pope should not bear the sword of war against excommunicates and sinners.153 Even if Henry were a heretic, he ought to be fought only with prayers and not with weapons; even if the property of the church of Liége ought to be devastated, it should be done pursuant only to an imperial or royal edict. Yet Paschal dispatches Robert of Flanders as his armed champion for these purposes.15+ In passing, Sigebert states that

canon law permit the use of arms even to clerics when a city or church must be defended against attack by barbarians or enemies of God, i.e. pagans!*5>—a false assertion,

for which he naturally has no evidence. On the other hand, he continues, war against a church has never been permis-

sible. The papal war [apostolicum bellum] now taking place means robbing the poor, bringing tears to widows and orphans, and oppressing churches; as such, it cannot be an offering pleasing to God.1** The cup of Sigebert’s indignation overflows in seeing that the pope enjoins this war upon the count and his knights for the forgiveness of their

sins and the attainment of the kingdom of heaven. The pope’s encouragement is portrayed as something exceeding an indulgence; it is an absolution without confession and penance, a misuse of the power to loose for which the past

offers no precedent. It was Gregory VII who introduced

this canonical novelty when he invited the countess Mathilda to make war upon Henry for the forgiveness of her sins.15? Sigebert doubts that it was right to do so and ex152 Ibid., pp. 452-54, 46of. 153 Ibid., pp. 455, 461.

154 Ibid., pp. 460, 461. 155 Ibid., p. 454. 156 [bid., p. 463.

157 We do not have a letter of Gregory fitting this description, but it may well have existed. The words in peccatorum remissionem iniungimus are actually quite frequent in papal letters and generally do not

have the precise meaning that Sigebert attributes to them: Paulus, Geschichte, 1, 120ff.

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claims to the church of Rome: “What a window of wickedness have you thus opened for mankind!’’155

There are as many shades of difference in the teachings of the imperial theoreticians as in those of the papal party. Nevertheless one point, surprisingly overlooked by earlier research, remains fundamental: insofar as the publicists were concerned with war in principle—and this is true in most cases—the Gregorians unanimously favored a war of the church, utilizing armed force for the sake of religion, whereas all the imperial authors opposed it. Even the pam-

phlets that allude to war only in passing bear out this observation. In the polemical letters exchanged by Walram of Naumburg and Herrand of Halberstadt (1094-1095), the pro-imperial Walram says that whoever encourages bloodshed is “a man of blood [vir sanguinum]” and on the devil’s side.15° His Gregorian opponent replies that piety makes

us hate the enemies of God and the church; we can have no peace with them, just as Christ brought not peace but a sword to destroy the devil’s peace.1® ‘The indictment of

Gregory and his successor drawn up by Cardinal Beno and his associates cites the story of the Theban legion as an additional example illustrating the rejection of ecclesiastical war.'*! "The only apparent exception to this rule is

supplied by Benzo of Alba, an impassioned partisan of Henry IV. In his account of the schism of Cadalus, the party he favors is portrayed as waging a holy war, pleasing to God, directed against the servants of the devil.‘ It must be recalled, however, that Benzo wrote this in the 1060s, that is, before the struggles involving Gregory VII broke

out. His pamphlet offers additional evidence that the polarization of opinions on war, as on other topics, resulted

from Gregory’s conduct. Ecclesiastical tradition and the 158 MGH Libelli 2.464. 159 [bid., p. 286. 160 Ibid., p. 289. 161 [bid., pp. 382f; also p. 405, an appeal to the miles Christi to do battle with the “sword of God’s word [gladius verbi Dei]” (i.e., with ideas only) against the persecutors of the faith. 162 See above, p. 130 with n. 46.

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conditions of the age lent support indifferently to either intellectual position, for or against ecclesiastical war; Gregory occasioned the sharp division of opinion, and in its wake the fundamental concepts were clarified.

A second general observation may be added: the holy war that was then debated was always thought to be a war

against Christians for the internal purification of the church. War against pagans was very rarely and only incidentally mentioned, by way of example or contrast.1

The true war of the church was to be directed against heretics and schismatics, excommunicates and rebels within

the church. There is no truth to the common opinion that the idea of a crusade against heretics was a corruption of the Palestinian crusade. On the contrary, such a crusade against heretics was envisioned from the start. In late Antiquity the

church had endorsed armed attacks upon heretics earlier

than it had accepted them against pagans;1* the same sequence recurred in the eleventh century. Two things become explicable as a result: why holy war, so understood,

met with stiff opposition, and why the crusading idea, which had been developing in a straight line for a century, reached a crisis. In the eleventh century, the idea of a papal crusade against heresy, directed against a Christian prince, could not set in motion the mass of knights, nor could it win the support of the clergy as a whole. It remained an apple of discord between the contenders, and it had to be completely transformed in order to become a motive force in

history. ,

In order to grasp the possibilities for a solution, let us

summon one more witness. This is Bishop Ivo of Chartres,

whose two canonical collections are dated near 1094 by scholars, thus shortly before the First Crusade.1® In the In163 See above, pp. 236-37 and 263 on Manegold and Sigebert. 164 Above, pp. g-10 and 11. 165 See Fournier-Le Bras, Collections, 11, 55-114; Gorris, Denkbeelden,

pp. 19-24. I confine myself to the Decretum and the Panormia (both 265

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vestitute Contest itself, Ivo adopted a course of compromise, preparing the final settlement.1°° He had a similar stand toward the problem of war and cannot be fitted into either of the contending parties. Rather, he synthesized the

clashing tendencies of various epochs. Almost the whole collection of Burchard of Worms is incorporated into his Decretum; with it, Ivo took over the obsolete sentence that penance must be performed for having killed an enemy even in a just war.'®? But side by side with this there appears a series of Augustinian texts about the legitimacy of the profession of arms.1®* Accordingly, Ivo declares that desertion in war is under the ban of the church, and he buttresses this statement by energetically emending a canon of Arles on the subject.1®® Moreover, he discusses just war in some detail.'7° The debated issues of his age are introduced by a few texts on war for the sake of the church and on the in MPL 161), leaving aside the unpublished Collectio tripartita, whose connection with Ivo is not so certain as that of the others. [R. Sprandel, Ivo, esp. pp. 141ff and n. 14, 161 and n. 131, does not agree that Ivo was a pioneer in the development of the crusade idea. He maintains that the impression that Erdmann gives here is not Jjustified by the passages he cites, passages taken from Ivo’s canonical collections and not from his letters. Though such passages do contribute

a new element in the canonistic tradition, they do not, according to Sprandel, adequately present an overall view of Ivo’s ideas. Moreover, they are largely taken from Augustinian and patristic sources and generally do not go beyond the traditional view of defensive war as just war. Sprandel sees Ivo as unsympathetic to the eleventh-century tendencies toward holy war in Spain and the East.] 166 Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 1, 914f; Fournier-Le Bras, Collections, i, 111f. 167 Decretum xX, 152 (not in the Panormia). See also the statements against war in Ivo, Ep. 20 and 44 (MPL 162.33 and 53f). 168 Decr. X, 1 (Pan. Vul, 1); X, 98 (VIII, 35); X, 110 (VIII, 44); X, 125 (VIII, 60).

169 Decr. X, 122 (not in Pan.): qui arma proiciunt in praelio (“in peace” in the source); see above, p. 5 n. 4, and Gorris, Denkbeelden, p.

21n. 7. 170 Decr. X, 93 (Pan. vill, 37); X, 105 (not in Pan.); x, 107 (Pan. vit, 42); X, 109 (VII, 43); X, 116 (VUI, 54).

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forcible persecution of schismatics.17? Here, as in several other passages, Ivo aligns himself with Anselm of Lucca, that is to say, with the teachings of the Gregorians;1"? and he also quotes the decretal of Urban II on the killing of excommunicates.173 Simultaneously, elements of another kind appear in his work. The defense of the homeland is stressed as a just cause for war,'7* and explicit attention is given to

war against pagans. He adduces a decretal of Alexander II sanctioning war against Saracens because they persecute Christians,17> and one of Leo IV, in which the pope speaks of his own military measures against the Saracens.’7* From another letter of Leo IV, Ivo concludes that all those who die fighting to defend Christendom from the pagan enemies

of the faith will attain the kingdom of heaven.177 | Ivo’s references to pagan enemies point to the future, a very immediate future. The conflict occasioned by Gregory

VII thrust the idea of war against pagans into the background only for a moment. Gregory failed in his attempt to place the triumphantly advancing idea of crusade at the immediate service of the papacy, just as he failed in some of

his other efforts to enlarge the powers of the papacy: he drove ahead to positions that his own followers soon deemed untenable and eventually abandoned.'’7® The same proved 171 Decr. X, 59 (not in Pan. cf. Anselm of Lucca, XIII, 14); X, 90 (not in Pan., cf. Anselm, x1, 6); X, 95 (Pan. vil, 36, cf. Anselm, XII, 44); x, gg (not in Pan., cf. Anselm, xI, 53). 172 Fournier-Le Bras, Collections, 11, 69ff, does not list Anselm among Ivo’s sources; I leave the point undecided. [On Ivo and Anselm, Sprandel, Ivo, pp. 64ff; Stickler, “Potere,’”’ pp. 272-73] 173 Decr. X, 54 (Pan. vill, 11), cf. above, pp. 240-41. [Sprandel, Ivo, p. 161 n. 131.] 174 Decr. X, 97 (Pan. vill, 34), cf. X, 93 (VII, 37). 175 Decr. X, 54 (Pan. vil, 11), cf. above, pp. 240-41.

176 Decr. xX, 83 (Pan. VIN, 27). But Ivo stresses that, even against heathens, clerics should not themselves bear arms. [Sprandel, Ivo, p. 141 n. 14.] 177 Decr. x, 87 (Pan. VIII, 30). [Sprandel, loc. cit.] 178 Cf, Caspar, “Gregor VII.,” pp. 19f, 27.

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ABOUT ECCLESIASTICAL WAR

true of the knightly movement; the outward surge could be

checked by Gregorian propaganda about militia s. Petri, but its strength was too great to be permanently diverted into the channel of internal war.

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CHAPTER IX

THE FURTHER DEVELOPMENT OF THE POPULAR IDEA OF CRUSADE

( regory VII’s idea of a hierarchical crusade brought general discord rather than united action; alongside

it the popular idea of crusade led a life of its own.1 The socioeconomic conditions for the crusading movement were largely present in the second half of the eleventh century, as best illustrated by the fact that a free mercenary soldiery acquired increasing prominence at this time.? While mercenaries had been regularly used at Byzantium since late Antiquity, the West had rarely seen knights, or soldiers of lower rank, offering their services to lords outside the regular feudal relationship and in return for pay. From the middle of the eleventh century onward, however, the practice

became common, an indication that a surplus of trained manpower was available. Mercenaries and crusaders obviously bear a close resemblance to one another, but they also offer a sharp contrast: cash payment for the former, and for

the latter the church’s call and the prospect of heavenly reward. As a result, it would be wrong to ascribe a mercenary character to all enterprises that went beyond local feudal 1 The distinction between hierarchical and popular crusade stems from Ranke, Weligeschichte, vul, 71. It was adopted by O. Volk, Kreuzzugsidee, who also provides several useful comments. 2The following is according to Schmitthenner, Séldnertum, whose survey must be corrected in details, since it is not based on first-hand study of the sources. Certain important sources may be added: the word

soldarius in Hugh of Flavigny, MGH SS. 8.342, and in a letter from Lobbes, MGAH SS, 21.313; the Germans (nemitzoi) among the Byzantine

mercenaries in a diploma of Alexius in 1088 (Délger, Regesten, 1150, cf. C. Neumann, “Vélkernamen,” p. 374); Benzo of Alba’s project of replacing the feudal levy by an army of mercenaries, with the help of

an imperial tax, on which, H. Lehmgribner, Benzo von Alba, pp. 122~25.

269

THE POPULAR IDEA OF CRUSADE combat.® Rather, a characteristic of the age was that crusaders existed side by side with mercenaries. The crusader is a volunteer; and even though military terminology may equate

him with a mercenary, he must be distinguished from the latter if the historical forces motivating him are to be understood. On the other hand, a complete contrast between mer-

cenaries and crusading knights would be historically and psychologically false, for troops had already been recruited for both money and spiritual rewards. ‘The Germans whom

Leo IX had led on his crusade against the Normans had streamed to his banner in return for pay, as well as for the sake of indulgences.* ‘The skirmishes of the Roman schism

of the 1060s were conducted largely as a holy war, but money payments played no slight role on both sides.® In the plans for a Jerusalem crusade drafted by Benzo of Alba for Henry 1V—we will hear of them again—the needed troops were to be recruited with Byzantine gold.® Gregory VII, as we saw, relied as much on money payments as on crusading ideas to assemble armed forces. And even the warriors of the First Crusade, though certainly not mercenaries, did not

wholly dispense with the prospect of earthly reward: the leaders of the crusade were to have great gifts from the Greek emperor, and the rank and file had the direct promise of pay.’ In short, the crusading idea did not eliminate nat3 As does Schmitthenner, Sdldnertum, p. 44 (Sardinian war of Bene-

dict VIII); p. 51 (the latter’s supposed mercenary treaty with the Normans); p. 55 (“afterwards, Rome often needed the support of Nor-

man mercenaries,’ notably William of Montreuil); p. 56 (Eastern plan of Gregory VII); p. 25 (Beatrice and Mathilda of Tuscany); p. 20 (Gregory’s request to the bishop of Trent); p. 68 (battle of Pleichfeld). In none of these cases do we have evidence that the relationship involved payment. 4 Hermann of Reichenau a. 1053, MGH SS. 5.132, see above, p. 122. 5 Above, pp. 130 and 152; Schmitthenner, pp. 5eff. 6 Benzo of Alba, 1, 12 (MGH SS. 11.617). Cf. Erdmann, “Endkaiserglaube,”’ pp. 403ff, and below, p. 299. 7 See R. RoOhricht, Geschichte, pp. 65, 69, 81 n. 3, 88, 157f, 164.

[Erdmann’s allusion to ‘‘an intermingling of motives’ is, of course, correct, but his statement that “the rank and file had the direct promise of pay” seems too broad. The problem is obscure—as is also the ques270

THE POPULAR IDEA OF CRUSADE ural self-interest;® yet the fact that motives were mixed does

not blot out the ideas of Christian knighthood and of cru-

sade, and it in no way alters the autonomy of their development. In our survey of this development up to the mid-eleventh

century, we have encountered many individual incidents, but no system and no coherent plans for translating ideas into action. Conditions were basically the same in the second

half of the century. The polemical literature, for all its divergences of opinion, discloses a gradual clarification of theoretical concepts and a certain agreement over fundamentals; but the authors who mention war only in passing express attitudes that are naive and generally confused. For example, a personage of the stature of Anselm of Canterbury still voiced a basic rejection of war, as being simply immoral.® At the opposite pole, it could still happen that tion of numbers—and the reference to ROhricht does not fully answer the question. It is true that the leaders received gifts from the emperor, and in view of his request for aid, and presumed arrangements with the pope, probably expected recompense. But the emperor provided markets and, therefore, expected the crusaders to meet their own expenses en route. The leaders raised funds in various ways and doubtless equipped and paid foot-soldiers, but precisely what was expected of or provided for vassals, knights, etc. is not clear. Papal guarantees of freedom from debt and protection of property were presumably directed at less wealthy participants. Reports of prospective crusaders mortgaging their property, including followers of Peter the Hermit and Walter

the Penniless, would seem to indicate need for personal financing. Moreover, Raimond of Toulouse’s willingness to provide for poorer crusaders was certainly not pay in the ordinary sense of the word. On this, F. Duncalf, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, ch. vu; S. Runciman, Austory, 1, 121ff, and Appendix 0; the comments of Bréhier in his review of Erdmann, p. 674. In addition, it is known that the journey was undertaken by a large number of noncombatants, for whom the pope apparently expected the leaders and knights to provide: W. Porges, “Non-combatants,” pp. 1-23.] 8 Yet the idea was also voiced that true fighting for God was devalued by the acceptance of earthly reward; see the so-called Descriptio in G. Rauschen, Legende, p. 110. 9 Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. "1, 19 (MPL 158.1168: iniquitas est cruenta bellorum confusio, etc.) See also Anselm’s words to Diego of Compostela, Ep. Iv, 19 (MPL 159.212). 271

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none other than bishops won ecclesiastical praise for their exploits against an enemy of the Empire,’° this at the very time when church doctrine took it for granted that bishops and abbots must not perform military service for the state." Even the basic idea of Christian knighthood—namely, the consecration of the sword to ecclesiastical purposes—had by no means become the common property of all thinking men;

and the contrast between secular and spiritual militia, though completely overcome by the popes and theoreticians, as we have seen, nevertheless retained its full primitive force in certain circles.12 Now as before, different answers were given to the question whether a knight’s piety should lie in

good works alien to his military calling, or in military exploits performed for the church.t* Meanwhile, the idea of service by knights to the church was not narrowly confined

to the papacy. Around the monastery of La Sauve near Bordeaux, under Abbot Gerard (1079-1095), a company of ten dynasts was formed who allowed their swords to be con-

secrated in the monastery church and committed themselves by oath to avenge violence against the monks, to de-

fend monastic property, and to protect pilgrims coming there.*+ ‘This union recalls not only the Gregorian militia s. Petri, but also the beginnings of the Order of ‘Templars; it represents a link between the old Peace of God unions and

the later knighthood of the military orders. Such phenom-

ena were isolated for the time being, since a variety of tendencies kept getting into one another’s way; here as before we cannot hope to draw a complete picture. Neverthe10 The naive mixture of heterogeneous trains of thought in Rupert of Deutz, Chronicon s. Laurenti, c. 29, MGH SS. 8.272, is particularly interesting. See also Laurentius of Liege, MGH SS. 10.494-95. 11 Swabian Annalist a. 1077, MGH SS. 5.301. The old prohibition of armed service by clerics was renewed by the synod of Tours in 1060: MPL 142.1412, can. 7.

12In addition to Anselm’s letter (above, n. 9g), see, for example, Sigebert, Vita Wicberti, c. 2 and 3 (MGH SS. 8.509, and above, p. 201). 13 A unique mixture of both points of view occurs in a biography of 1058, Bouchard le Vénérable, ed. de la Ronciére, pp. 5, 6, 9, 26. 14 Cirot de la Ville, Histoire, 1, 297ff, 497f. 2792

THE POPULAR IDEA OF CRUSADE

less, we must elaborate upon a few aspects that were significant in future developments. The first models in whose terms the religious idea of war was expressed were Old ‘Testament figures, such as Joshua,

Gideon, David, and Judas Maccabeus; throughout Christian history the military aspects of the Old Testament had a great impact. In the High Middle Ages, however, an even more important role was played by the saints to whom a special patronage of war and knights began to be ascribed. This was how the church’s sanctification of the profession of

arms was given its clearest expression. As was established before, the early medieval West knew nothing of such patronage.** When tendencies of this kind appeared, they were

first related to saints who in life had been soldiers themselves, such as Maurice and Sebastian. The Pontifical of Cologne (probably from the beginning of the eleventh cen-

tury) contains an order of service for the consecration of knights where the merits of the holy martyrs and soldiers Maurice, Sebastian, and George are already referred to.1¢ Then Benzo of Alba, in relating the Roman schism (1062— 1063), has St. Maurice make an appearance to fight for the cause of Cadalus.'” Along different lines, Bernold compares Count Frederick of Mémpelgard to St. Sebastian and strik-

ingly alters the older concept of this saint in doing so, for while the Acts of Sebastian contrast the Christianity of the saint to his military profession, Bernold praises Count Frederic precisely because his military prowess turned him into

a courageous warrior of Christ and champion of the church.'* The development of territorial patron saints was another element pointing in this direction. As early as the eleventh century, St. Denis was regarded as the patron saint 15 Above, p. 14, cf. p. gi. 16 See Exkurs 1, sect. 6 [of the German edition]: A. Franz, Benedik-

tionen, II, 297. ,

17 Benzo of Alba, 1, 18 (MGH SS. 11.620f); see above, p. 130. The apostle Peter and Carpophorus appeared along with Maurice. 18 Bernold, a. 1102, MGH SS. 5.454; above, p. 14.

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of France;1® without ever turning into a soldier-saint, he acquired the role of a protector in war, particularly as a

result of the part played by the banner of St. Denis in French wars.”° ‘To some extent, St. Maurice and his lance had a comparable role in eleventh-century Germany,?! and so did St. Martin and St. George in Hungary, though in a transitory way.?? St. James, “Santiago,” gained special importance as protector of Spain, where he would later be the patron of the greatest Spanish order of knighthood. Belief in the military efficacy of Santiago found its supreme expres-

sion in the legend of the battle with the Moors at Clavijo, where the saint was thought to have appeared on horseback, bearing a shining white flag to lead the Christians to victory.2? The role of Santiago as patron of fighting knights is 19 Lot, “Etudes,” p. 340, maintains that these conceptions go back to the ninth century. But no more may be said with regard to the earlier period than that Denis was one of the greater saints of Gaul. Lot’s direct evidence dates only from the twelfth century, though it testifies to a long-standing custom. The eleventh century provides the two reports of the translation of relics to Regensburg, the earlier (1049) in MGH SS. 30.823ff, the later one (prior to 1064, S. Rietschel, “Alter,” pp. 641ff) in SS. 11.351 ff.

[On the cult of St. Denis, B. Kétting, in Lexikon ftir Theologie und Kirche; E. H. Kantorowicz, Laudes, pp. 46, 116 n. 16, 117. The iconographical aspects of the cult are discussed in L. Réau, Iconographie, Ht, 3741. |

20 See Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, pp. 892ff. 21 Cf. Hofmeister, Heilige Lanze, and Erdmann, “Heidenkrieg,” pp. 135f n. 1. In Regensburg texts of the eleventh century (Arnold of St. Emmeram, MGH SS. 4.551; on the translation reports, above, n. 19), St. Emmeram plays the role of a military patron of the territory. [On St. Maurice and the Holy Lance in Germany, Schramm, “Heilige

Lanze,” pp. 511ff. On the gift of the lance and the banner of St. Maurice to King Athelstan by Duke Hugh, L. H. Loomis, “Holy

Relics,” pp. 427-56.] 22 Vita Stephani, c.6 and 8 (MGH SS. 11.232, 233); see also Meinhard of Bamberg in Erdmann, “Briefe,” p. 406.

23 Cf. A. Lopez Ferriero, Historia, 1, 73ff, who still defends the authenticity of the Clavijo document. [On the origin of the cult of St. James at Compostela, see now José Guerra, “Notas,” pp. 417-74, 559-90. There is also a brief summary with bibliography in V. and H. Hell, Great Pilgrimage. See also Sir Thomas Kendrick, St. James, ch. 1, 11]

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found fully developed only in the twelfth century; whether it antedates the First Crusade is not yet clear.?4 The holy patrons of the crusading era, however, owe their development principally to a foreign source, namely the

dominant ideas of Eastern Christendom, which now acquired currency in the West. For a long time, the Eastern church had known saints who brought victory, such as Demetrius, ‘Theodore, Sergius, and George.?> No later than

the tenth century, the soldier-saints were venerated in the Byzantine army and portrayed on war banners.”* A series of portraits of these saints, mostly dressed as soldiers, has survived to this day; they principally depict George, ‘Theodore (whom legend doubled and venerated as both Theodore the general and ‘Theodore the recruit), and Demetrius, but also Procopius, Mercurius, Eustratius, and others.?7 ‘These were

explicitly Byzantine saints, who, except for George, were entirely unknown in the West or had only a local cult in Italy. As a result, the emergence of these same Greek saints

as patrons of warfare in the West has considerable importance.?® It is a process that may be satisfactorily traced in the liturgical acclamations of ecclesiastical and secular rulers, the so-called Laudes, most of which include a special appeal to a saint on behalf of the ruler and the army, or of 24 The history of the military cult of St. James is still a profitable field of research. Church historians of Spain (such as V. de la Fuente, Historia, 1, 130ff, 230, 291ff, 458ff), as well as the richly documented

but uncritical work of Ldépez Ferriero, may be taken as points of departure. 25 Above, p. 6. 26 Constantine Porphyrogenitus, De ceremoniis, I, 481, on the banners of the martyres stratelatat; Codinus. De officiis, pp. 4’7f. [See Bréhier, Institutions, p. 378.] 27H. Delehaye, Légendes grecques, pp. 3ff; also C. Neumann, Weltstellung, pp. 36f.

28 It is interesting that Bernard of Angers (second half of the eleventh century) cites the killing of Julian the Apostate by St. Mercurius as illustrating a warlike deed by a saint (Liber mirac. s. Fidis, 1, 26, ed. Bouillet, p. 68); but this is apparently book learning out of John of Damascus: Delehaye, Légendes grecques, pp. 98f. 275

THE POPULAR IDEA OF CRUSADE

the army alone.2* No special patrons of war are indicated in

the older Latin Laudes, of which the earliest dates from the eighth century; for the army, they simply mention saints

whose cult could be regarded as popular.®° The special soldier-saints who later appear are the Greek ones. Saints George, Theodore, and Mercurius are invoked on behalf of the ruler and army of the Christians in Laudes stemming from the kingdom of Burgundy,*! and the Laudes tor the 29 Cf. A. Prost, “Caractére,” pp. 167ff; K. Heldmann, Kaisertum, pp. 284ff; H. Leclercq, “Laudes Gallicanae,” pp. 1898ff; Schramm,

“Ordines,” pp. 313f.

[On the laudes, Kantorowicz, Laudes, who (p. 29 n. 48) maintains that Erdmann has suggested a rather late date for the reception of the Greek military saints. There are references to Theodore as early as the ninth century (pp. 10sff), and Michael, Maurice, Sebastian, and George were invoked by the Normans in the eleventh century (p. 167 n. 2). See also Réau, Iconographie, 11, passim. On the Michael cult,

above, Introduction, supplement to n. 46. For a survey of Eastern

influences in the West, including the saints, G. Schreiber, “Christlicher

Orient.’ 30 Let me cite the following texts of laudes, each with the saints invoked for the army: (1) from 783-92 (Einhard, ed. Holder-Egger, Appendix, p. 47): Remigius (Rémi, the patron of Rheims); (2) from “96-800 (Liber pontificalis, ed. Duchesne, U, 37): Hilary, Martin, Maurice, Denys, Crispin and Crispinian, Gereon (the patrons of Poitiers, Tours, St. Maurice, St. Denis, Soissons, and Cologne); (3) from 824-27 (C. Hoffler, Padpste, 1, 286, right-hand column): Andrew (the apostle); (4) from 858-67 (Prost, “Caractére,’ p. 176): Hilary, Martin, Maurice, Denys, Alban, Crispin, and Crispinian, Gereon (see no. 2; Alban was venerated at Mainz); (5) from about 880 (Prost, p. 238): Hilary, Martin, Maurice, Denys, Gereon (as no. 2); (6) from 1000-1002 (Prost, p. 181): Sylvester, Gregory, Leo, Ambrose (patrons of Rome and Milan); (7) eleventh century (H6ffler, 1, 287, left-hand column): John, Philip, Denys, Maurice, Hilary, Martin, Perpetuus, Paulinus (see no. 2; Perpetuus was venerated at Utrecht, Paulinus is surely the saint of Trier, while John and Philip are apostles). In nos. 1, 2, 4, and 5, the invocation is on behalf of the ruler and army of the Franks, in no. 3 only for the army of the Franks, in nos. 6 and 7 for the ruler and army of the Christians. [J. R. in review of Erdmann, pp. 253-54, indicates that St. Mauritius

does not refer here to the monastery of that name in Switzerland.

lance. | .

Schramm, “‘Salische Kaiserordo,” p. 400, mentions St. Maurice and the 81 Du Cange, Glossarium, s.v. Laus (and Prost, ‘“Caractére,” p. 179),

after a MS of the church of Arles. The edition of Du Cange by the

Benedictines of St. Maur adds that szmiles litaniae occur in a codex of 270

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imperial coronation also call on Theodore and Mercurius as saints for the army.*? Since these acclamations are difficult to date, they do not definitely attest that the Greek soldiersaints were adopted in the West before the First Crusade.**

Yet it is probable that they were, for in the crusade itself the heavenly assistance in battle of Sts. George, Theodore,

Demetrius, and Mercurius was thought to have played a great role; the Latin accounts, which are numerous, introduce their names in so casual a way as to imply that their

role as special patrons of war was familiar to Western readers.34

Saint George assumed a special place among the warrior St. Martial at Limoges (now Paris, Bibl. nat., MS lat. 1240, fol. 6565”). According to Prost, pp. 177f., the Limoges text is unpublished, but it is also cited by Marténe and dates from 923-36. Prost draws the incorrect conclusion that the Arles text belonged to about the same time as that of Limoges; the provenance of the MS and the saints’ names (for the bishop: Ferreolus, Antidius, and Desideratus—all three from Besancon; for the king: Maurice, Sigismund, and Victor—the first

two generally Burgundian, the third from Marseilles or Solothurn) render probable an origin in the united Burgundian kingdom, thus after 933; but a terminus ante .1uem cannot be supplied on this basis, since the Burgundian kingdom continued to exist after its union with the Empire. [Also Kantorowicz, Laudes, p. 243 n. 31, mentioning the important relation between the Besancon MS and Arles.] 32 Ordo of the Codex Gemundensis (12th cent. ?), MGH Leg. 2.78f (also in MS Vatican., lat. 7114, 13th-14th cent., E. Eichmann, Quellensammlung, 1, 60); Exercitui Francorum, Romanorum et Teutonicorum vitam et victoriam ... sancte Theodore. (Eichmann dates this text from the ninth century; see also Eichmann, “Ordines,” p. 11; but it

must be considerably later). The laudes of the Ordo Cencius Il (Schramm, “Ordines,” p. 384) align all the saints invoked; but since the army is in last place in the invocations, and since Mercurius is the last of the saints invoked, there is no doubt that he is named in relation to the army. 33 This is also clearly apparent in Orderic Vitalis, v1, 2, ed. Le Prevost, 111, 4, where the Greeks Demetrius, George, Theodore, and Eustace are named alongside the Westerners Sebastian and Maurice as ancient models for knights. [See above, supplement to n. 29.]

84 See the sources in Rohricht, Geschichte, pp. 93 n. 1, 127 n. 1, 143f n. 5, 149 n. 4. Maurice and Blasius also appear but rather seldom.

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saints. ‘Though he too was an Eastern, more precisely a Palestinian, saint, he had been widely venerated even in the West ever since the beginning of the Middle Ages, but not as a patron of war; rather, he was a martyr for the faith, the greatest and most wonderful among the Christian contfes-

sors, for he was supposed to have risen again after three

fatal martyrdoms and to have brought about the most incredible miracles.3> He is a soldier as his legend begins, but this fact played as insignificant a part in his early cult in the West as it did in the cases of Sebastian, Maurice, or Martin.** ‘The Greek East treated him differently. ‘There the

great triumphant martyr was chief of the soldier-saints and was celebrated as early as in the seventh century as a champion of the Empire.*? Even at that date a legend in Constantinople told of the protection given by St. George to a cavalryman at war.°® In the next centuries, the Greeks fur-

ther developed the military versions of the legend of St. George, even though the most famous of them, the story of

his fight with the dragon, cannot be traced before the twelfth century.*® Other Greek miracles of St. George sur-

vive in manuscripts of the eleventh century and probably originated in the ninth or tenth. Their repeated motif is miraculous help, especially against heathens; the saint appears mounted and in arms to rescue prisoners or to defend 35 Bibliography in K. Kiinstle, Ikonographie der Heilingen, pp. 263 ff. 36 It suffices to mention the ninth-century German Georgslied: Ehrismann, Literatur, 1, 212ff. The sermon on St. George by Peter Damiani (MPL 144.567ff) celebrates only the martyr and stresses the distinction

between his former soldiering and his later christiana militia, i.e.,

martyrdom. 37 Arkadios of Cyprus in K. Krumbacher, Georg, p. 79: tes basileias o promakos; cf. pp. 206f. 38 Arculfus, m1, 4, in T. Tobler and A. Molinier, Jtinera, pp. 195ff. 39 J. B. Aufhauser, Drachenwunder, pp. 237ff. Add to this two further

translations of the Greek dragon-miracle in twelfth-century manuscripts, published in John the Monk, ed. M. Huber, Sammlung, pp. 124ff. The editor conjectures (p. xxxi) that the translation stems from John the Monk. In this case, they would belong to the eleventh century; cf. Hofmeister, “Ubersetzer,”’ pp. 225ff. But I find no basis for this attribution. 248

THE POPULAR IDEA OF CRUSADE

his icon against pagan destructiveness.*° Under Constantine Monomachos (1043-1055), St. George was the special patron of the war of the Empire against heathens: a Byzantine banner of the time depicts St. George with the emperor beside

him, as he pursues the barbarians on horseback;*? and a sermon on St. George, pronounced by John Euchaites, refers

expressly to a victory over the wild Scyths, that is, the Petchenegs.*?

Everyone knows that “the knight St. George” played a similar role in the West during the crusades and long after,

as a heavenly helper in war and a patron of the Christian

knight. The role is clearly attested as early as the First Crusade. As mentioned before, he was supposed to have ap-

peared to the crusaders as a helper in battle, in company with Demetrius, ‘Theodore, and Mercurius. He figured espe-

cially as standard-bearer of the crusading host and was thought to have referred to himself as such in a vision to a crusader.*? The special veneration that the crusaders had for him found expression in the foundation of a bishopric at Ramleh, where the saint was supposedly buried.** ‘I'o what extent the West regarded George as a special saint for war prior to the First Crusade is a more difficult question to an-

swer. The age has left us neither Western images of St. George as a warrior nor reports of something like a banner of St. George.*® Even the stories of the apparition of soldier40 Aufhauser, pp. 2ff, 28. 41 Psellos, MPG 122.531. 42 Krumbacher, p. 213.

43 Raymond of Aguilers, c. 32 (RHC, Occ., I, 290). There might be

an echo here of the common Byzantine designation of George as tropaiophoros. 44 ROhricht, Geschichte, p. 182.

45 The earlier Vita Stephani (probably from the end of the eleventh century) has the king of Hungary win a victory “with the protection

of the sign of the most glorious cross, the supporting merits of the

ever virgin Mary, Mother of God, under the banner of Bishop Martin, dear to God, and of the holy martyr, George [protegente gloriosissimae crucis signaculo, patrocinantibus Dei genetricis ac perpetuae virginis Mariae meritis, sub vexillo Deo dilecti pontificis Martini sanctique 279

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saints in eleventh-century battles belong to a later time.*® The earliest of them is the account of Geoffrey Malaterra that St. George participated in the battle against the Saracens at Cerami (1063);*7 but since Geoffrey did not write

until after the First Crusade, his testimony cannot prove that this motif existed prior to the 10gos. Yet one legend does antedate the crusade. A collection of miracles relates that a sacristan of San Giorgio in Velabro, on the coast near

Rome, was seized by Saracens and taken to Palermo, but St. George appeared on a white horse and brought him back.** ‘The context of this story imposes a date earlier than

the First Crusade; by the end of the century, the Saracens could no longer make piratical descents upon the Roman coast, for they had been completely driven out of the Tyrrhenian Sea (they lost Palermo in 1072). To be sure, George does not appear in this legend as a real patron of knights and helper in battle; he intervenes on horseback and acts as

a protector against the heathen, in the earlier Byzantine manner. But his future role is at least prefigured, and the process of transfering the image of George the warrior from the Greeks to the Latins had begun. How the journey was completed is not known; the Normartyris Georgi|” (MGH SS. 11.232); but this appears to be meant metaphorically; see above, n. 22. [But see the remarks of Kantorowicz (cited above, supplement to n. 29) on earlier liturgical evidence.] 46 H. Gunter, Legendenstudien, pp. 100f, sets the earliest appearance of St. George in the Slavic battle of 1004; but this comes from Adalbert’s Life of Henry II, c. 4 (MGH SS. 4.793), a twelfth-century work. Much

later still is the legend of the appearance of St. George at the battle of Alcoraz (1096; cf. Boissonnade, Roland, p. 37, Menéndez-Pidal, Espana, iW, 563); it first occurs in the fourteenth-century Chronica Pinnatensis (Historia de Aragon, ed. Embun, p. 59), cf. Zurita, Annales,

1, 32. (The statement that St. Victorian appeared at the same time stems from a gross misinterpretation of the words of Rodrigo of Toledo, vi, 1, in Hispaniae Illustratae, ed. Schott, 11, 94.) 47 Geoffrey Malaterra, 11, 33, ed. Pontieri, p. 44; cf. above, pp. 134-36. 48 Aufhauser, Drachenwunder, pp. 178f; A. Poncelet, ‘“Catalogus hagiog. Rom.,” p. 59. Both authors date the oldest manuscript containing this story (Rome, Lateran A 79) to the eleventh-twelfth century.

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mans and other mercenaries who served with the Byzantine army come to mind, but establishing the precise source of this motif hardly matters to our study. What counts instead is that the West had become receptive to such notions, which could now take root; this is what demonstrates the popular-

ity gradually acquired by the idea of holy war. | The origin of the cult of warrior saints has another highly

important aspect, namely the interconnection of legends of saints and chivalric poetry. A whole series of legendary warriors of the past came to be revered simultaneously as epic heroes and as saints of the church.*® From at least the beginning of the twelfth century, heroic tales passed into clerical literature by taking on an edifying form;*° recipro-

cally, the knightly epics of the twelfth century assumed many clerical features. This combination of military fame and sanctity originated in the days preceding the crusades. In many cases, the first connection was the story that the heroes were converted in later life and entered a monastery. This edifying theme was of course quite old, the more so since the story often rested on historical fact. But earlier monastic legends of this kind hardly celebrated the antecedent feats of arms of their heroes; rather, they stressed only the contrast between secular and spiritual ‘“‘guise [habitus]}.” Such is the case, for example,

of the oldest version of the conversion of William of Gellone, a count from the circle of Charlemagne who ended his life as a monk.®! Only later did the image change: legendary

accounts of William’s exploits in the Spanish campaign against the heathen began to be blended with the figure of the pious founder of monasteries. Thus the Vita s. Wilhelmi relates that William, before his monastic life, went forth into

southern France as triumphator and standard-bearer of 49 Bédier, Légendes, 1v, 403-33; and Roland commenteée, pp. of, 12ff. 50 E.g., the Vita nobilissimi comitis Girardi de Rosselon, ed. P. Meyer, Romania 7 (1878), 178ff. For the date, see most recently Lot, “Etudes,” pp. 250f. It suffices, for further illustration, to mention Pseudo-Turpin; Bédier, Légendes, \11, 42ff.

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51 Ardo, Vita Benedicti Anianensis, c. 30 (MGH SS. 15.211~19).

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Christ to combat the Moslems, that he saved the people of God with his sword and enlarged the Christian imperium.®? Such a story casts the light of sanctity even on William’s war-

like exploits. ‘To be sure, this Vita seems to date from the twelfth century (ca. 1122),°8 but other conversion stories of the same kind are older. The Conversio Othgerit militis was

certainly written before 1084, perhaps even in the tenth century; its subject is Ogier, another warrior of the heroic age to whose name knightly legends were attached, and it narrates his conversion at the monastery of St. Faro with marked emphasis upon his fame in war.** In fact, an epitaph of Ogier and his companion Benedict, composed about the

middle of the eleventh century, stresses that the two men ranked first in both armies, temporal and spiritual; they were brave men of the emperor and brave agents of God.** Such parallelism of military and monastic exploits strikingly

expresses the harmonization of warlike and ecclesiastical themes. Equally instructive is a section of the chronicle of Novalese that stems from the first half of the eleventh century. In relating that Walter of Aquitaine, the well-known hero of Ekkehard’s poem, later became a monk in Novalese, the chronicle uses the expression conversio militiae, that is

to say, a transformation of secular knighthood into spiritual.°* Added to this is a poem that again celebrates the “dual combat” of Walter in elevated words,*? and reports feats of

arms that Walter performed even as a monk. Once, on the advice of the abbot, he allowed some robbers to despoil him 52 Vita s. Wilhelmi, c. 5 and 7 (AA. SS. May, vi, 802). Otherwise, however, this Life holds fast to the contrast of militia Dei with militia saecularis. 53 Cf. Bédier, Légendes, I, 118. [Around 1125, according to Riquer, Chansons, p. 138.] 54 J. Mabillon, Acta sanctorum ordinis s. Benedict, saec. Iv, 1, 662-64; also Bédier, Légendes, 1, 305ff.

55 Mabillon, p. 664: Ite pares animae per quaelibet agmina primae, Fortes Caesarei, fortia membra Dei, Fortes athletae, per saecula cuncta valete. On the date Bédier, Légendes, Ul, 307. 56 Chronicon Novalic., 1, 12 (Monumenta Novalic., U1, 156). 57 Ibid., Il, 7, p. 135.

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of his clothes, but when they tried to take his loincloth as well, he killed them all and returned with great booty, for which he was of course obliged to do penance.** Besides, he

reportedly triumphed over invading heathens three times, drove off some riders of King Desiderius who were devastating the monastic lands, and was then so filled with the exal-

tation of victory that he cut down with his sword a marble column that is still displayed.*® Nothing is more apparent here than the admixture to a monastic legend of elements better known from French chivalric poetry.® In this way monasteries began to lay claim to heroic figures and ascribed a more positive value to warlike exploits than they formerly had. The typical conversion story continued to retain something of the old contrast between secular and monastic war-

fare and included a criticism of the bloody profession of arms. But the idea came forth quite spontaneously that a holy life and heroic warfare belonged together, especially in regard to war against the heathen. The works just discussed were confined to clerical circles. More important were the repercussions of such ideas on real knightly poetry. Various opinions have been expressed for and against the role of clerics in the emergence of knightly

epics, but the Christian element in these poems is beyond dispute.* ‘Tenth-century poetry, such as the Waltharius of

Fkkehard, lacked the theme of ecclesiastical war. The Waltharius definitely comes from a clerical hand; the poet blames greed as the cause of war, yet he knows no other 58 Ibid., 11, 11, pp. 159 ff. 59 I[bid., pp. 155f.

60 See P. Rajna, “Contributi,” pp. 36ff; Bédier, Légendes, 11, 16o0ff. 61 According to Bédier (Légendes and Roland commentée), the chan-

sons de geste owe their origins in the eleventh century to the cooperation of monks and jongleurs. But this theory has been sharply contested by the work of Lot, “Etudes”; R. Fawtier, Roland, and A. Pauphilet, “Roland.”

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[For more recent discussions of the entire problem, see Riquer,

Chansons; I. Siciliano, Chansons, ch. x; R. Menéndez-Pidal, Roland, tr.

Cluzel. For the connection with crusade origins, see also A. Waas, Kreuzztige, 1, 41ff.]

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ethos of war than the old Germanic one—the striving to measure one’s own strength against that of the opponent, and the idea of revenge for the slain.*? The Old French Chanson de Guillaume, which dates from the close of the eleventh century, is already different.** The poet has the knight Vivien swear an oath never to retreat; Vivien prays before battle that God might help him fulfill this oath, indeed he even compares death in battle with the sacrificial death of Christ.®t This is possible because the enemy is Moslem, and the religious contrast is vividly felt.6° Nevertheless,

religion remains a personal matter and not yet an autonomous motive for war.

The ethical motivation is more developed in the French Chanson de Roland, which belongs to the same epoch. ‘That the poem exudes the crusading spirit has often been stressed, and only the question whether it should be set shortly before

or shortly after the First Crusade is disputed;** some say that “the Chanson de Roland would be impossible without 62 See particularly the words of Hagen in Ekkehard, Waltharius, wv. 1276-78, ed. K. Strecker, p. 66. [On the date, see P. Salmon, Literature, 1, 25, 197-98.] 63 See now Lot, “Etudes,” pp. 44o0ff. 64 Chancun de Guillelme, vv. 802-26. 65 See vv. 1198ff, where the wounded knight Guischart speaks of going

to Cordova and giving up Christianity, but is fiercely scolded by

William on this account. 66 See the recent works cited above, n. 61; add Boissonnade, Roland, W. Tavernier, Vorgeschichte, and E. Faral, Roland. Bédier, Boissonnade,

Tavernier, and Faral set the Chanson after the First Crusade, Lot and Fawtier before it. I incline to the latter view.

[The controversy over all aspects of the Song of Roland still continues, but it seems now generally agreed that it was composed by a cleric in the form preserved in MS Bodleian Library, Digby 23, or at least in a form closely resembling this, in the latter decades of the eleventh century (according to most scholars), and certainly before 1124. See the literature cited above, supplement to n. 61, and also L. H. Loomis, ‘‘Relic,” pp. 241-60; D. C. Douglas, “Song of Roland,” pp. gg-116. A great deal of the modern discussion concerns the provenance of the complete text of the Bodleian MS. There seems to be general agreement that much of what was later included circulated in various forms before the First Crusade and reflects the eleventh-century holy war ethos.|

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the First Crusade,” while others maintain that “the crusade would be incomprehensible without the Chanson de Roland.’’*? The poem assigns a dominant place to the idea of war upon heathens: battle is a judgment of God, the Christians are right, heathens wrong, and therefore Christians are victorious.*® When Cordova falls to the emperor Charles, he causes all heathens who are not converted to Christianity to

be killed. The emperor is in all respects the direct instrument of God, .Who assists him with miracles and by His archangel delivers to him the commission to fight for the Christians. Yet only the ruler’s person is portrayed in so starkly a Christian light.*® The other warriors are handled differently: no trace is found of the specific ideal of Christian knighthood. Roland’s exhortations before battle emphasize two ideas—feudal loyalty and fame in war.”° He too has occasion to say that the heathens are in the wrong and

the Christians right.71 These words in context are meant essentially as a promise of victory, but everyone shares the basic idea. When Archbishop Turpin calls on the combatants to fight for king and Christendom, the words he uses make the war exactly resemble a crusade: ‘‘Confess your sins,

pray God for mercy: I shall absolve you, to heal your souls. When you die you will be holy martyrs and have your place in the highest paradise.” As the Franks thereupon cast themselves to the ground, the archbishop blesses them and prescribes sword thrusts as penance.7? The idea of a crusading indulgence, which we find here in a crudely popular form, allows us to specify that the Chanson cannot antedate the time of Alexander II.7* The popular character of the poem 67 Cf. G. Paris, review of Marignan, p. 410. 68 Cf, A. M. Weiss, “Entwicklung,” pp. 114ff (esp. 116f), also for what follows. 69 Cf, Pauphilet, “Roland,” pp. 184ff. 70 Chanson de Roland, vv. 1008-16, 1053-58, 1113-23, 1456-66. 71 Ibid., Vv. 1015.

72 Ibid., vv. 1126-38; cf. vv. 1515-23 (14'72-80).

73 Tavernier, Vorgeschichte, pp. 84-88, 98-100, claims that this and similar ideas would have been impossible before the First Crusade. 28F

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may also explain why, in spite of this date, the personal knightly ideal of Roland is still old-fashioned.7* Above all, we are shown the decisive importance that war against the heathen assumed both earlier and later, as the popular form of holy war.

An original expression of the popular idea of knighthood is found in a quite different place. Among the rare remnants of Italian literature, a verse appeal to war has come to light under the title of “Exhortation to the Magnates of the Empire.”?> Written by an Italian partisan of the German king, it stems from the early years of Henry IV, probably from the days of the fighting over Cadalus in Rome (1062-1063).7°

The poet first appeals to the Romans, Italians, and Normans, calling on them to remain faithful to the young king, This view is based in inadequate knowledge of the facts and is refuted throughout the present book. [Iwo questions are raised by Erdmann’s statement here: (1) what elements of the Chanson antedated the final version, and (2) the muchdisputed question of the authenticity and/or meaning of Alexander’s letter. See above, ch. Iv, supplement to n. 72.] 74 See also Luchaire, Premiers Capétiens, p. 392. 75 Exhortatio ad proceres regni, ed. E. Diimmler, NA 1 (1876), 177. Cf. Schramm, Renovatio, 1, 257; Menéndez-Pidal, Espana, t, 247. In wv. 5f (Subdite Nortmanni iam colla ferocia regi, Imperio adsocii bella parate duct), Nortmannz is not genitive singular but vocative plural; it parallels the Romani and Ttali in the previous verses. For, to begin with, colla is

plural; second, the expression imperio adsocii fits only the Normans, not the previously mentioned Romans and Italians; third, the further encouragements to war against the Saracens are evidently addressed to the Normans in particular—After my book was in press, Mr. G. Radke (a doctoral candidate) drew my attention to certain points that invalidate the above argument and make it likely that the poet addresses only Romans and Italians and names the Normans as the first enemies to be combated. If so, there is in fact an astonishing similarity to Benzo of Alba’s first plan of crusade, also drawn up in 1063 (Erdmann, ‘“Endkaiserglaube,” pp. 403f, and below, p. 299), whose expectation is that Henry IV will first triumph over the Normans and heathens and then undertake an eschatological journey to Jerusalem in company with the Byzantine emperor. I have left my statements in the text unchanged, on the understanding that Mr. Radke will publish his findings. 76 What makes this date likely is the appeal to war against the dux, which can only mean Godfrey of Lorraine, as well as the allusion to an alliance with the Greeks (v. 13: Grecia tuncta aderit).

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according to God’s will and holy law, and to combat his enemies, especially ‘‘the duke” (Godfrey of Lorraine). Afterwards, however, those addressed are to fight against the Saracens and “Huns” (obviously the Hungarians or Balkan peoples) and to make Italy secure from heathens. In closing, the

poet paints a coming utopia in which Rome will rule all peoples in union with Greece; Caesar, Augustus, and Charlemagne will rise again and renew the world according to the

old laws, and simultaneously justice will reign under the keys of St. Peter. The prerequisite for all this is that those addressed should maintain fidelity and law; this is why the poem rings out in praise of “just service [militia aequa].”

With knighthood thus subordinated to a higher idea, the poet proclaims a sort of holy war against the enemy of Rome

as well as against heathens. He is far removed from hierarchical objectives. His originality lies rather in uninhibit-

edly mixing Christian themes with the idea of Eternal Rome. He is comparable in this to Benzo of Alba, with whose political standpoint he also agrees; possibly, Benzo

himself is the poet. This particular formulation of the knightly ideal cannot have had much impact; yet the wide diffusion of the ideal itself is borne out when one finds it

in so unexpected a combination of motifs. | This poem, as well as the hagiography and chansons de geste previously discussed, repeatedly feature war against the heathen. No additional proof is needed that war of this kind had the most important role in the popular sphere of the crusading idea. Equally characteristic are the reproaches

that Lampert causes the rebellious Saxons to address to Henry IV: the king is blamed for being a heathen [barbarus| by persecuting the church and by permitting even the pagan Slavs to fall upon the Christian Saxons.77 Although the idea of a chivalric crusade against heathens remained problematic until mid-century, it was then adopted by the reform papacy and, under its aegis, attained an initial 77 Lampert a. 1073, 1076, ed. Holder-Egger, pp. 152, 277f. Cf. also Otloh, Libellus, c.1 (MPL 146.246). 287

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peak in the early 1060s. The Curia then gave less encouragement to this tendency and preferred crusade within the church. But even in the age of Gregory VII the popular idea of crusade against heathens did not cease to play a role in battles on the frontiers of Christianity. The most significant event of this kind was the crusade of Barbastro (1064),"* prolonged in the next decades by a series

of similar undertakings.*® The Spanish campaign that Ebolus of Roucy began in agreement with Gregory VII has previously been mentioned.®° The same pontificate witnessed the undertakings of Hugh I of Burgundy and Wil-

liam VI of Aquitaine in support of the king of Aragon. Additional bands of crusaders, especially from France, took part in the battle of Zallaca or Sagrajos against the Almo-

ravids (1086). The severe defeat suffered there by the Christians brought new stimulus to the idea of a Spanish crusade. Alfonso VI of Castile sent to France for renewed support and was supposed to have threatened that, unless he received help, he would make an alliance with the Moslems and give up the Christian faith.*t In the next year, substantial contingents of knights reached Spain from various parts of France under high-placed leadership. No lasting results were achieved on this occasion, but the bare fact

that many French knights participated in the Spanish war against the Moors was very important, the more so as smaller groups of Frenchmen took part in the Spanish fighting both in 1086 and in the years to follow. ‘These knights continued

to attribute to the Moorish war the crusading character it had had in the Barbastro campaign. Before setting forth, 78 Above, pp. 136—40.

72 On what follows, Boissonnade, Roland, pp. 28ff, whose discussion can only be partially substantiated; also Menéndez-Pidal, Espavia, pp. 370 n. 2, 563 n. 3, 670ff. 80 Above, pp. 155-56.

81 Fragmentum historiae Francorum, in RHF, xu, 2; Hugh of Fleury, MGH SS. 9.390.

[Dufourneaux, Francais, p. 141. On the reasons for the double designation of the battle, see Valdeavellano, Historia, pp. 831-32 and n. 1.] 288

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Ebolus of Roucy promised his conquests to the pope. Hugh of Burgundy later proved his affection for the church by laying down his dukedom and entering the monastery of Cluny. William of Aquitaine is the man who placed himself at the disposal of Gregory VII in 1074 for the Eastern campaign; he was regarded as one of Gregory’s most devoted adherents.

As for the campaign of 1087, one of its leaders was the French knight Raimond of Saint-Gilles, who became famous ten years later in the First Crusade. Contemporaries were well aware that the great Eastern crusade was intimately related to the earlier Spanish wars;*? Urban I? himself, as we shall later see, regarded the Moorish wars as a parallel undertaking to the First Crusade. ‘The Spanish war was where the knighthood of France had manifested its crusading sentiments. This fact clearly explains why Gregory

VII failed to obtain troops for papal war. Military forces were overabundant, and there was no lack of willingness

for a pious crusade; but the special direction in which Gregory wished to drive chivalric combat found no response. These observations apply only to the French who went to

Spain, not to the Spaniards themselves. At mid-century, a new era of Christian opposition to Islamic rule opened in Spain, independently of the French crusaders; but the en-

suing wars had a character of their own. As a rule, the Christian kings warred also with one another; the same was true of the Moorish kings, and in the crisscross of alliances, Moslems and Christians would often happen to fight shoulder to shoulder on both sides. Even at the battle of Graus (1063), which occasioned the Barbastro campaign and where 82 See the spurious letter of Alexius in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe,

p. 133: “just as in the past year they freed for a time Galicia and the other Western kingdoms from the yoke of the pagans, so now, for the salvation of their souls, they attempt to free the kingdom of the Greeks [sicut Galiciam et cetera Occidentalium regna anno praeterito a iugo paganorum aliquantulum liberaverunt, ita et nunc ob salutem antmarum suarum regnum Graecorum liberare temptent].” Further, the statements about William Carpentarius in the Gesta Francorum, c. 15, para. 2, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 260 (ed. Bréhier, p. 78).

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a Moslem fanatic killed Ramiro I of Aragon, the Castilians were allied to the Moorish king of Saragossa.*? King Alfonso VI of Castile, who had made many Moorish districts pay him tribute, styled himself ‘“‘emperor of both religions”’ in Arabic diplomas.** By clearly invoking Christian solidar-

ity in his call for French help, Alfonso showed that the renewal of holy war by the Almoravids somewhat affected

him; but the rumor that he took this occasion to threaten conversion to Islam suggests that he was scarcely regarded as a trustworthy champion of Christianity. ‘he celebrated hero of Spain, the “Cid’’ Rodrigo Diaz, is a typical figure of this age. Many of his feats of arms were carried out on the Moorish side. The author of the Latin poem singing Rod-

rigo’s deeds while he was still alive does not distinguish between his victories over Christians and over Moors; both

are celebrated as gifts of God.*> After taking Valencia, Rodrigo treated Christians and Moors as equals, and only the intransigent ways of the Almoravids gradually led him to a less tolerant attitude.*® The Spanish rulers were always aware of religious differences,®’ but they did not yet treat their wars as crusades. 83 Menéndez-Pidal, Esparia, 1, 143ff; Boissonnade, “Cluny,” pp. 266f. 84 Menéndez-Pidal, Esparia, 1, 347. [Valdeavellano, Historia, pp. 833-34.| 85 Carmen, v. go; Menéndez-Pidal, Esparia, 11, 892: “that God permitted him to vanquish [quod Deus illi vincere permisit].” 86 Menéndez-Pidal, Esparia, Il, 559.

[On Alfonso and the Cid, Valdeavellano, Historia, pp. 834-57. On the poem, see now C. Smith, Poema, esp. pp. xiii—xcill.]

87 For Rodrigo Diaz, see his charter for the bishop of Valencia, in Menéndez-Pidal, Espana, u, 877: “‘ (God) roused up Rodrigo Campeador

as the avenger of the disgrace of his servants and the defender of the Christian religion [(Deus) Rudericum Campidoctorem obprobrii servorum suorum suscitavit ultorem et Christianae religionis propugnatorem}.” Similar expressions are found in the report of the consecration of Barcelona cathedral in 1058, in J. Mas, Notes, 1, 192ff, e.g., on Raymond Berengar: “He was made the defender and the rampart of the Christian people [factus est propugnator et murus christiani populi]”’; or on the institution of the feast of the holy Cross so that Christ, ‘as He did to King Constantine, might give us victory over the barbarians by the triumph of the cross [sicut regi Constantino, sic nobis de barbaris

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“Crusade” 1s even less appropriate as a term for the relations with pagans in Germany in the closing decades of the eleventh century. For one thing, the monarchy under Henry IV was far too embroiled in internal quarrels to be able to conduct wars against the pagan northeast; for another, the idea of a specifically knightly crusade came to Germany only later. France was far in advance in this field, as shown by the overwhelmingly negative response of the Germans to the First Crusade; Ekkehard of Aura tells us that, at first, the crusaders marching through Germany were ridiculed as fools.88 Never before had there been so evident

a difference in the collective conduct of the German and French peoples. ‘To some extent, the difference may be traced to national character; the more emotional Romance peoples are more quickly influenced by inflammatory words than the Germans.*® Perhaps one may detect even then the special form of German piety, which is inclined to set less

value, from a religious standpoint, upon such “works” as pilgrimages and wars on pagans. This at least is suggested by the words that the Bamberg scholasticus Meinhard addressed to Gunther, his bishop, when the latter wished to

depart for Jerusalem in 1063. Meinhard dismissed the earthly Jerusalem as “the domain where Herod murdered his father, the province where Pilate murdered God, and the homeland of Judas the traitor’; and far from praising pilgrimage itself as a pious work, he called for it to be used as the occasion for a renewal of spiritual life.°° Just as it was Germany where the late medieval misuse of indulgences per crucis triumphum det victoriam].” Yet the same report quite calmly mentions charters of the Moorish rulers Mogehid and Ali subordinating

the churches of Mallorca, Denia, and Orihuela to the bishopric of Barcelona. 88 MGH SS. 6.214, also Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, c. 9, pp. 100ff.

89 There is no need to refute the statements of Reynaud, Origines, 1, 516, who offers as cause the “utilitarian realism” of the Germans. 90 Letter of Meinhard in Erdmann, “Briefe,” p. 415. On earlier comments against overvaluing pilgrimages, Rohricht, Pilgerfahrten, pp. 3278.

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encountered opposition, so it may be that the earlier proclamation of a crusading indulgence found comparatively little

German response. Besides, there was the reticent attitude adopted toward holy war. Although the imperial publicists left their views largely unvoiced, the crux of their teaching was that war and warriors had their own honor and their own ethics and that, on the other hand, religion was desecrated by the use of secular force. Both war and religion, therefore, offered arguments for the rejection of religious war. There may already have been something typically German to this attitude. Later on, admittedly, the idea of cru-

sade won through in Germany, but it always remained problematic and called little blessing upon itself. Yet considerations of the kind we have just offered hardly acted in isolation. It must never be forgotten that the discrepan-

cies in German and French development had particular historical causes, the principal among them being constitutional conditions and the history of church reform.*! Moreover, as the contemporary Ekkehard of Aura rightly saw, there was the ecclesiastical schism of the Investiture Contest. This made many Germans question the authority of the pope who proclaimed the crusade, and it also compromised the idea of holy war, which had lost popularity by having been turned against the German king. That the crusading idea was a piece of church reform conceived by Romance peoples had in itself some effect in determining the attitude of Germany; an even greater deterrent was that this idea, as refashioned by Gregory VII, especially damaged the Germans. The deadlock broke only because the success of the First Crusade caused Gregory’s plans to be forgotten. France was not unique, though, in its early acceptance of the idea of crusade: Italy was equally precocious. The crusading aspect given by the Normans to their Sicilian conquests has previously been mentioned.*? The Pisans briefly participated in this by launching an attack on the harbor of

91 Above, pp. 93-94. 92 Above, pp. 134-36. 292

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Palermo in 1063.%% Besides, the Pisans periodically continued the maritime war against the Moslems that they had begun in the first half of the century.** With the Genoese, they entered the Spanish war in 1092, by joining Alfonso VI of Castile in a combined attack on Valencia; they then turned on Tortosa, but without success, since they arrived too late for the attack originally planned.®® Their greatest feat in this period was the raid on Africa that they undertook in 1087, with the Genoese, Romans, and Amalfitans.% A relationship between this venture and the Spanish war is possible, for it took place simultaneously with the attempted counterattack against the advance of the African Almoravids upon the Iberian peninsula. In any case, the raid on Africa was conducted entirely as a crusade. Pope Victor III bestowed the banner of St. Peter upon the campaigners and granted them an indulgence.®’ After the Pisans had won and

captured the city of Mahdia, they spent all their booty to adorn their cathedral and to build a church of St. Sixtus, on whose feast the main battle was won. A rhythmical poem written in Pisa soon afterwards describes the war in lively

colors.°° ‘The whole enterprise is depicted as a battle of Christ against the enemies of God; the reason for war is 93 Heinemann, Geschichte, I, 2106. 94 See above, p. 111. 95 Menéndez-Pidal, Esparia, 1, 441, 444f; U1, 792, 795. 96 See now Hofmeister, ““Ubersetzer,” pp. 26of.

[See also H. C. Kreuger, “Italian Cities,” 1, 52-53; Villey, Crozsade, p. 61.]

97 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, I, 71 (MGH SS. 7.751). See below, pp. 306-7. [Brundage, Canon Law, p. 28, and others question the crusade character of Victor III’s summons.] 98 Annales Pisani a. 1088, ed. Gentile, p. 7. 99 Printed in W. Schneider, Rythmen, pp. 34ff, and elsewhere. I have not been able to see the new edition, with commentary by Biagi (1930)

referred to in the Annales Pisani, ed. Gentile, p. 7 n. 1. H. Naumann, “Heide,” p. 86, suggests that the poet “converts a presumably mercantile affair into a crusade.” But the Chronicle of Monte Cassino proves that the “conversion” into a crusade does not stem from the poet but was envisaged from the start by the leaders of the enterprise. 293

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to liberate many Christian prisoners; during the battle Michael blows his trumpet, as in his fight with the dragon, and Peter appears with cross and sword; the warriors confess and take communion before the battle; a slain count 1s celebrated as a martyr; numerous Old Testament allusions are made, to Gideon and Judas Maccabeus, the capture of Jericho, David and Goliath, the slaughter of the hosts of Senna-

cherib by the angel, and the deliverance of Israel from Egypt. Secular ideas also appear in comparisons with the wars of Rome with Carthage and in expressions of a new Pisan patriotism. A particularly interesting passage tells us that the defeated emir had to swear to hold the land from then on as a fief of St. Peter and to pay tribute to Rome.'?°° No doubt this was a consequence of the Gregorian conception of the rights of St. Peter. But it would be false to consider the entire campaign from this standpoint, and to classify it as a ‘“‘hierarchical’’ crusade; the subordina-

tion to St. Peter was a spur-of-the-moment decision, not originally intended.1*! Far from being papal, the Pisan poem is surely the clearest evidence we have for the popular idea

of crusade as it then existed; hardly anything dating even from the days of the first Eastern crusade can equal it. One need only set the poem alongside Bonizo’s set of command100 Verse 60 (Schneider, Rythmen, p. 40): “He swears that the land

belongs to St. Peter without question, And he now holds it of him without deception; Whence he will always send tributes and payments to Rome, He now commissions insignia of pure gold and silver [Terram iurat sancti Petri esse sine dubio, Et ab eo tenet eam iam absque col-

ludio; Unde semper mittet Romam tributa et praemia, Auri puri et argenti nunc mandat insignia], confirmed by Bernold a. 1088, MGH SS.

5.447: “they made the African king .. . tributary to the apostolic see [Affricanum regem ... apostolicae sedi tributarium fecerunt].” 101 After capturing Mahdia, the Pisans realized that they could not retain permanent control of it. Geoffrey Malaterra, Iv, 3, ed. Pontieri, pp. 86f, reports that they offered the city to Count Roger of Sicily, who

refused it. Only then did they decide to leave Mahdia in the emir’s possession and to impose upon him for the future (in addition to an immediate payment to the Pisans) only a tribute to Rome—without expecting that it would ever be paid.

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ments in order to obtain a true measure of its distance from the ecclesiastico-political idea of knighthood. The East and its wars had a place apart. Long before the crusades, the Byzantine emperor had had Westerners fight-

ing in his army against Arabs and Turks. Around 1040 Harald Hardrada, the later Norwegian king, achieved fame there,'°? and in the following decades the Normans were especially numerous in the fighting against the Turks, led

by famed condottieri like Hervé, Robert Crispin, and Ursel of Bailleul.1°? ‘Toward the end of the century, Germans regularly appeared alongside the Normans as auxiliaries of the Byzantines.1°* ‘These mercenary bands should

not be regarded as crusaders bent on war against the heathen.1°° Whenever they found more favorable conditions, they abandoned their employer and fought the Christian Byzantines as zealously as did the Turks, with whom they even entered into repeated alliances. Nevertheless, the connection between these wars and the later crusades is clear. The crusading plan of Gregory VII implied no more in practice than that auxiliaries would be supplied to the Byzantine emperor for his war against the Turks; and the efforts of Emperor Alexius to acquire Western mercenaries gave the direct impetus for the First Crusade. Campaigning in the East could easily be combined with a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Harald Hardrada was thought to have gone there during his Byzantine years, and others 102 See G. Schlumberger, Epopée, il, 228ff, 248; also Riant, Expéditions, pp. 123f.

103 Schlumberger, ‘‘Deux chefs,” pp. 289ff; F. Brandileone, “Primi Normanni,” pp. 227ff; also F. Hirsch, ‘“Amatus,” pp. 232ff, and C. Neumann, Weltstellung, pp. 115ff. [J. Hussey in CMH, tv (2d ed.), pt. 1, 197, 210. On Amatus’s chronicle, W. Smidt, “Amatus,” pp. 173-231.] 104 Charter of Alexius (1088): Dédlger, Regesten, 1150; see also the

reports about Robert the Frisian (below, n. 106). | 105 Even Amatus of Monte Cassino does not give this aura to the deeds of Robert Crispin and Ursel of Bailleul in the East (Aimé, Ystoire, 1, 815, ed. Delarc, pp. 13-18), whereas just before and just after he celebrates as crusades the fighting of the Normans in Spain and southern Italy.

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later did the same. Robert the Frisian, count of Flanders, was in Byzantium in 1089, returning from Jerusalem, when the emperor Alexius talked him into supplying an auxiliary contingent for the war on the Turks.1°* Circumstances like these are most clearly documented by a letter of Anselm of Canterbury, then still abbot of Bec (1079-1093), to a knight named William.'°? William wished to go far away to help his brother fighting in Byzantium, but Anselm tried to dissuade him: “‘Renounce the earthly Jerusalem and the treasures of Constantinople and Babylon which must be seized

with bloodstained hands... .” The knight’s intention must have been to fight in Byzantine and Arab lands and to visit Jerusalem at the same time. Passing from such plans to the decision to conquer Jerusalem itself was no longer a great step!

In the knight’s case, the coincidence of campaigning with

pilgrimage was external, based on geographical reasons alone. But there were many parallel cases. The idea of a Western expedition to Jerusalem was not unheard of in the eleventh century. Gerbert had expressed it, as we saw, but set it aside as impossible; after the destruction of the Holy Sepulcher, Sergius issued a regular call to crusade, though

disapproving voices were heard even then. Gregory VII then made passing reference to Jerusalem in connection with the plan of a crusade in Asia Minor.1°* Bold as it was,

the idea was not featured only in papal policy; we find it also in the emperor legends.

By the eleventh century, Charlemagne had assumed the role of the ideal emperor of the past, to whom poetry as106 Anna Comnena, Alexiad, vu, 6, and below, p. 322, Lampert a. 1071,

ed. Holder-Egger, p. 122, claims that, long before, Robert made yet another Eastern journey, mingling among Jerusalem pilgrims in order to reach the Norman auxiliary corps in Constantinople (on this, C. Verlinden, “Lambert,” pp. 97ff).

[On Robert the Frisian, F. L. Ganshof, “Robert,” pp. 57-74.] 107 Anselm, u, Ep. 19 (MPL 158.1167ff). As far as I know this significant letter has not been noticed hitherto. 108 Above, pp. 113-16, 168-69.

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cribed everything that seemed grandiose and worth striving

for.1°° He was specially famed as the great champion of Christianity, not only in his own country but far afield. “The pious Charles, who, for fatherland and church, did not fear death, journeyed round the whole world and combated the enemies of God; and when he could not subdue with the words of Christ, he conquered with the sword,” so wrote the priest Jocundus of Maastricht.1?° ‘The authentic historical tradition contained reports that Charles sent embassies to Jerusalem and received them from there, that he

made gifts to the Holy Sepulcher, and that he exercised protection over the holy places. Later times, in their exaggerated perspective, turned these facts into the belief that the emperor ‘“‘had extended the empire as far as Jerusalem.”14 In relating that the patriarch of Jerusalem came in embassy to Charles, the Annals of Altaich attribute to him the intention of opening the city to the emperor “‘for the liberation of the Christian people’—and in so doing the Annals adopt almost the very words that would form Urban

II’s principal slogan in the call to crusade.1!? A parallel branch of the legend changed the embassy Charles sent to Jerusalem into a journey personally made by the emperor. The story appears as early as in the tenth-century Chronicle of Benedict of St. Andrea; according to it, Charles took a large following of Franks, Saxons, Bavarians, etc. with him to Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Constantinople, gave gifts to 109 On the following, Hoffmann, Karl, pp. 97ff.

[On the Charlemagne legends, R. Folz, Souvenir, pp. 134ff. The impact of these legends on popular attitudes regarding Jerusalem and the crusade is emphasized by Alphandéry, Chrétienté, 1, 5off.] 110 Translatio s. Servatii (1080s), MGH SS. 12.96. See also Miracula s. Genulphi (mid-eleventh century), MGH SS. 15.1206. 111 Annales Elnonenses (to 1061) a. 771, MGH SS. 5.18. 112 Annales Altahenses a. 800 (this part was written ca. 1032 or earlier),

ed. ab Oefele, p. 4. The same theme is further elaborated in the Northumbrian annals reconstructed on the basis of Simeon of Durham, MGH SS. 13.156. What we have here and in the Annals of Altaich are

merely late embroiderings upon the report of the Frankish Royal Annals; R. Pauli, “Karl,” pp. 164, 165f.

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churches, and brought back relics, not as a conqueror, of course, but in friendly agreement with the caliph Haroun.1!%

These various legendary themes presumably coalesced and resulted in the conception of a crusade of Charlemagne. We

in fact have an extensive Latin account along these lines that scholars generally date to before the First Crusade.1!* As the story goes, the patriarch of Jerusalem was expelled by the heathens and begged the help of the emperor Charles

in a letter specially stressing the defilement of the Holy Sepulcher; on this report, the Frankish warriors themselves

pressed for a campaign, and Charles assembled a great army for a war upon the heathen, journeyed with it via Constantinople to Jerusalem, and after driving out the infidels, reinstated the Patriarch and the Christians; the Greek

emperor wished to reward Charles with treasures, but he refused, accepting only relics, which he brought to Aachen.

Fantasies of this kind were not limited to the great emperor of the past, but were also predicted of the emperor of the future.11> The Sibylline oracles, which had long been in

circulation, predicted that the last emperor before the end of the world would conquer and convert the heathen, again unite the two halves of the empire, and finally go to Jerusalem, where he would lay down his crown and place the empire in the hands of God; after this the rule of antichrist 113 MGH SS. 3.710f (also Chronicon di Benedetto, ed. Zuchetti, pp. 112ff). The later poem in Old French about Charles’s journey is along the same lines. 114 The so-called Descriptio, printed in Rauschen, Legende, pp. 103ff; cf. the same author’s “Untersuchungen,” pp. 257ff and Hoffmann, Karl,

pp. 112ff (to whose bibliography add Riant, “Inventaire,’ pp. off).

Hofimann’s idea that this journey was peaceful is contradicted by the

text of the Descriptio, in which the statement (p. 119 line 4) that Charles rode a white mule refers only to the closing stages of the journey, when the emperor brings back relics from Constantinople (p. 118 line 3). I am not quite sure, however, that the Descriptio dates from before the First Crusade; also worth mentioning is the thesis of Bédier, Légendes, Iv, 125ff, 139, who suggests the years 1110-24. [On the Descriptio, Folz, Souvenir, pp. 138, 178ff.] 115 For the following, Erdmann, ‘‘Endkaiserglaube,” pp. 384ff. [On the Sibylline oracles, Folz, Souvenir, pp. 138ff; R. Konrad, “Jerusalem,” pp. 537ff; S. Mahl, “Jerusalem,” pp. 22 ff.]

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would begin. In the original version of this prophecy, the journey to Jerusalem did not have the form of a crusade, but the story came to be altered in this sense. ‘Iwo statements by the Italian bishop Benzo of Alba apply these predictions to Henry IV and expect him to undertake the journey to Jerusalem, not, however, to lay down the crown, but on the contrary to win it. In view of the imminent end of the world, the emperor was to restore Christian liberty after conquering his enemies and the pagans with his army; he would visit the Holy Sepulcher, which would then stand in the glory prophesied by Isaiah.11¢ ‘This is a regular plan for

crusade, whose special importance consists in translating eschatological speculation into real policy. Benzo simultaneously combines his idea with the legend of Charlemagne: the banner that the patriarch of Jerusalem had sent to Charles prefigured Henry IV, who would be the standard-

bearer of the Christian religion in the planned crusade.” What influence such stories and prophecies actually had is difficult to assess. We would hardly go wrong in assigning to them a comparatively marginal role in the First Crusade.

Wholly disregarding them, however, would be a mistake, for we know that, when the crusade took place, many con-

temporaries looked upon it in the light of the imperial legend. The wars of Charlemagne against the heathens were cited as a model; the tale was told that the roads over which

one journeyed to Constantinople had first been made by Charles for his army; some even believed that Charles himself rose again for the crusade.*1® A way was found to relate

the capture of Jerusalem to the prophecy about the Jerusalem journey of the final emperor by altering the wording of the prophetic text and allowing the journey to be com116 Benzo of Alba, I, 15 and 1, 12 (MGH SS. 11.605, 617); also Erdmann, “Endkaiserglaube,” pp. 403 ff. 117 Benzo of Alba, I, 17, p. 606.

118 Robert the Monk, I, 1 and 5 (RHC, Occ., Ill, 727 and 732); Gesta Francorum, c. 2, para. 1, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 109 (ed. Bréhier, p. 4); Ekkehard, Chronicon, MGH SS. 6.215; also Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, c. 11, para. 2, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 120f.

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pleted by the “kingdom” and the “people,” in place of the emperor.'!® ‘The bridges leading from these speculations to the idea of crusade were in fact crossed, and some spokes-

men flatly connected the campaign to Jerusalem with the imminent end of the world.!2°

Though strange at first glance, such views may be explained by the unique position held by the city of Jerusalem in medieval thinking. The eleventh century must not

be thought to have been gripped by enthusiasm for the “Holy Land’—a term that had not yet been coined.1*1 Although Palestine was called the ‘“‘land of promise [terra

repromissionis|,” this phrase related only to the ancient Israelites, not to the Christians, and was therefore of limited use; it was the crusade and the foundation of the kingdom of Jerusalem that turned Palestine into a holy land of the Christians. Aside from “holy places [loca sancta|’’—a 119 On the alteration of the interpolation in Adso, see Erdmann, “Endkaiserglaube,” p. 412. There (p. 411) I dated the original text of this interpolation to before the First Crusade, but since this continues

to be uncertain (ibid., p. 412 n. 69), I shall not develop the point

further. [Folz, Souvenir, pp. 139ff, suggests a somewhat different interpretation, and notes that two new elements were superimposed on the original

legend of the last emperor: (1) Benzo’s idea of conquest and a new crown to be assumed in Jerusalem, and (2) the interpolation into the Adso text of an unknown conqueror, sometime before 1098, but perhaps reflecting the time of preparation for the crusade. See also Alphandéry, Chrétienté, 1, 23-24; Konrad, “Jerusalem,” p. 537; Mahl, “Jerusalem,” p. 23; A. H. Bredero, “Jérusalem,” pp. 23-24.] 120 Ekkehard, Chronicon, MGH SS. 6.212 (Ekkehard, Hierosolymita,

c. 2, para. 1, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 55f); Guibert of Nogent, u, (RHC, Occ., Iv, 138f). See also the reference to the Sibylline prophecies in the Gesta Francorum, c. 22, para. 8, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 327f (ed. Bréhier, p. 122).

121 I have looked in vain for the concept Terra Sancta in the eleventhcentury sources. In Tobler-Molinier, Ztinera, I find it only in Theodosius,

Terra Sancta; but its occurrences are confined to the superscript (p. 63) which is a later trimming, and to ch. 40, which was added after the

crusade had begun. The expression is also absent from the crusade letters and the earliest historians (Gesta Francorum and Raymond of Aguilers), but after 1100 it appears in many crusade historians (Fulcher, Ekkehard, Guibert, Baldric, etc.).

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general concept without geographical localization’?2—only a Holy City [civitas sancta] had been known prior to the crusade. Jerusalem, however, obtained its special significance not just from Christ’s suffering and His tomb, but also from the mystical conception of the heavenly Jerusalem that dom-

inated Christian literature on the basis of Paul and the

Apocalypse.1?3 ‘These sources cast a shimmer of unreality upon the earthly Jerusalem and elevated it from the everyday world. Prophecies and legends about it could therefore

have an effective influence that would have been inconceivable in regard to other localities.

In sum, several different elements prepared the ground that allowed the general idea of crusade and of war upon the heathen to assume the special form of a Jerusalem crusade. A few authors had in fact anticipated this very concept.

We have yet to see what influence was exercised upon the Jerusalem crusade by the long-standing pilgrimages. It is

well established that pilgrimages to Jerusalem had been popular long before the crusades and had attained great size in the eleventh century.124 Neither does it need to be 122 Bede, for example, includes Alexandria and Constantinople among

the loca sancta (Itinera, ed. Geyer, pp. 301ff). Besides, the same term was also applied to all consecrated places, i.e., churches, as, for example, in Fulcher, I, 1, para. 2, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 121. 123 Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, c. 34, para. 3, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 3o1ff.

Cf. Rohricht, Pilgerfahrten, p. 376 n. 76. Benzo of Alba, who recommended a Jerusalem crusade, also spoke similarly about the heavenly Jerusalem (Vv, 6, MGH SS. 6.652: Hierosolimam petamus). [The medieval eschatological fascination of Jerusalem is emphasized in most modern analyses of the popular religious ethos of the eleventh century. See, e.g., the works of Alphandéry, Konrad, Mahl, and Bredero,

cited above, supplement to n. 119. The role of Jerusalem in the First

Crusade is especially significant, and some have felt, e.g. Mayer, Crusades, p. 12, that Alphandéry exaggerates the eschatological influence. But even he recognized that the question remains to what ex-

42ff. ,

tent the emphasis on Jerusalem occurs in works written before the

crusade. ]

124 Still valuable, though containing some errors, is Réhricht, Pilgerfahrten, pp. 323ff; also Reynaud, Origines, 1, 86, and Bréhier, Eglise, pp.

[The relation between the Jerusalem pilgrimage and the First Crusade has long been debated, and many scholars feel that Erdmann in 301

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proved that these peaceful pilgrimages had at least a superficial relation to the crusades to Jerusalem. Sergius IV’s call to a crusade was specifically connected with pilgrimages, and some versions of the emperor legend, as we saw, set the conquest of Jerusalem and the subjugation of the infidels in combination with a visit to the Holy Sepulcher and the acquisition of relics. Yet pilgrimage differed considerably from a crusade, especially in its rule that the pilgrim must be unarmed. What this meant in practice is best learned by examining the largest of the eleventh-century pilgrimages, the one of 1064 that some modern authors have regarded as

a transitional step to the crusades, in which as many as 7,000 Or even 12,000 pilgrims accompanied the archbishop

of Mainz and the bishops of Bamberg, Regensburg, and Utrecht to Jerusalem.1*> The rule of being without weapons was scrupulously observed even in this passage.1?® When the

pilgrims were attacked by robbers in Palestine, some refused for religious reasons to protect themselves from being robbed and maltreated.1?*? The others resisted as best they emphasizing holy war as the root of the crusade movement underplayed the impact of pilgrimage (see below, ch. x, supplement to n. 109; Ap-

pendix, supplement to n. 2; above, Translator’s Foreword). For a summary of the Jerusalem pilgrimage, Runciman, History, 1, ch. tl, and in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, 68-78; Alphandéry, Chretiente, ch. 1; Ebersolt, Orvent et Occident, ch. vu; E.-R. Labande, “Recherches,” PP. 165, 339-47.]

125 On this pilgrimage, see now E. Joranson, “German Pilgrimage,”’ pp. 3ff. New information on the preparation for the journey is provided by two letters of Meinhard of Bamberg, nos. 23 and 25, in Erdmann, “Briefe,” pp. 345, 414, 418. 126 Joranson, ‘“‘“German Pilgrimage,” pp. 14f., 22, 40.

127 Lampert a. 1065, ed. Holder-Egger, p. 94: “Many Christians thought it irreligious to protect themselves with the fist and to defend their safety, which they had vowed to God when setting forth abroad, with earthly weapons [Plerique christianorum religiosum putantes manu sibi auxilium ferre et salutem suam, quam peregre proficiscentes Deo devoverant, armis corporalibus tuert].” Cf. Joranson, p. 21.

[The meaning of religiosum putantes in the quotation is highly problematic. The excessively free translation given above—‘thought it irreligious’—reflects Erdmann’s apparent understanding of the passage and conforms to the currently authoritative German translation, “hielten es fiir nicht vereinbar mit ihrem Glauben” (Adolf Schmidt, Ausge302

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could; but nearly all the chroniclers felt obliged to defend them against the reproach that they should not have fought at all.1?® Characteristically, the pilgrims had to be finally rescued from these robbers by none other than the Moslem authorities; for, as the Annals of Altaich specify, they feared that the stream of pilgrims would cease in the future, causing them to suffer a noticeable loss of revenue as a result.1?9

This single episode illustrates the wide gap that then existed between pilgrimage and holy war.

Several questions come to mind nevertheless: Is it accidental that this largest pilgrimage took place in the very year when the idea of crusade against the heathen is found to have had its first surge, and particularly that it was contemporaneous with the first large crusade of the French knights in Spain? Is it also an accident that, three decades earlier, Radulf Glaber attests both to the attainment of high

tide by the Peace of God movement and to the special prominence acquired by enthusiasm for the journey to Palestine?!®° Is it without significance that Erlembald of

Milan, the first sainted knight of the West, had just returned from Jerusalem when the pope designated him as the champion of church reform?*! Are deeper reasons irrelevant to the statement of Amatus of Monte Cassino that the first Normans—those who freed Salerno from the Moslems, whom he calls disinterested crusaders—reached Italy on the way home from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem?13? ner, X11, Berlin, 1957, p. 97). A much more probable interpretation has been suggested to me by Mr. F. A. Mantello, a doctoral candidate at the

Centre for Medieval Studies, University of Toronto: Lampert meant religiosum putantes ironically; the sense of the passage is, then, that many Christian pilgrims were foolish enough to “think it religious” to take up weapons in their own defense, and the appropriate retribution followed. Owing to the absence of any negation (even in the critical apparatus), Mr. Mantello’s reading alone is faithful to the Latin and altogether preferable to the alternative. (W. G.)] 128 Joranson, p. 41. 129 Annales Altahenses a. 1065, ed. ab Oefele, p. 68.

130 Radulf Glaber, Iv, 5 and 6, ed. Prou, pp. 103ff.

131 Above, p. 141. 132 Above, p. 109. 303

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That these phenomena were interrelated seems to be beyond doubt.1** ‘To be sure, either pilgrimage or crusade could satisfy the desire to travel and could result from the need to abandon difficult circumstances at home; yet only a few of the coincidences listed above may be explained in this way. It is more appropriate to say that pilgrimage and crusade were equivalent ways of expressing the lay piety that

characterized the knighthood of that period. Both pilgrimage and crusade show that the ecclesiastical ideal of life had spread beyond clerics and monks and had strongly

affected the lay world; both had a special impact upon knights, by withdrawing them from everyday, secular fight-

ing and subordinating their activity to a spiritual idea. Pilgrimages were therefore encouraged by the same Cluniac

reformers who also promoted the Peace of God; Odilo of Cluny often helped travelers to Jerusalem, and Richard of St. Vannes personally accompanied 7oo pilgrims on a journey to Palestine.13+ The view that long pilgrimages were unfitting and even detrimental to monks did not apply to laymen. It is no coincidence that several laymen who adhered 133 But A. Hatem, Poemes, pp. 47ff and 58ff, goes too far. He finds connections between the Norman wars in Sicily and the pilgrimage to Mount Gargano (on the Adriatic coast; besides almost a half century passed between the pilgrimage described by William of Apulia and the Norman attack on Sicily), as well as between the Spanish crusades and

the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela (in the far northwest of Spain; and he cannot adduce the slightest eleventh-century evidence

for this pilgrimage). The thesis that the Cluniacs encouraged pilgrimages in order to bring about holy war is nebulous. To construct deliberate intentions out of what are merely significant correlations is an historical oversimplification.

[It now seems generally agreed that pilgrimage to Compostela was common in the eleventh century, especially during the second half. All this prompted the building of the new basilica. See the literature cited above, supplement to n. 23, and Kendrick’s Introduction (p. 17) to the work of V. and H. Hell; Labande, “Recherches,” p. 167. On Cluny and the Jerusalem pilgrimage, Cowdrey, Cluniacs, pp. 182-83.] 134 J.-H. Pignot, Histoire, u, 158f; E. Sackur, Cluniacenser, u, 231ff,

also for what follows.

[On St. Odilo, Dom Hourlier, Odilon de Cluny, and his remarks in the discussion following Delaruelle, “Idée,” pp. 439-40.]

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to the reform movement, namely, the future abbot Poppo of Stablo and Count Frederick of Verdun, had previously been pilgrims to Jerusalem. Although Radulf Glaber, the Cluniac monk who relates their pilgrimage, sees in it an omen of antichrist coming from the East to lead even the elect into temptation, he nevertheless praises the pious zeal of the faithful, whom God will reward.1%5

From the standpoint of the ethic of knighthood, a pilgrimage was far less attractive than a crusade. It meant suspending one’s martial profession, since the pilgrim stopped being a warrior for the duration of his travels. In its early development, the popular form of the idea of crusade did not at all coincide with the idea of a pilgrimage: its focus was war upon heathens. Pope Urban II was the first to unite pilgrimage and crusade in a synthesis—a synthesis that simultaneously renounced the application of the idea of crusade to hierarchical ends. His pontificate resolved the tensions and concentrated the forces that, for all their parallelism and contacts, had never before found a common resting place.186 135 Radulf Glaber, 11, 6, ed. Prou, p. 109.

136] was able to see E. Heisig, “Geschichtsmetaphysik,” pp. 1-87, only after my book was printed. Heisig’s discussion frequently touches upon the topics treated here, and he finds notable connections between eschatological conceptions and the idea of war against heathens—findings that accord well with those of the present chapter. Equally commendable is his reference (pp. 13ff) to the Spaniards Eulogius and Alvaro in the ninth century; but their role must be considered in the context of the total development, without making them the basis for ascribing a general primacy to Spain in the development of the idea of crusade. With regard to Cluny, Heisig endorses the doctrines rejected above, pp. 68-71 and below, p. 307 n. 4; he also amplifies them by confusing Hugh Candidus with Abbot Hugh of Cluny (p. 28).

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(_bristien knighthood and holy war had developed into a strong and widespread movement before the close of the eleventh century, but the course of this movement was

still blocked by the dichotomy between hierarchical and

popular purposes; what were there to be: wars for the sake of the papacy against its Christian opponents, or wars for the sake of all Christendom against the external enemy? Militia sancti Petri or war upon the infidels? ‘The contrast was not a simple either-or proposition. Even Gregory VII, the leading prophet of the militia sancti: Petri, had entertained the idea of a crusade against the heathen during the first years of his pontificate. His successor, Victor III, whose inclinations in other regards are obscure, gave even clearer

voice to the two tendencies. Though few in number, the reports we have of his political activities make this clear. The chief source for his pontificate, the Chronicle of Monte Cassino, informs us that, after Gregory’s death, Victor appealed to the Normans, the Italians of Lombardy, and any-

one in general whom he could reach, calling them to the “service of the Roman church [servitium Romanae ecclesiae|,’’ by which, like Gregory, he meant the liberation of Rome from the rule of the anti-pope; this appeal, the source continues, caused Richard of Capua to undertake repeated ventures upon Rome, which finally, with God’s help, resulted in success.1 But the Chronicle relates that, afterwards, Victor summoned almost all the people of Italy to a war upon the Saracens in Africa, bestowed upon them 1 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, I, 65 and 68 (MGH SS. 7.748, 749f). According to W. Smidt, “Guido,” pp. 293ff, esp. p. 315, the statements of this chronicle regarding the time of Victor III stem from the good chronicler Guido, and not from the untrustworthy Peter the Deacon. 306

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the banner of St. Peter, and promised them forgiveness of sins, whereupon they set out for Africa under the leadership

of Christ.2 The passage refers to the campaign against Mahdia in 1087, which has already been discussed.’ ‘he two enterprises initiated by Victor III therefore exemplify both

the hierarchical and the popular crusading ideas.

After Victor’s short pontificate, Urban II became the torchbearer of the papal reform. A Frenchman, he originated from the land that the crusading drive had long made its principal home, and as a Cluniac, he belonged to the order that, for a century, had had the deepest sympathy for the movement of Christian knighthood.t He was preordained to bring the idea of crusade to fruition. Like Victor III, Urban II did not immediately give a definite direction to military policy. His declarations stated that he was simply a disciple of Gregory and a continuator of his policies; at first glance his appeals suggest that there was to be no difference between the two popes. The announcement that he sent to Germany about his election expressly invokes the model of Gregory and is composed in a thoroughly Gregorian style.’ ‘Those addressed, other than a few 2 Chronicle of Monte Cassino, Ill, 71, p. 751. Fliche, “Crise religieuse,”

p. 1410, contests the participation of Victor III in the Mahdia expedition, but his objections are based on misunderstandings, e.g., the view that the attack took place in 1088.

[Victor III’s participation in the North African venture remains doubtful. See Brundage, Canon Law, p. 28, and above, ch. 1x, supplement to n. 98.| 3 Above, p. 293.

4 On the indirect internal connection between Cluny and the crusade idea, see above, pp. 67-71. The view, widely current among French scholars, that Cluny directly organized the crusade is certainly incorrect. Against this, Fliche, “Urbain II,” p. 300 n. 57, and Europe occidentale, p. 551 n. 12; also below, n. 73. 5 JL. 5348.

[The standard work on Urban II is now A. Becker, Papst Urban II (MGH Schriften 19), 1. Part I covers only the pope’s activities in Europe. It is understood that a forthcoming Part II will treat the crusade and papal dealings with the East. Urban’s coronation mass was

celebrated at Terracina, where he was elected. He entered Rome in July 1089 and returned for Christmas: Becker, pp. 98, 101-2, with a schedule of the pope’s sojourns in Rome.]

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bishops and princes, are ‘‘all the fideles of St. Peter’; they are called upon to help the Roman church in every possible

way, to “form themselves as a wall around the house of Israel’’ as brave warriors of God, and “‘to stand in battle on the day of the Lord” (Ezek. 13:5). Even afterwards, Urban

continued to urge his adherents in Germany to carry on the battle; he supported them with the available ecclesiastical sanctions, generally confirming the impression that he wished to fight out the struggle begun under Gregory.® Even so, some shades of difference made their appearance from the first. The militant words of the announcement of election leave open the possibility of a wholly spiritual, metaphorical interpretation, in accordance with the traditional allegorical language of the church. Gregory’s appeals, by contrast, had spoken explicitly of physical force of arms.’ Urban’s later writings are similar in the parts where seemingly warlike phrases clearly remain in the context of spiritual symbolism.* A decision of his on a matter of penitential law avoids the one-sided recognition of the right to kill an excommunicate and accommodates the opposite view by a compromise.? The lack of evidence that Urban followed Gregory in issuing indulgence-like promises in the war upon the schismatics is surely not accidental. He obviously was

more restrained in regard to these touchy questions than Gregory had been. He differs from Gregory above all in having withheld the

papacy from direct war wherever possible. Of course, he could not alter the fact that the parties fighting in Rome, which included a papal party, did so with armed force. But 6 See Hauck, Kirchengeschichte, 1, 877f.

7 For example, the Ezekiel passage cited also appears in Gregory’s letter, JL. 5108, where, however, it is clarified by the addition of corpora vestra. Cf. above, p. 172. 8 Cf. the athletae Dei in JL. 5538 and the vexillum catholicae fidei in JL. 5662.

9 See above, pp. 240-41 with n. 43. Moreover, the decretal, JL. 5743, a part of which refers to obedience in war, is confined to general, innocuous phrases.

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he did not act as leader or promoter of such skirmishes, and he did not add to their number. ‘The period when he was most active was at the beginning of his reign. In the summer

of 1089, when his partisans first won the upper hand in Rome by a regular battle and made possible his coronation mass at St. Peter’s and the coronation procession through the city, he announced this success to the world in a sort of victory bulletin.1° Later, however, his hopes of finally expelling the Roman Wibertines faded, since they retained a large part of the city and could continue the struggle; after he realized this, Urban exercised careful restraint. In 1091

and 1092 he returned from southern Italy to the Papal States for Christmas but remained outside the gates, avoid-

ing an entrance that could not have taken place without bloodshed.1! He was able to resume residence in the city at the end of 1093, but he did so without taking any sort of action against the still numerous Wibertines; for, as Bernold said, he “preferred to tolerate injustice for a while rather than to endure armed unrest among the citizens of Rome.’’!? Urban was therefore sensitive to the reproaches that had been leveled against Gregory VII, and he adopted different tactics: he resolved to combat his enemies within the church with gold rather than by armed force. His journey through southern Italy in 1089 had given him an occasion for publicly collecting money for the recovery of Rome; the effort had been in vain since the Norman count Jordan of Capua captured him and his treasure on the return to Rome. Urban persevered. While we do 10 Urban’s encyclical in P. Kehr, “Due documenti,” pp. 277f. Urban

is speaking here of milites nostri cum castellanis; the latter are the commoners inhabiting the towns in the Papal State, while the former are the knights from the Papal State or Rome itself who supported Urban.

The document is significant for the history of the papal coronation procession; it concerns this alone, not an entry into Rome, even though Urban was in the city from the end of October 1088. 11 Bernold a. 1092 and 1093, MGH SS. 5.453, 455. 12 Ibid. a. 1094, Pp. 457.

18 According to the report of the Greek Metropolitan Basileios of Reggio (W. Holtzmann, “Unionsverhandlungen,” p. 66, where on line 309

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not know whether his journeys through south Italy in the next years were spent in the same way, he candidly an-

nounced his intentions in two letters sent to southern France in November 1093.14 He spoke of the oppression the Roman church was suffering, and of his hopes that soon

“the freedom of the apostolic see’ would be restored. He asked for financial—not military—assistance for this cause;

the faithful should make voluntary gifts to the Roman church or at least pay the annual sum they owed to the Lateran palace. Soon after, Urban was able to carry out the

plan of winning over the Wibertines with money. In the spring of 1094, Ferruccio, the Wibertine guardian [custos]

of the Lateran palace, offered to hand over this crucial building and its fortifications in return for a large sum of money. The cardinals raised as much as they could; since this was not enough, the pope turned elsewhere for gold, applying in tears to the rich abbot Geoffrey of Vendome,

then present in Rome. The latter pawned everything he had; the full sum was attained, and the palace passed into the pope’s hands without bloodshed.?® 4 the word mou should be emended to autou). Holtzmann does not, it is true, refer this report to Urban, but to the newly appointed archbishop of Reggio; but the statement that the person referred to traveled through all of (lower) Italy and performed ordinations, as well as the context of the story within the structure of the entire report (see below, Pp. 321), points certainly to the pope. See also P. F. Kehr in QF 25, p. 310, Basileios further asserts that Urban, at the time, obtained money by dispensing ordinations as well as by granting the archbishopric of Reggio; see Holtzmann, pp. 54f.

[For Urban’s activities in the south, Becker, Urban II, pp. 103ff, 115ff, 158ff, and below, supplement to n. 61. Apparently his purpose, in addition to possible negotiations with Byzantium, mentioned by Geoffrey

Malaterra, was to regularize ecclesiastical jurisdiction, especially in Sicily, and to clarify papal relations with the Normans, to whom he had been well disposed as abbot and as cardinal. Urban fully realized his dependence on the Normans in maintaining his own position against the Henricians and the anti-pope.] 14 JL. 5494, 5495.

15 According to the letters of Geoffrey of Vendéme, listed by Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbiicher, tv, 422 n. g; no doubt Geoffrey somewhat exaggerated his personal role in the incident.

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Urban’s later conduct continued to be peaceable, particularly on the occasion of his return to Rome in 1096. ‘The Wibertines had retained possession of a part of Rome dur-

ing his two-year absence in northern Italy and France. Meanwhile, the pope in France had set in motion an army of knights toward the East.1* While he personally made his

slow way back to the Eternal City, he was overtaken at Lucca by a large army of crusaders asking his blessing.’ How easily could the pope have set himself at the head of this army, which had to cross Rome in any case, in order to put down his opponents with the sword! Would Gregory VII, whose Eastern plan of 1074 was explicitly combined with a war in the Papal States, have resisted such a tempta-

tion? But Urban let the crusaders depart, to pass without him as peaceful pilgrims through Rome. The Wibertines threw stones at them in St. Peter’s, since they were known to be supporters of Urban; but they moved on with nothing more than complaints and prayers for vengeance.'® Only afterwards did Urban resume his journey, without the help

of crusaders.'® ‘The countess Mathilda accompanied his peaceful progress as far as the city; there he parted from her and ceremonially entered Rome, where many citizens received him honorably, while a smaller district remained 16 There is no need to refute the account of William of Malmsbury, Iv, 344, ed. Stubbs, 1, 390, alleging that Urban proclaimed the crusade on the advice of Bohemond of Taranto, “‘so that, while all the provinces were in so great an uproar, Urban might easily seize Rome, and Bohemund Illyricum and Macedonia, with hired troops [ut in tanto tumultu omnium provinciarum facile obaeratis auxiliaribus et Urbanus Romam et Boamundus Illyricum et Macedoniam pervaderent].” 17 Fulcher of Chartres, 1, 7, para. 1, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 164. 18 Fulcher, I, 7, para. 2, pp. 165f.

19 Only much later does Otto of Freising, Chronica, vu, 6, ed. Hofmeister, p. 315, and the Zwettl Historia pontificum deriving from him (MPL 213.1034; cf. K. Rost, Historia, p. 129), report that Urban obtained help from the crusaders at that time. Riant, “Triomphe,” p. 248, who regarded the Zwettl Historia as an original source, accepted the report. But Otto is contradicted by Urban’s letter, JL. 5678; evidently he misunderstood his source, Ekkehard, MGH SS. 6.219, lines 36f.

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Wibertine.”° Then, too, no fighting took place, and noth-

ing of the kind appears to have occurred later; the surrender of Castel San Angelo to Urban in 1098 seems also to have been bought.?1

It is beyond doubt that Urban deliberately avoided basing his position in Rome on foreign military help. As early as 1089, his victory proclamation had underlined that his fol-

lowers had achieved success without help from the Nor-

mans.?? He did not receive Norman help in the Papal States at any other time, and apparently—by contrast to Gregory VII—he never asked for it. He had every reason for such restraint after the experience Gregory had had at the end of his pontificate with Robert Guiscard’s relief of Rome. Urban does not seem to have demanded anything more than money by way of secular service from his Norman vassals; such payments were the more important and necessary to him inasmuch as he preferred gold weapons to iron in combating his Roman opponents.”* The shift from mili-

tary to monetary service is also evident in the relations of

Urban II with his other vassals. We have no record that Urban called any of the mulites s. Petri of Gregory VII's time to military service for the papacy. We do know, however, that the king of Aragon commuted his feudal duties— 20 According to JL. 5678, and Donizo, Vita Mathildis, 1, vv. 822ff, ed. Simeone, p. 83; cf. Meyer von Knonau, Jahrbiicher, tv, 472 n. 9. There is no contradiction between the two accounts since Donizo does not specify where the pope’s parting from Mathilda took place. 21 Otto of Freising, Chronica, vu, 6, ed. Hofmeister, p. 315, according to which Urban recovered the money from the south Italian Normans; cf. Meyer von Knonau, V, 46.

22 Kehr, “Due documenti,” p. 278: sine omni Nortmannorum ope. 23 On Urban’s finances, see now Jordan, “Finanzgeschichte,” pp. 6of, and Holtzmann, “Unionsverhandlungen,” p. 55. Also pertinent are the account of the letter of Basileios, discussed above, and JL. 5406 (to Anselm of Bec on the collection of Peter’s Pence), as well as JL. 5678 (to

Hugh of Lyons with words that presumably refer to the need for money: neque inter hec matri vestrae Romanae ecclesiae subvenire attentius negligatis); see also H.-W. Klewitz, “Studien,” p. 135 n. 4. The history of the papal camera begins with Urban II (Jordan, pp. g4ff); he, not Gregory VII, is the founder of papal fiscality. 312

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illusory ones at that—into the promise of a substantial annual payment, which Urban joyfully accepted.* The only

relationship of secular dependence known to have been newly established under Urban II is the subordination to the papacy of Tarragona and the county of Barcelona; it was constitutionally significant but entailed only a financial obligation, no military ones.?> No sharp break with Gregory VII’s policy may be said to have occurred, since there had been relationships like this one in his pontificate; nev-

ertheless, the militia s. Petri as Gregory had understood it was being tacitly dismantled. Gregory’s attempt to win the church to the gospel of papal war among Christians had aroused as much opposition as support, and it had failed; Urban II drew the consequences of Gregory’s failure. But that is only one side of Urban’s military policy. The

other side is far more important: he gave sustained encouragement and strength to the outwardly directed aggressiveness of the knighthood. Here, too, there was no explicit disavowal of Gregory, no

break in the development. In his utterances Urban did not deliberately set a higher value upon war against the heathen than upon hierarchical crusade within the church. When he

elevated Pisa to an archbishopric (1092), he justified the act above all by the support that the Pisans and their bishop

had given to the freedom of the Roman church in the storms of the schism: they had thus earned a reward, so that they might be even more faithful to Rome; he also referred

to the petition of Countess Mathilda, who had endured extreme dangers for the Apostolic See. Only incidentally did he mention the successful raid of the Pisans upon Mahdia: God had already shown His grace to the Pisans by a triumph over the Saracens, and by the increase in their possessions, which was why the pope also wished to magnify 24 See Exkurs Iv [of the German edition]. [Becker, Urban II, pp. 246—47.]

25 See the documents in Liber censuum, ed. Fabre and Duchesne, 1, 467 and 468; also Kehr, Prinzipat, pp. 48f.

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the city.2° “The significance of war upon the heathen was

more strongly stressed in Urban’s address to one of his adherents, the Norman count Roger of Sicily. In the unique Sicilian legatine privilege (1098), the pope laid special emphasis upon the count’s innumerable victories and the ex-

pansion of the church into Saracen territory, though not without also mentioning the count’s particular devotion to the Holy See.?* The decisive factor in Urban’s close rela-

tionship with Roger may well have been that the count, who completed the conquest of Sicily by 1090, was the most successful victor over the Saracens and expander of Chris-

tian territory. By Urban’s time, however, the Italian wars against the Mediterranean Saracens were no longer the focus of attention. More important events were taking place on the western and eastern borders, in Spain and the Byzantine Empire.?®

Christianity in Spain had suffered a setback from the defeat of Zallaca (1086) and the establishment of the rule of the Almoravids. Since the years following witnessed no decisive military engagements, frontier skirmishes seemed all 26 JL. 5466; Italia pontificia, I, 321, no. g. 27 JL. 5706. See also the privileges for Syracuse and Agrigento (JL.

5497, 5710), and in general on Urban’s relationship with Roger: Klewitz, “Studien,” pp. 129-40. [The presumed concession of legatine powers has long been discussed

and has recently been contested by S. Fodale, Comes et legatus, who also interprets Urban’s moves as part of an effort to regularize ecclesiastical jurisdiction in Sicily and to insure that papal directives were carried out.] 28 Hampe, Kaisergeschichte, p. 68, comments: ‘As a refugee among

the Normans in southern Italy, Urban had seen what results could be attained by resolute action against Islam. ... There, Gregory VII’s idea developed in his mind into a clear plan of attack against Islam in the East.’”’ To my knowledge, the sources fail to provide a basis for

a direct connection of this kind between the crusade plan and the south Italian wars against the Saracens. That there was an inner relation between the two was already discerned by Ranke, Weltgeschichte, VUl, 65, cf. also pp. 76f. [Becker, Urban Ul, p. 229, agrees that there was an inner relation between the Norman-Saracen wars and those of Spain and the East.]

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the more vital. Urban II took a particular interest in the old metropolis of Tarragona, then located on the Moorish frontier, whose reconstruction—from a condition of virtual depopulation—was as important for territorial defense as for ecclesiastical organization; besides, the city had been

made papal property. In the summer of 1089, Urban decided that the archbishopric of Tarragona was to be fully reestablished,?® and at the same time he tried to support the efforts of the territorial lord, the count of Barcelona, to

rebuild the city. He urged the archbishop of ‘Toledo to exert himself in this direction,*° and he also issued an appeal

to the Catalans whose details are highly significant: We admonish and charge you in the Lord to make every effort to restore the condition of the city of ‘Tarragona, so that a bishopric might exist there. For your penance and for the forgiveness of your sins we charge you to be ac-

tive with all your power and riches for the restoration of that church. We counsel those who in the spirit of penance and piety desire to go as pilgrims to Jerusalem or some other place to turn all the costs and efforts of such a journey toward the restoration of the church at Tarragona, so that, with God’s help, an episcopal seat may exist there in safety and so that the city might stand as a wall and bulwark of Christianity against the Saracens.

With God’s grace we promise you the same indulgence that you would gain by that long journey.*? 29 Cf. Kehr, Prinzipat, p. 44.

[According to Becker, pp. 227ff, Urban viewed the Reconquista as closely connected with the reorganization of the Spanish church.] 30 JL. 5406a; on the date, Kehr, Prinzipat, p. 44 n. 4. 31 JL. 5401. The appeal was pronounced spurious or interpolated by Riant, “Inventaire,” pp. 68ff, and by Loewenfeld at JL. 5401, but there is no basis for doing so, as Kehr, Prinzipat, p. 44 n. 2, established. The text transmission has now been clarified by the reconstruction of the

Cartulary of Tarragona in Papsturkunden in Spanien, ed. P. Kehr, 1, 200ff.

[Mayer, Crusades, pp. 29ff, remarks that “only Erdmann has given it (the Tarragona indulgence) the attention it deserves,” but adds that 315

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The impact of this indulgence becomes apparent from the explicit reference made to it by Count Berengar of Barcelona in the following year, when he joined with the great men of his land in issuing a charter confirming his measures for the reconstruction of Tarragona.®? In a letter of 1091 to Count Ermengaud of Urgel, Urban himself recalled his admonition and again recommended the reconstruction of ‘Tarragona “for penance and the forgiveness of sins.’% The direct relationship of these appeals to the later crusading indulgence leaps to the eye. The restoration of ‘Tarragona was obviously not a military campaign, but a sojourn in this city did serve to protect it from the Moorish danger, and if, on the other hand, the pope made special reference to costs, this too did not contradict the idea of crusade, which also was to some extent a matter of money and was considered such by some.** It is true that Alexander

II had already issued an indulgence for a Moorish war.* The novelty introduced by Urban II was to associate it with

the idea of the Jerusalem pilgrimage. The idea that a pilgrimage was a meritorious work of penance bringing forgiveness of sins was a commonplace to contemporaries; but Urban II, whose interest in pilgrimages as such surely was

as slight as his interest in the city of Jerusalem, sought to give practical utility to the idea of pilgrimage and to transform it into an instrument of Christian expansion. Later developments show how close Urban’s efforts to re-

store Tarragona were to the idea of crusade. ‘The quoted letters of 1089 and 1091 naturally refer to peaceful pilgrimages to Jerusalem and not to an actual crusade. Yet Urban’s attitude to the Spanish wars remained unchanged it cannot be regarded as a plenary indulgence. He also feels that Erdmann underestimated the connection with pilgrimage. See also Becker, pp. 228ff; Villey, Croisade, pp. 193-06.] 32 J, Villanueva, Viage, v1, 326 no. 39; cf. Kehr, Prinzipat, p. 48. 33 Papsturkunden in Spanien, 1, 286 no. 22.

34 See Gesta Francorum, 1, para. 2, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 104 (ed. Bréhier, p. 4). 35 Above, pp. 138-939. .

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after the crusade itself had been proclaimed.** In his later years (1096-1099) he again issued an appeal on behalf of Tarragona to a number of counts and knights of Catalonia; this document has only recently been discovered and has

apparently gone unnoticed, even though it is one of the most important sources for the history of the crusading idea.°7 We translate it in full:

For the sake of the city and church of Tarragona we beg you with urgency, and command you for the sake of the forgiveness of your sins, to carry out its restoration in every way. For you know how significant a defense of

the Christian people and resistance to the Saracens it would be if this celebrated city rose up again with God’s

help. Since the knights of the other lands have unanimously resolved to go to the aid of the church of Asia and to liberate their brethren from the tyranny of the Saracens, so also—I admonish you to this—do you assist

the church adjoining you in continuous efforts against the assaults of the Saracens! Whoever falls on this campaign for love of God and his neighbor, let him not doubt that he will find the forgiveness of all his sins and eternal

life through God’s gracious mercy. And if one of you has resolved upon the journey to Asia, let him rather fulfill his pious purpose here. For it is no service to liberate Christians from the Saracens in one place and to deliver them in another to Saracen tyranny and oppression. May

Almighty God fill your hearts with brotherly love and give your bravery victory over your enemies. 86 The conciliar acts published by Pflugk-Harttung, Acta, 1, 167, and attributed by him to a papal synod of 1097~—99, mention among other things a one-year penance in Jerusalem or Spain; their real date must be after 1139, since they refer to the Third Lateran Council. 87 Papsturkunden in Spanien, I, 287 no. 23. Kehr’s conjectural date for the undated appeal is 1089-91; but the contents refer unmistakably to

the Council of Clermont and the departure of the European knights for the Eastern crusade, and not for a peaceful pilgrimage. Since, in the appeal, the pope considered it possible that some Catalans wanted to go to Asia, 1096 is the earliest possible date; 1099 is conceivable, the same time that Bernard of Toledo was sent home (see next note). 317

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Surely no document of the eleventh century more purely

and clearly expresses the Christian idea of war upon the heathen. Whether in Asia or in Spain, the defense of Christian brethren from heathen tyranny is the invariable task; both there and here the warriors are assured of God’s forgiveness for their sins. ‘he defense of Tarragona is given

the name of a campaign [expeditio] and is consequently regarded as a ‘“‘crusade”; the pope had made the popular idea of crusade his own. What is more, Urban translated the idea into practice; when Archbishop Bernard of ‘Toledo

appeared in Rome in the spring of 1099, wishing to proceed from there to Syria to join the crusading army, he was abruptly sent home; the pope did not wish the Spaniards to

take less heed for the church of their own land than for that of the East.38

The remarkable interest shown by Pope Urban for the war in Spain led several contemporaries to suppose that the Moorish war and the Eastern crusade were one in Urban’s

thinking. On this hypothesis, the crusade—a blow at the heart of the Moslem world—would have been planned as a Christian counterattack, designed to put an end to the total advance of Islam, whose effect upon Westerners was felt particularly in Spain.*® Though there may have been some truth to this conjecture, it would be an oversimplification to believe that the pope cared mainly for the Spanish theater and meant the Eastern crusade as a diversion to take 38 Rodrigo of Toledo, vi, 27 (Hispaniae illustratae, ed. Schott, U, 107). The dating follows from the fact that we know Bernard’s stay in Rome: May 1099 (JL. 5801, and MGH Libelli 2.423, 424). The date December 1096 given by Riant, ‘Inventaire,” pp. 128ff and JL. 5674 is, therefore, incorrect, the more so since Bernard was still in France with Urban in July 1096, but then returned to Toledo; if at that time he already intended to go on the crusade, he would have been immedi-

ately forbidden by Urban. This order to return to Spain was later confused (through the falsification of a letter of Paschal II, JL. 5863; cf. Riant, loc. cit.) with the directive to restore Tarragona reported by Rodrigo, Iv, 11 (ed. Schott, p. 74); but this directive is documented by Urban’s letters of 1089 (JL. 5406a), only recently published. 39 Guibert of Nogent, 1, 1 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 135); William of Malmsbury, Iv, 347 (ed. Stubbs, U1, 395).

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the pressure off Spain.*? Such an idea would have made neither military nor geographic sense; Urban II was well aware that a victory in the Orient would have no influence on the Spanish situation, since different peoples and countries were involved. In May 1098, he wrote with reference to the successes at Nicaea and Dorylaeum as well as in Aragon:

“In our days God has eased the sufferings of the Christian peoples and allowed the faith to triumph. By means of the Christian forces He has conquered the Turks in Asia and

the Moors in Europe, and restored to Christian worship cities that were once celebrated.”*: He considered the two wars as parallel undertakings, forming a unit from the spiritual standpoint but separate as campaigns. Moreover, Urban’s efforts to supply military help to the Eastern church—that is, primarily the Byzantine Empire— were at least as old as his Spanish endeavors. They were intimately related, as they were bound to be, to the attempts at union with the Greek church. The reunion negotiations of 1089 have become comparatively well known ever since the surprising discovery of important Greek documents on the subject, namely, the official acts of the Byzantine synod

held in September 1089 to consider relations with the pope.*? Urban II had sent an embassy to Constantinople to 40 Riant, “Inventaire,” p. 103 (cf. p. 70); L. Paulot, Urbain II, pp. 290f; Hatem, Poémes, p. 75. 41 JL. 5703 (privilege for Huesca).

42 Holtzmann, ‘“Unionsverhandlungen,” pp. 38ff. The documents evidently stem from a dossier belonging to Basileios of Reggio: nos. 2 and 3 are the Constantinople conciliar acts which Basileios as go-between was supposed to convey to the pope, and which he received in December 1089; no. 1 is the letter of Wibert to Basil (January 1090); no. 4 is the report of Basileios to the patriarchs (ca. February 1090). [On the reunion negotiations between Rome and Constantinople during this period: Dvornik, Roman Primacy, pp. 138-42; S. Runciman, Schism, pp. 61-76; J. Gauss, “Urban und Alexios,” pp. 71-100; also below, supplement to n. 61. For the connection between these negotiations and the crusade, Runciman, History, 1, 102-3; P. Charanis, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, 216-17, and Duncalf, ibid., pp. 226-28; A. C. Krey, “Urban’s Crusade,” pp. 235 ff, g41ff (with supplementary comment by Charanis on the documents cited by Holtzmann).] 319

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lift the ban laid upon the Greek emperor by Gregory VII;** at the same time, Urban proposed that his name be entered

in the diptychs of Constantinople and complained of the oppression of Latin Christians in the city. The synod denied the oppression, but declared itself ready to enter the papal name in the diptychs at the emperor’s command as soon as Urban submitted his letter of recommendation with a con-

fession of faith; it also invited him to Constantinople for further negotiations over union at a new synod. ‘This invitation was transmitted directly to the pope by a chrysobull of the emperor Alexius;** but the synodal acts, together with a letter from the patriarch, went first to Basileios, the Greek

metropolitan of Reggio (in Calabria), who was named as mediator in the current negotiations.** Basileios, who had

long been driven from his see and currently resided at Durazzo, received the acts at the close of 1089.** Shortly be-

fore, at the synod of Melfi, he had had a violent collision 43 Bernold a. 1089 (MGH SS. 5.450); cf. Holtzmann, “Studien,” pp. 176, 186.

[According to Runciman, History, 1, 102, the ban on Alexius was lifted at the Synod of Melfi, September 1089.] 44 Geoffrey Malaterra, Iv, 13, ed. Pontieri, p. 92. [Erdmann is referring here to the systatic letter customarily sent by a newly elected patriarch to his fellow patriarchs.] 45 See the close of the patriarch’s letter: Holtzman, ‘‘Unionsverhand-

lungen,” p. 64. A second intermediary was to have been Archbishop Romanus of Rossano, but he had just submitted to Urban (p. 67) and therefore dropped out of the picture. This explains why the acts went first to Rossano and were brought from there to Basileios of Reggio by clerics of Rossano.

46 In his letter to the patriarch (Holtzmann, loc. cit.) Basileios says that it was on the preceding 28 December that he received the patriarch’s missive commissioning him to undertake negotiations. Holtzmann, pp. 48f, sets this in the year 1088. But Basileios’s letter, which on internal evidence can on no account have been written before the end of 1089, is chiefly concerned with provisionally refusing the commission to go to Urban, and this would have been impossible if Basileios had received the commission before the synod of Melfi (September 1089), which he in fact attended together with Urban. Furthermore, Basileios’s report on this synod, in which he says nothing about the question of union, shows that he had not yet received the commission at the time of the synod. Therefore, he received it at the earliest on 28 December 1089; it was a letter accompanying the synodal acts of September 1089.

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with Urban II and wished to have nothing more to do with him. He immediately wrote to the anti-pope Wibert, who

was then in Ravenna, and made him privy to the entire plan. Wibert reacted by letters to the patriarch of Constantinople and to Basileios, assuring them of his readiness to conclude a union; he asked Basileios to come to Ravenna with the synodal acts intended for Urban, or to send them to him.‘’ Basileios did not go quite so far. But he personally wrote to the patriarch and suggested, amidst severe words against Urban II, that he might rather be sent as a delegate to Henry IV and Wibert; for the moment, he declared himself incapable of undertaking an embassy, on the grounds that his expulsion from Reggio left him penniless and that he would first have to receive another archbishopric, perhaps Leukas.** ‘The progress of the negotiations beyond this

point have left no surviving traces. But we may be certain that the patriarch, who had not previously warmed to the plan of union, allowed the matter to sink deeper into the mire, and that Urban never received the synodal decision of September 1089. Geoffrey Malaterra states that Urban’s Roman opponents, namely, Wibert and his followers, pre-

vented the plan of union from being carried out; this is essentially correct.*® 47 Only Wibert’s letter to Basileios is preserved: Holtzmann, ‘“Unions-

verhandlungen,” p. 59; without a doubt its date is 1090. We infer from it that Basileios had asked Wibert to intercede for him with Duke Roger of Apulia, but that Wibert declined to do so. As regards Wibert’s letter to the patriarchs, Basileios’s letter (Holtzmann, p. 66) tells us that it announced a spring campaign of Henry IV against the Normans.

48 This report of Basileios (Holtzmann, pp. 64ff) should therefore be dated around February 1090. 49 Geoffrey Malaterra, Iv, 13, ed. Pontieri, p. 93. Cf. B. Leib, Rome, pp. 22ff. Holtzmann, “Studien,” p. 189 n. 1, maintains that Wibert’s

union activities anticipated those of Urban, since Wibert’s letter to

Basileios contains an announcement of Urban’s election; but the letter touches upon this as something already known and emphasizes only the troubles arising from it. [The precise order of events is difficult to determine here, but historians generally agree that Urban did receive the synodal acts and also a letter from Patriarch Nicholas III. Moreover, Dvornik maintains 321

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On the other hand, the emperor Alexius continued to maintain good relations with Urban II. The fact that the reluctant synod of 1089 had adopted a resolution favorable to Urban had been due to him. War with the Petchenegs and Turks had placed him in serious straits, causing him to be as accommodating as he could toward the Westerners.*°® For he sought military assistance from the West, such as he actually

received at the time from Count Robert of Flanders.*! He must also have negotiated on this subject with the pope himself. Anna Comnena tells us that Alexius expected auxiliary

troops “from Rome” in the spring of 1091.5? ‘They could

have been promised him only by the pope, with whom Alexius was still in direct communication.®? Prior to the crusade, therefore, Urban II must have believed himself able to obtain Western military assistance for the Byzantine Emthat he seriously considered complying with the request to journey to Constantinople. See above, supplement to n. 42 and works cited, none of which seems to indicate any marked coolness on the part of the Patriarch. Despite Malaterra’s statement, apparently accepted by Erdmann,

that the failure of the whole plan can be attributed to Wibert and followers, it seems far more likely that the breakdown in negotiations was caused by such matters as the status of the Byzantine churches in southern Italy, the Byzantine views of the filioque phrase in the creed, etc., and the question of Roman primacy.] 50 Holtzmann, “Unionsverhandlungen,” pp. 51f.

51 See now Chalandon, Alexis, pp. 117ff, 125, 326ff; H. Pirenne, “Lettre d’Alexis,” pp. 219ff; Dolger, Regesten, no. 1152; Holtzmann, “Unionsverhandlungen,” p. 51 n. 4. The letter of Anselm of Canterbury (while still abbot of Bec, 1078-93) to a certain William whose brother was fighting in the East (MPL 158.1167ff) probably belongs in those years; see above, p. 296. [On the possibility that Alexius wrote to the count of Flanders at this time, Ganshof, “Robert,” p. 71; Duncalf, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, I, 228; E. Joranson, “Spurious Letter,” pp. 811~-32.] 52 Anna Commena, VIU, 5; cf. Chalandon, Alexis, pp. 129-32. 53 Bernold a. 1091 (MGH SS. 5.450).

[Duncalf, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, 227-28, is of the opinion that Anna is probably referring to the contingent expected from the count of Flanders which arrived probably in the summer or fall of 1090 (Ganshof, p. 72), and that Urban made no move to aid the emperor before Piacenza. But Krey, “Urban’s Crusade,” p. 236, interprets the passage as indicating that in 1092 Urban sent aid requested by the emperor.] 322

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pire, and he evidently sought to improve the prospects for reunion in this way: the cherished Eastern plan of Gregory VII was being revived.

Regrettably, we lack detailed information on the steps Urban took to mobilize troops; only enticing conjectures are possible. Anna Comnena’s reference to “mercenaries”’ 1s

hardly significant; voluntary crusaders did not basically differ from mercenaries, for even the crusaders of 1096 had

rich gifts bestowed upon them by Alexius in accordance with the treaty.>+ At the time, knights for an Eastern crusade were not to be procured in Rome itself; they had to come from France and from among the south Italian Normans, as the First Crusade shows. As a result, it 1s notewor-

thy that in July 1089, when Urban was about to send his embassy of union to Byzantium, or had just done so, he also announced his intention to travel over the Alps as soon as possible “for the advantage of the church.’’>> Urban held fast

to the plan for a papal journey of this kind, which had not occurred since the time of Leo IX,°* and when he finally carried it out six years later (1095), his own testimony was that he did so owing to the need of the Eastern church to whose liberation he called the knights of France.5”7 May we

not conjecture that the pope had had the same intention in 1089 when he first mentioned this journey, and that he had wished to satisfy the request of Alexius in this way? As

it turned out, Urban changed his plans; he traveled to southern Italy in the summer of 1089 in order to hold a council at Melfi in September and to invest Duke Roger 54 See Chalandon, Alexis, p. 164, and CMH, Iv, 335; above, p. 270.

[Presumably Erdmann is referring here to the agreement made at Constantinople regarding the future disposition of reconquered territory. Accordingwas to Krey, Crusade,” p. 227, it ig possiblepope that this agreement based‘““Urban’s on a previous understanding between and emperor.] 55 JL. 5403.

56 He also mentioned this intention in 1091: Papsturkunden in Spanien, I, 288, no. 24. 57 JL. 5608; see below, p. 328.

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Bursa with Apulia.°* ‘The model for this enfeoffment was that of Robert Guiscard, who had been the last to receive the vexillum s. Petri from Gregory VII as a feudal banner, so that he would bear it as a holy standard of victory with papal blessing in a war against Byzantium.®® Did Urban

have similar intentions with regard to Roger Bursa—to combine his enfeoffment with the granting of a papal bless-

ing for a campaign directed this time not against, but in behalf of Byzantium against the heathen enemy? This hypothesis is supported by the fact that, at Melfi, for the first time, Urban caused a Peace of God to be resolved upon, of

the same kind as he would later proclaim at Clermont in close connection with the crusade.*° Subsequent developments also point in the same direction. Urban spent October 1089 in the Apulian harbors of Bari, Trani, and Brindisi,

and it was there, apparently, that he received a rescript from Emperor Alexius, based on the resolutions of the synod held at Constantinople in the previous month, invit-

ing him to a synod of union. Thereupon, the pope made an ostensibly surprising decision to journey to Sicily as quickly as possible in order to take counsel with Count Roger.*! The best explanation for this step is to assume 58 Kehr, Belehnungen, p. 31. [On the enfeoffment of Roger Bursa, Becker, Urban IT, p. 117.] 59 Above, pp. 190-91, 193, 210, also 175. 60 Lupus Protospatarius a. 1089, MGH SS. 5.62. 61 Geoffrey Malaterra, Iv, 13, ed. Pontieri, p. 92. Whether this journey took place in 1088 or 1089 has long been disputed: see now Holtzmann,

“Studien,” p. 187, and “Unionsverhandlungen,” p. 47 n. 4. The newly discovered synodal decrees of September 1089, which agree so thorough-

ly with Geoffrey Malaterra (even in specifying the period of eighteen months, cf. Holtzmann, ‘““Unionsverhandlungen,” p. 50 n. 4), leave no doubt that Urban set out on the journey after receiving the emperor’s reply, that is, at the end of 1089. Geoffrey Malaterra, it is true, dates the journey to 1088, but his chronology of the immediately preceding events is also incorrect: in c. 10-11, he reports events of 1088-89 under 1086-87; in ch. 3, the Mahdia expedition (1087) under 1085. Furthermore, Geoffrey’s statement that Urban set out from Terracina is not a decisive objection: Geoffrey might well have known that Urban was elected in Terracina and stayed there at first, and have thus been mis324

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that Roger was to accompany Urban to Byzantium, giving greater weight to the pope’s attendance by participating in the war against the Turks and Petchenegs. These, of course, are mere conjectures, beyond which we cannot go in the absence of direct evidence. Only this much may be said with certainty: during the negotiations of 10891091, the people held before the Greek emperor the prospect

of Latin auxiliary troops and to this extent enacted a prelude to the great events of 1095—an intermediary link be-

tween the Eastern plans of Gregory VII and the First Crusade.

The role of Byzantine appeals for help in initiating the

crusading propaganda of 1095-1096 can no longer be doubted.*? Bernold’s report of the Council of Piacenza (March 1095) has successfully withstood all modern attacks.

An embassy of the emperor of Constantinople came to the synod and implored his lordship the pope, and all the faithful of Christ, to bring assistance against the heathen for the defense of the holy church, which had now been nearly annihilated in that region by the infidels, who had conquered her as far as the walls of Constantinople. Our

lord pope called upon many to perform this service, to promise by oath to betake themselves there by God’s will,

and to bring the emperor the most faithful assistance against the heathen to the limits of their power.® led into thinking that the pope also undertook his Sicilian journey from there.

[Becker, Urban I, p. 116, maintains that 1088 is the correct date, and points out that in addition to Byzantine relations, the discussion with Roger at Troina certainly included important arrangements regarding the church in southern Italy and especially in Sicily, and also clarification of Norman-papal relations. See also above, supplement to n. 13. As in the case of his interpretation of Urban’s French journey (below, supplement to n. 72), Erdmann tends to treat the pope’s Eastern policies as the sole or primary reason for the conference with Roger and to underemphasize other highly significant papal concerns.] 62 See D. C. Munro, “Did Alexius?” pp. 731ff; Holtzmann, ‘Studien,’ pp. 190ff (esp. pp. 191f on the credibility of Bernold); Fliche, “Urbain II,” pp. 2ooff. 63 Bernold a. 1095, MGAH SS. 5.462.

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The intention of Alexius even then was surely to reward the auxiliaries as mercenaries; that, besides, he stressed the religious motive of defending the church was only natural in an embassy to the pope, just as it was self-explanatory that the pope, for his part, specially emphasized this idea. Unfortunately, we do not know whether these transactions included prospects of church union, and conjectures one way

or the other are equally pointless.** ‘The one certitude is that Urban had on no account abandoned the idea of union. When news reached him in the spring or summer of 1008 that Asia Minor had been reconquered by the allied crusaders and Byzantines, he evidently believed that the psychological moment had come, and he summoned a council to Bari for the first of October, to discuss the points of disagreement between Latins and Greeks.®> At the same time

he strove to convince new bands of knights to depart for the East; rumor had it that he planned to journey to Jerusalem in person.®® But the decisions of Bari fell far short of resolving the difficulties. In April of 1099 Urban gathered a new council at St. Peter’s where union and the crusade were once more discussed.*? On this occasion, the pope did in fact promise to go abroad, probably to Antioch or Byzantium.®*> He had apparently learned in the interval of 64 W. Norden’s view (Papsttum, pp. 48ff) that Urban abandoned the idea of reunion for the sake of military assistance is entirely misleading.

The opposite view, that Urban undertook the crusade in the interest of ecclesiastical unity, is advocated by Leib, Rome, pp. 319f, and “Pape francais,” pp. 67e2f.

65 Riant, “Inventaire,”’ pp. 186f; Norden, Papsttum, pp. 65f; Leib, Rome, pp. 287ff. 66 Letter of the Luccans in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 167.

67 Riant, “Inventaire,” pp. 192f; Norden, Papsttum, p. 66; Lieb, Rome, pp. 296f. 68 We know this from the recently discovered letter of Bohemond of

Taranto to Paschal II (summer 1108): Holtzmann, “Geschichte,” pp. 280f. Bohemond, at war with the Emperor Alexius, was besieging Durazzo and asked Paschal to come over, in accord with a resolution at the forthcoming council, in order to facilitate the journey to Jerusalem, to arbitrate the struggle between himself and Alexius, and to end

the schism. The pope was thus to bring about union in the East and, as Bohemond wrote, was to carry out what Urban had promised in 926

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the severe dissensions between the Byzantines and the crusaders, and received the letter of the crusaders inviting him

to come primarily because of the falling out with the Greeks;®® he wished to do everything he could to rescue the

idea of unity within Christendom. If he had not died soon after, he might yet have fulfilled the ten-year-old plan for a synod of union at Constantinople.” When examined from this standpoint, the whole crusading enterprise looks like a simple continuation of the previous Eastern policy of the popes. But we have not yet spoken concilio apud beatum ... celebrato in the presence of the subsequent pope, Paschal, but had not carried out morte superveniente. Since Bohemond appealed to the recipient himself as witness, his statement

must be regarded as trustworthy. Holtzmann fills the hiatus after beatum with [Nicolaum] and assigns the passage to the Council of Bari: “Geschichte,” p. 272 n. 4. But to refer to the city of Bari merely as apud b. Nicolaum is scarcely probable for a papal council; much more likely is the addition [P] (i.e., Petrum), meaning the Council of St. Peter which dealt with the same subjects as the Bari Council and was the last before Urban’s death. Holtzmann dates Bohemond’s letter to September 1106; the correct date follows, first, from the words

transfretaretis et . .. ad nos usque accederetis (which mean that Bohemond was writing from the East, thus between October 1107 to October 1108), and then from the reference to the concilium in proximo convocatum (namely the Lateran Synod of October 1108), which together result in a date of summer 1108. The fact that Bohemond’s military situation was already poor at that time explains his readiness to submit the conflict with Alexius to papal arbitration. One reads in the first part of the letter: “Now, however, since I cannot in any way dismiss the army of God assembled at the urging of St. Peter, I have taken care to send my legates to your presence [Nunc autem, quoniam Dei exercitum (sic MS) ammonicione b. Petri congregatum (congregatur

MS) nullatenus dimittere potui, proprios legatos vestro conspectui destinare curavi].” | [On Bohemond’s letter to Paschal H, J. G. Rowe, “Paschal II,” pp. 192ff. Rowe follows Erdmann on the date, but doubts that “Urban made any binding promise” to go to the East (p. 194 n. 1).] 69 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 164f. 70 For another view, Holtzmann, “Geschichte,” pp. 27ef.

[According to Krey, “Urban’s Crusade,” pp. 240-41, there is no cer-

tainty either as to the date when Urban received the letter or his

reaction to it. But the fact that reports of the council at Rome make no mention of the Greek question suggests the conclusion that ‘‘Bohemond’s letter had been so disturbing to both pope and Greeks alike as to render further discussion of unity momentarily impossible.”] 327

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of the special goal of the First Crusade, namely, Jerusalem.

Let us begin with a brief account of the events. Urban remained in Piacenza for a few weeks after the council and then continued his journey via Cremona, Milan, and Asti to France, where he is attested to have been from August 1095 onward. He announced, soon after, that he had traveled to France out of concern for the misfortunes of the Eastern church.”! Thus the plan for a crusade was already the reason for the French journey, a fact further confirmed by the itinerary Urban adopted.”? Le Puy and Saint-Gilles

were his destinations in the period before the Council of Clermont; the former was the see of Bishop Adhémar, whom Urban chose to be the crusading legate, while the latter was the residence of Count Raimond, who undertook 71 JL. 5608 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 136). 72 On the following, see Holtzmann, “Studien,” pp. 194ff, and Fliche,

“Urbain II,” pp. 294ff (where he corrects his earlier interpretation Philippe Ter., p. 510). [Most scholars would not now share Erdmann’s view that the crusade plan was ‘“‘the basis for the French journey,” at least as originally con-

ceived in Urban’s mind. Rather they would hold that the pope was primarily concerned with the problems confronting the reform papacy in its relations with the church and monarchy in France, and that as a result of the emperor’s aid request at Piacenza, and perhaps following discussions with Adhémar of Le Puy and others en route, his plans for aid to the East matured. See esp., Becker, Urban II., pp. 187-226; R. Crozet, “Voyage,” pp. 271-310, and “Voyage en France,” pp. 42-69; also Fliche, Histoire, vu, 270ff; Duncalf, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, I, 2393ff; Waas, Kreuzztige, 1, 106ff; F. Cognasso, Storia, 1, 239ff.

J. and L. Hill note that, according to Tudebode, Urban was joined by Amatus of Bordeaux, archbishop and papal legate (Peter Tudebode, Historia de Hierosolymitano Itinere, Philadelphia, 1974, p. 15).

In view of Adhémar’s later prominence on the crusade it may be assumed that the Eastern plan was discussed between the bishop and

the pope. But although Raimond of St.-Gilles’s early response to Urban’s appeal suggests previous consultation, there is no certainty that the pope and the count met at this time. See below, supplement to n. 85. On the possibility of Cluniac influence during Urban’s journey and support after Clermont, see Cowdrey, “Cluny,” pp. 3ooff. On the council itself, the standard work is R. Somerville, Councils of Urban IT, 1. See his comments on the difficulties in reconstructing Urban’s plan for the expedition, pp. 4-5.]

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the leadership of the southern French crusading army.” It may hardly be doubted that the pope’s zigzag route corresponds to the crusading plans that he solemnly announced soon afterwards at the Council of Clermont, in November 1095. When Urban issued letters from Le Puy in August summoning the council, he specified that laymen as well as clerics, territorial magnates as well as bishops and abbots, should be urged to attend.7* These circumstances clearly illustrate that the trip to France, beginning right after the Council of Piacenza, was intimately related to the crusading sermon of Clermont. Even though some postponements took place in the process, the careful structure of the pope’s ac-

tions demonstrates that, from beginning to end, he was engaging in a coherent enterprise and following a firm plan.

The appeals of Piacenza and Clermont, moreover, are very closely related in content.”> In Piacenza the pope proclaimed a war that would protect the church from annihilation by the heathens who had advanced as far as the walls of Constantinople. This did not mean that Constantinople alone was to be defended, since it was not directly threat-

ened at the moment. The intention was rather to mount a counterattack, one that would begin by again driving forward the frontiers of Christian control in Asia Minor and by liberating from Turkish rule the many Christians still 73 Immediately before Clermont Urban also visited his home monastery of Cluny. Hatem, Poémes, pp. 67ff, 71 n. 193, correctly concludes that the pope would have talked with Abbot Hugh about the crusade

plan; but to infer from this that Hugh shared in its initiative has little basis, the less so in that we have no evidence that Cluny had any real role in the propaganda for the First Crusade or in its implementation.

74 Letter of the archbishop Raynald of Rheims, MPL 150.1388. [It is not known whether laymen were either invited or participated in large numbers at the council. According to Duncalf, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, 238, Urban intended to implement his plan first by means of the clergy. Somerville, p. 103, suggests that laymen only played a significant role in the outdoor assembly.] 75 For what follows, see the Appendix, where the evidence is presented. Add now O. Cartellieri, Machtpolitik, pp. 2off.

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living there. We are not told how far to the east and south the war was to be extended, for Syria and Palestine also had Christian churches, and these lands had belonged to the Byzantine Empire. Quite possibly, Jerusalem had already been mentioned at Piacenza as one of the places where the Christian church had to be preserved from annihilation, just as before Gregory VII had incidentally referred to the Holy Sepulcher. None of this basically changed at Clermont.

The only difference is that, as far as we know, no direct mention was made of assisting the Byzantine Empire, apparently because the idea was not particularly popular in the West. In its place there was the simple war aim: liberation of the Eastern church—and this boiled down de facto to the same thing. For once this goal began to be fought for, matters could hardly take a different course from the one they took: first and foremost, Asia Minor had to be re-

conquered in alliance with the Byzantine emperor. The reason the pope mentioned was the fury of the Turks against the subjected churches of the East, and among them especially the city of Jerusalem. This was well within the

framework of the original plan. Only a slight shift in emphasis had taken place. Even this should not be exaggerated,

for unless appearances are deceptive, Urban’s crusading propaganda in France did not insist upon placing Jerusalem in the foreground.

In any case he did not regard the goal of the crusade to be “the liberation of the Holy Sepulcher,” as the slogan was

soon to be. “An undertaking that was mystical in its aims ...a crusade uniquely for the welfare of the Holy Sepulcher and the salvation of the combatants’’**—Urban II was really

not thinking of this. His program was rather “‘liberation of the Eastern church” or “liberation of Christianity.” ‘The pope’s concern was not for any locality in particular, but for the men who confessed the Christian faith and for ecclesiastical institutions. The motive he featured at the head of all his propaganda is identical to what we have seen in the 76 H. von Sybel, Geschichte, p. 169.

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appeal about Tarragona: the idea of the community of all Christendom against the heathen. By comparison with this, the particular conditions of Byzantium or Jerusalem were secondary details. Yet a wholly different element had been added: the pope's

idea was to allow the campaign to the East to rank simultaneously as a pilgrimage. ‘Ihe Spanish example illustrates an earlier attempt by Urban to turn the popular but sterile idea of a pilgrimage to the practical advantage of war upon the heathens.77 At that time, only an either-or could be offered: participating in the Spanish war would bring the same spiritual indulgence as a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Now, however, the much more impressive possibility arose of declaring the new war to be an actual pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulcher. Only one obstacle stood in the way, namely,

the idea that a pilgrim should be unarmed; pilgrimage was incompatible with knightly combat. Urban II deliberately discarded this notion. At Clermont he caused a plenary indulgence to be declared for everyone who “journeys to Jerusalem to liberate the church of God.” The decisive novelty in this was not the indulgence as such (the dominant opinion already was that a pilgrimage to Jerusalem freed one from all other works of penance) but the establishment of a military objective for the journey. Canon law hereafter recognized that pilgrims might bear arms, and engage in warfare en route, without jeopardizing the spiritual benefits of their pilgrimage. The idea of the armed pilgrimage was proclaimed for the first time at Clermont. Contemporaries were well aware of the significance of this step; a series of sources summarily define the crusade as “traveling in arms to Jerusalem.’’7® A “new rite” was accordingly devised for

77 Above, pp. 315-16. |

78 Frutolf a. 1096, MGH SS. 6.208: “troops with arms in hand began to move toward Jerusalem [turmae armata manu Hierosolimam tendere coeperunt]’; Lupus Protospatarius a. 1095, MGH SS. 5.62: “the people

of Gaul, indeed of all Italy, began to proceed in arms toward the

sepulcher of the Lord [coeperunt Galliae populi pergere, immo totius Italiae, ad sepulchrum Domini cum armis]”; Hugh of Flavigny, MGH 331

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the clerical benediction of the departing pilgrim: the sword was blessed along with the staff and purse, the old symbols of pilgrimage.7? ‘This was not only a ‘‘new path of penance,”®° but above all a further and highly significant step in the church’s acceptance of the profession of arms. The idea of an armed pilgrimage evidently had an electrifying

appeal to eleventh-century men; on it depended the outstanding success of the call to crusade, which must have far exceeded Urban’s expectations. Jerusalem, to the pope, had been simply a recruiting de-

vice. He had named the city as objective of the campaign [Marschziel] in order to gather an army—but the war aim [Kriegsziel] was, and continued to be, the liberation of the Eastern church in its entirety. Urban apparently believed that these objectives, though different, could exist side by side, and to some extent the course of the First Crusade bore him out. All the while, however, a process of simplification

was bound to take place in popular thinking, causing the

conquest of Jerusalem and the liberation of the Holy Sepulcher to be considered as the real war aim, indeSS. 8.474: “In the same year the way of the Christians going armed to Jerusalem was established [Anno ipso confirmata est via christianorum euntium cum armis in Hierusalem]”; Fulcher, Preface, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 116; “with weapons they went on pilgrimage to Jerusalem [cum armis Therusalem peregrinati sunt].” [Delaruelle, “Essai” (1953), pp. 254ff, makes much of Urban’s emphasis on the Old Testament and the role of Christians as the descendants of the Israelites, a new holy people. He points out (pp. 237-38),

citing Fliche, “Urbain II,” 218ff, that the pope’s contribution to the theory and practice of dispensation facilitated his transformation of pilgrimage into holy war by lifting the interdict on armed pilgrimage.] 79 Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, c. 10, para. 7, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 118: “in a new rite, a priestly blessing distributed swords, with staffs and

small cases, to the people hastening to the churches [currentibus ad ecclesias populis novo ritu gladios cum fustibus et capsellis sacerdotalis

benedictio dispertivit].’ On the earlier benedictions for pilgrims, A. Franz, Benediktionen, ul, 272ff (where, however, Ekkehard’s line is misunderstood, p. 273). The existing benediction texts specifically for crusaders all seem to be relatively late; see also Franz, u, goeff. 80 Ekkehard, c. 35, para. 1, p. 304: nova poenitentiae via, with the editor’s pertinent n. 5.

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pendent of the fate of the rest of the East. This “mystical” objective flew in the face of all military logic and cannot be thought to have originated with the pope; yet references

to it occasionally appear as early as in the period of the First Crusade and would later result in the struggles for the “Holy Land.” These inclinations, however, contribute nothing to an understanding of the origin of the crusades; they are explicable only as the unforeseen influence of the means

upon the end. |

In sum, Urban II’s idea of crusade did not arise from a concern for the Holy Sepulcher and pilgrimages. His original and primary basis was the idea of an ecclesiastical-

knightly war upon heathens, and only in the course of bringing it about did he introduce pilgrimage as a subordinate theme. This conclusion is crucial to determining how to approach the origins of the idea of crusade—it has been central to the present book. Only after the Council of Clermont did the balance shift against the pope’s intentions.

We must make an effort nowadays to free ourselves from the realignment of perspective that this change brought about, so that we will cease to portray the beginnings of the crusading movement exclusively in the light of later developments.

When we do so, it also becomes possible to answer the much disputed question whether the Eastern plan of 1074 makes Gregory VII a precursor of Urban II and the father of the crusading idea.*+ ‘The biographer of Urban II in the Liber pontificalis asserts that, by launching the crusade, the pope carried out an idea of Gregory’s.®? Isolated testimony

like this is of little value, since it stems from the twelfth century and was evidently inferred from Gregory’s Registrum. Yet it is a fact that Urban’s military goal coincided 81 Bibliography in RGhricht, Geschichte, p. 13 n. 5, and Holtzmann “Studien,” p. 167 n. 6. Cf. also W. B. Stevenson, “The First Crusade,” CMH, v, 271, and Hampe, Hochmittelalter, p. 93. On Gregory’s Eastern plan, above, pp. 164-69. 82 Liber pontificalis, ed. Duchesne, U1, 293.

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one with regard to church politics, both were concerned with liberating Eastern Christians from the cruel domination of the Turks, and gave thought to Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulcher only as part of the wider program.** ‘To this extent Urban’s idea of crusade had been present in Gregory VII. The latter, however, had no inkling of the further idea of armed pilgrimage, which brought resounding success to Urban’s undertaking and determined the direction of its future development. What Gregory had stressed in lieu of this

had been the special commitment of knights to the Curia. The two popes resemble one another in that both emphatically espoused the idea of combat by Christian knights against the heathen—the general crusading idea; and each one enriched it with a new element that was meant to cause immediate enthusiasm to flare up. But Gregory’s militia s. Petri did not catch fire; it nearly quenched the glow. Urban’s pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulcher was the breath that fanned the idea into a brilliant flame. A new synthesis had been achieved; yet its intimate relationships to earlier developments undergone by the idea of knighthood should not be overlooked. As into a collecting

pool, almost every detail that had formerly characterized separate approaches to the general crusading idea flowed together in Urban’s crusade.

Foremost among these is the direct relationship of the knighthood to the church. Nothing more is heard about the obligation of kingship, or of the state as such, to combat the heathen. An essential of the First Crusade was that it should 83 An interesting detail: Gregory VII writes (GR, 1, 49, ed. Caspar, p. 75) that the heathen had laid waste everything almost “up to the walls of the city of Constantinople [usque ad muros Constantinopolitane

civitatis].” Bernold on the Council of Piacenza has the same words, MGH SS. 5.462: usque ad muros Constantinopolitanae civitatis. Fulcher on Urban’s speech at Clermont (1, 3, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 133) is similar

(up to the brachium s. Georgi). Cf. Guibert of Nogent, 1, 5 (RHC, Occ., IV, 131); Narratio Floriacensis (ibid., Vv, 356); also the spurious letter of Alexius, c. 13, in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 133.

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take place expressly as a knightly undertaking, without em-

peror and king. The pope appointed his legate, Bishop Adhémar of Le Puy, as leader of the expedition [itineris ac laboris dux].8+ Far from being confined to spiritual func-

tions, he was meant to exercise something like supreme political leadership; the original plan had probably been to entrust the military command to Count Raimond of Saint-Gilles. This did not quite come about, because other armies assembled independently of the southern French army of Raimond and Adhémar, something the pope could hardly have foreseen.*> But Urban’s unquestionable aim had 84 JL. 5608 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 136).

85 Fliche, “Urbain II,” pp. go2ff; on Raimond, Chalandon, Premiére

croisade, pp. 46ff. ,

[The status of Adhémar in the crusader army has been much debated, especially after J. and L. Hill’s article, “Contemporary Accounts,” pp.

30-39. The Hills pointed out that later chroniclers exaggerated the bishop’s role. J. A. Brundage, “Adhémar,” pp. 201-12, admitted the exaggeration, but insisted that there was sufficient evidence to support the view that Adhémar was at least one of the important leaders of the crusade. H. E. Mayer, “Beurteilung,” pp. 547-52, shares the doubts of the Hills and (p. 551) cites Erdmann’s statement regarding the possibility that Adhémar was originally intended to wield political as well as military authority. But he also cautions against exaggerating the political function (Crusades, p. 41). For a summary of the entire discussion and the view that Adhémar’s appointment signified ecclesiastical, not political or military authority, see J. Richard, “Papauté,” pp.

49-58. Richard also points out that Adhémar was not the only papal legate on the First Crusade, and that whatever plans Urban may have had for a single crusade army were necessarily changed as the crusade developed into a military force of several units. Similarly with regard to the possible designation of Raimond of St.Gilles as supreme commander, a designation which Urban may have envisaged but which cannot be documented, this too, as Erdmann points out, might have been changed by the subsequent enlistment of other major leaders. J. and L. Hill, however, have also pointed out elsewhere (Raymond IV, pp. goff), that the appointment of Adhémar did not, as many scholars following Chalandon supposed, preclude a secular leadership for Raimond. Rather it further indicated a religious role for Adhémar. They note, too (pp. 159), that Raimond, of all the crusade leaders, most consistently attempted to follow out Urban’s plans.

Erdmann ’s subsequent statement that the pope unquestionably aimed at an army of knights under spiritual leadership “. . . excluding heads of state’? emphasizes his own view of the supreme importance of holy

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been an army of knights under spiritual leadership and excluding heads of state—this is an idea whose development over a century has been traced. Completely misunderstanding the pope’s intentions, large numbers of clerics and monks wished to participate in the journey, evidently misled by the pilgrimage theme of crusading propaganda.** Urban rectified this error and allowed clerics to participate only if they obtained their bishops’ permission to carry out pastoral duties in the army.’? To monks who had vowed militia spiritualis, he forbade not only the bearing of arms, but the journey itself; he explained: “We have incited to this campaign the hearts of the milites who are able to subdue the ferocity of the Saracens and to restore Christians to their former freedom.’’®®

These lines illustrate the essence of the campaign: the knights were to dedicate their swords to a Christian purpose. Contemporary authors rang the changes on’this theme. There had been just causes for war at earlier times, Guibert

of Nogent writes, in struggles for freedom and the general

welfare, against the pagans and for the defense of the church.

But since this pious intention dwindles everywhere and covetousness rules the heart, God in our time has introduced the holy war so that the knighthood and the unstable people, who shed each other’s blood in the way of pagans, might have a new way to win salvation. They war and militia Christi associated with the predominant role of the knights, and perhaps does not do sufficient justice to Urban’s flexibility, a characteristic which he himself stresses later in this chapter. But see also Villey, Croisade, pp. 161-65, on Urban’s maintaining direction.| 86 See Bernold a. 1096, MGH SS. 5.464, on the apostatae; Baldric of Dol, 1, 8 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 17); also Gottlob, Kreuzablass, p. 84.

87 Jialia pont., v, 248, no. 14 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 137f; misunderstanding in ibid., p. 216 n. 17). The sending back of the archbishop of Toledo (above, n. 38) is perhaps also related to this. 88 Italia pont., IN, 89, no. 8 (Nachrichten der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Gottingen, 1901, p. 312). See also Anselm of Canterbury,

Ep. it, 130 (MPL 159.165, and in S. Schmitt, “Uberlieferung,” pp. 236f).

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need not choose the life of a monk and abandon the world in accordance with the vows of a rule, but can obtain God’s grace through their own profession, in their accustomed freedom and secular dress.®°

Radulf of Caen says much the same about Tancred: his activity had formerly been paralyzed by the contradiction between militia saecularis and the counsels of the Gospel; but after Urban promised forgiveness of sins to all those combating the heathen, his strength doubled. “He was of two minds before and hesitated between the Gospel and the world. But when the profession of arms was carried over to the service of Christ, then this dual reason for fighting inflamed him beyond all believable measure.”®° These are clear and classical formulations of the idea of Christian knighthood, which the ecclesiastical reform movement had long been shaping and encouraging. That the pope’s thinking ran along similar lines becomes

clearly apparent from the way he combined crusade and Peace of God. Urban proclaimed a general Peace of God at

the Council of Clermont, together with the crusade. At the same time he publicly expressed the special link between crusade and peace by specifying that the crusader’s person

and property were to remain under the protection of the church’s Peace of God until he returned.®? Contemporaries 89 Guibert of Nogent, 1, 1 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 124). 90 Radulf of Caen, c.1 (RHC, Occ., 11, 605f). 91 See C. J. Hefele and H. Leclercq, Conciles, v, pt. 1, pp. 400, 424; L. Huberti, Studien, pp. 395ff.

92 See the various extracts from the canons of Clermont in PflugkHarttung, Acta, ll, 161, c. 2: quicumque ibit (Hierosolymam) per nomen penitentiae, tam ipse quam res eius semper sint in treuga Domini; and in Mansi, Concilia, xx, go2, c. 8: in eorum bonis usque ad reditum pax

continua promulgata. Cf. Riant, “Inventaire,” p. 115, and Gottlob, Kreuzablass, pp. 142ff. [How closely the Clermont decree on the Peace of God was associated

with the crusade plan, and the extent of protection this decree was

designed to afford the crusaders, remain difficult questions. The connection between crusade and Peace of God is inherently plausible and has

been accepted by many modern historians, for example, Mayer, Cru337

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were well aware that crusade and peace were different aspects of the same concept. Fulcher of Chartres offers two reasons for Urban’s crusade sermon: first, the feuds of the Christians among themselves, and then the advance of the Turks in Asia Minor;?* he also mentions the need for Christlans to turn against the heathens the fighting they practiced among themselves.*! He therefore portrays the pope speak-

ing in one breath of the Peace of God and the crusade as the particular tasks of the moment, and he ascribes to him

the following words: “To war against the unbelievers, whose beginning is praiseworthy and whose end a triumph!

May the knights ride forth who formerly misspent their time conducting private feuds against the faithful.’®* Much

the same is reported by the other witnesses. In Baldric of Dol, Urban justifies his call to crusade, “. . . in order that you might withhold murderous hands from your brothers’ blood and interpose yourselves before foreign peoples for sades, p. 41 and n. 15; Hoffmann, Gottesfriede, pp. 223ff; Cowdrey, ‘Peace of God,” pp. 56-57; Rousset, Origines, pp. 55, 60f, 108. Others have raised doubts: Duncalf, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, I, 238 and n. 64; Villey, Croisade, p. 152; Brundage, Canon Law, pp. 161ff, who has pointed out that the received form of the Clermont decree did not mention the crusaders’ protection, though a variant version (Pflugk-Harttung, Acta, , 161-62, also cited by Erdmann) did state protection to both crusader and possessions, and that Fulcher of Chartres associated protection with pilgrims. Delaruelle, “Essai” (1953), pp. 238-39, has suggested a somewhat different association between crusade and peace: that peace was not designed merely to

facilitate the crusade, but rather was a necessary consequence of it, a means of sanctification, of insuring that the entire endeavor became in fact a holy undertaking. Somerville, Councils, 1, has analyzed all the extant texis and pointed out the difficulties in establishing a critical edition. It might be suggested further that, in view of the considerable ecclesiastical business transacted at Clermont, together with the fact

that this was the first general peace ordered by the papacy, the

Clermont decree may have been aimed primarily at conditions in France. Cowdrey, “Peace of God,” points to the situation in southern France and notes the response from that region.] 93 Fulcher, I, 1, para. 2,ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 120f. 94 [bid., 1, 5, para. 11, p. 152. 95 [bid., 1, 3, para. 2, p. 192; cf. 1, 2, para. 14, pp. 120f. 96 Ibid., 1,3, para. 7, p. 136.

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the sake of your fellows in the faith. ... Reaching out your plundering hand against Christians is atrocious. Swinging the sword against the Saracen is less wicked, and it is an incomparably good work of charity to give your life for your

brother [in the East].”°7 We find in Guibert of Nogent: ‘Hitherto you waged unauthorized war, killing one another. . . . We now propose combats to you that bring praiseworthy martyrdom.”®* And in Robert of Saint-Rémi:

“You snap and struggle among yourselves, make war and kill one another by unnaturally inflicted wounds. Let hatred cease among you, let strife be stilled and weapons rest. . . .

Depart for the Holy Sepulcher!’’®® Geoffrey Malaterra stresses the same ideas in portraying Bohemond of ‘Taranto

taking the cross: Many Norman knights were besieging Amalfi under the leadership of Roger of Apulia and his uncle, Roger of Sicily; in view of the French crusading cam-

paign, the knights swore with Bohemond not to war again on Christian territories until they had fought the heathen; and so, the siege had to be abandoned. The relationship between war willed by God and internal peace expressly confirms a tendency in thought whose beginnings coincide with the Peace of God movement; the

same linkage had featured in the Barbastro campaign of 1064.1°! Such was the ideal of Christian knighthood as it had been recognized and preached for a century, with increasing

clarity and precision. Let us listen again to the words Fulcher ascribes to Pope Urban:

Now will those who once were robbers become soldiers of Christ [Christi milites]; those who once fought brothers 97 Baldric of Dol,1, 4, RHC, Occ., Iv, 15. 98 Guibert of Nogent, 11, 4 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 138).

99 Robert the Monk, 1, 1 (RHC, Occ., m1, 728). William of Malmsbury, Iv, 347, ed. Stubbs, "1, 396, also has the pope express these ideas. 100 Geoffrey Malaterra, Iv, 24, ed. Pontieri, p. 102; cf. Lupus Protospatarius a. 1096, MGH SS. 5.62; Chronicle of Monte Cassino, Iv, 11 (MGH SS. 7.766); Gesta Francorum, c. 4, para. 1, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 152 (ed. Bréhier, pp. 18f). 101 See above, pp. 62-66, 136-37.

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and relatives will justly fight barbarians; those who once were mercenaries for a few farthings will obtain eternal reward; those who once strove to damage their life and soul will do battle for a double honor. The version of Baldric of Dol is no less explicit:

You are proud; you tear your brothers to pieces and fight among yourselves. The battle that rends the flock of the Redeemer is not the militia Christz. Holy church has reserved knighthood for itself, for the defense of its people, but you pervert it in wickedness . . . you oppressors of orphans and widows, you murderers, you temple-defilers, you lawbreakers, who seek the rewards of rapacity from

spilling Christian blood. ... If you wish to save your souls, either abandon the profession of arms or go boldly

forth as Christi milites and hasten to the defense of the

Eastern church. These passages use drastic words to express the moral content of the crusading idea; they also mark a culminating point in the usage of the concept of militia Christi. As we saw before, Gregory VII had begun to apply this concept to the knightly champions of the church, no longer restricting it exclusively to its old spiritual-ascetic meaning. By the end of the century, the knightly meaning had acquired general currency. Miles Christi or miles Dei became the term for a crusader during the First Crusade.?° Crusading was the divine service of knights, the true duty of the military class, in contrast to profane muilztza.1°® The 102 Fulcher, I, 3, para. 7, p. 136. 103 Baldric of Dol, 1, 4 (RAC, Occ., Iv, 14). 104 Above, pp. 202-3. 105 Letter of Stephen of Chartres, 1098 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe,

p. 150): “with many soldiers of Christ [cum multis Christi militibus]”;

Letter of Bohemond (ibid., p. 162): “with many fighting for Christ [cum multis Christo militantibus].” Miulites Christi and milites Dei occur frequently in the anonymous Gesta Francorum; see the Introduction to Hagenmeyer’s edition, p. 22.

106 In addition to passages from Fulcher and Baldric given above, Guibert of Nogent, 0, 5 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 140): “he made customary .. . 340

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expression athleta Christi now celebrated the brave crusader, and no longer the confessor or ascetic saint.1°7 Accord-

ingly, the crusading army as a whole was called exercitus Dei, militia Christi, militia christiana, or the like.?°? These expressions were preferred to terms indicating pilgrimage [peregrini, hierosolymitant].1°? From the standpoint of the the figure of the cross .. . as a badge [literally, belt] of military service, or rather as a badge of those about to serve militarily, for God [veluti

cingulum militiae, vel potius militaturis Deo, ... crucis figuram ...

assui fecit]”; Sigebert of Gembloux a. 1096, MGH SS. 6.367: “as much as each was more inclined to do worldly military service, so much the more is each one voluntarily ready now to do military service for God [quanto quisque hactenus ad exercendam mundi militia erat pronior, tanto nunc ad exercendam ultro Dei militiam fit promptior].” See also Gesta Francorum, c. 17, para. 5, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 271 (ed. Bréhier

p. 84): “this war is of the spirit, not of the flesh [hoc bellum non est carnale, sed spirituale].” 107 Gesta Francorum, c. 12, para. 5, and 17, para. 5, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 247, 271 (ed. Bréhier, pp. 68, 84). 108 Letter of Stephen of Chartres (1097), Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 138f: Dei exercitus; letter of Anselm of Ribemont (1097), ibid., p. 144: exercitus Domini (the letter in ibid., pp. 146ff, in which the words militia Domini occur twice, I take to be a later excitatorium); letter of Stephen of Chartres (1098), zbid., pp. 149f: Christi exercitus, Dei exercitus; Letter of Anselm (1098), ibid., p. 157: exercitus Domini; letter of Daimbert of Pisa and the crusade leaders (1099), ibid., p. 168: Det exercitus; Paschal II (1099 and 1100), tbid., pp. 175, 178: militia

christiana; in a charter of 1103 Raimond of St.-Gilles calls himself princeps ... milicie christiane in Jerosolimitano itinere (Cartulaire de St. Victor, ed. Guérard, ll, 151, no. 802); likewise, Bohemond (1108), in Holtzmann, “Geschichte,” p. 280: christiane milicie servus (and later Dei exercitus); militia Christi is frequent in the Gesta Francorum; see the Introduction to Hagenmeyer ed., p. 22. For other crusade sources, Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 42 n. 4, 49 n. 43. 109 Peregrini appears first in the letter of Alexius to Oderisius of Monte Cassino (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 141; Délger, Regesten, no. 1207), which, however, we have only in the unreliable text of Peter the Deacon; then in the summons, in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p.

154 (1097, not 1098, most probably originating in the West); in the letter of Anselm of Ribemont (1098), zbid., p. 160; Raymond of Agui-

lers, c. 2 (RHC, Occ., Ul, 238); Gesta Francorum, c. 4, para. 3, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 157 (ed. Bréhier, p. 20 n. e). Also Baldric of Dol, 1, 16, p. 22: Peregrini pro Dei sumus, Christi milites sumus; also several other passages in the Gesta; see the index of Hagenmeyer’s ed., esp. c. go, para. 6, p. 387 (ed. Bréhier, p. 162): Christi milites peregrini. On 341

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history of concepts, it is noteworthy that the episode of the papal mulitza s. Petri was over, and that the general development of the eleventh-century idea of knighthood had made its final breakthrough. Yet a tie remained with the “Petrine system” of the previous age, namely, the granting of the banner of St. Peter. In view of earlier practice, Urban ought to have granted it to Count Raimond of Saint-Gilles, but he may have lacked the

opportunity. Rather than to him, ‘‘the golden banner of St. Peter” went to Hugh of Vermandois, brother of the king of France.11° Hugh was the first to cross Italy with a crusading army in order to embark at Bari; he probably met Urban

II in upper Italy in September 1096. He is not reported to have entered into a relationship of special obedience to the pope, and should not be assumed to have done so, for of the

two meanings that bearing the banner of St. Peter might have, Urban naturally stressed only the general crusading symbol. Banners did not have a prominent role during the the expression Hierosolymitani, cf. Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 343, and Ekkehard’s Hierosolymita. [Mayer, Crusades, pp. 30-31, emphasizes the significance of the charters of departing pilgrims as evidence of the importance of pilgrimage. He also concludes that Erdmann’s emphasis on the decreasing use of the term ‘“pilgrim’’ probably strengthened his opinion that pilgrimage was an incidental factor in the origins of the crusade. He adds that his references to chroniclers and letters do not constitute the best evidence, especially since in the writings of some of the chroniclers a doctrine of crusade developed after the capture of Jerusalem. See also Brundage,

Canon Law, p. 31. For a perceptive analysis of the use of the word peregrini by the chroniclers of the First Crusade, see A. Dupront, “Spiritualite,” pp. 453-83. Dupront notes that earlier chroniclers used the word peregrini only sparingly, and the Gesta Francorum makes a subtle distinction between the crusaders as milites and the accompanying pilgrims. Nevertheless, he maintains that there existed a widely held feeling that the expedition to liberate Jerusalem was a collective pilgrimage of Western Christians. See also Alphandéry, Chrétienté, pp. 18-31.|

110 Anna Comnena, x, 7: analabomenos apo Romes ten chrysen tou

agiou Petrou semaian. In any case, it is not true that the bestowal took place in Rome. 342

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crusades, since they did not affect the position and fortune of those who bore them. Western chroniclers say nothing of them. Even so, future generations continued to expect that

leaders of crusades would receive a Petrine banner.1} Though not epoch-making in the history of banners, the First Crusade was a link in an ongoing chain.

The crusading army lacked a supreme commander; in such an army, the visible “sign” of an individual leader— the banner—was far surpassed in importance by the shouted “sign” of the entire army, namely, the battle cry. As is well known, the crusaders took the field with the cry “God wills it [Deus le volt].”412 This motto, whose impressiveness is

undeniable, was newly coined; yet the idea it embodied can hardly be regarded as new when one has become acquainted with the religious battle cries in use since the turn of the millennium.!"* We come finally to the most important point, the crusading indulgence. ‘The relevant canon of the Council of Clermont set out the indulgence in the canonically correct form; without reference to the forgiveness of sins, it spoke only of

the remission of penance, that is, of ecclesiastical penalties.14+ But the world took no account of this distinction. Not one of the contemporary reporters reproduced the offcial terminology.11> What predominated instead was the gen111 Above, pp. 186-87.

112 Gesta Francorum, c. 4, para. 1, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 151 (ed. Bréhier, p. 18); Fulcher, 1, 17, para. 5, p. 233; for other citations, Hagenmeyer’s ed. of Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, pp. go and 234f.

113 Above, pp. 92-93.

114 Mansi, Concilia, xx, 815, c. 2: “that journey accounts for all penance [iter illud pro omni poenitentia reputatur].” Urban’s letter to the people of Bologna agrees with this: Italia pont., v, 248 no. 14 (Hagen-

, 343

meyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 137). 115 See the evidence in Gottlob, Kreuzablass, pp. 67ff; however, the Fulco cited on p. 71 as the unique source for the official theory was not a contemporary: see RHC, Occ., v, cxlv. On this also Bartolf, c. 1 (ibid., III, 493).

[According to Mayer, Crusades, p. 34, Erdmann’s statement that the

popular mind did not grasp the distinction between remission of

URBAN II AND THE CRUSADE

eral belief that the crusade procured forgiveness of sins and the soul’s salvation. Even Urban recommended the crusade simply ‘‘for the forgiveness of sins.”11* The times of Leo IX,

Alexander II, Gregory VII, and Victor III have already familiarized us with all this; both the actual indulgence and the more general promise of the forgiveness of sins had repeatedly marked the development of the idea of crusade.

The First Crusade brought forth the notion that the forgiveness of sins was the special portion of those who died on the campaign.*!* Furthermore, death on a crusade was regarded as martyrdom!!* or at least as an assured entry penance and remission of sin obscures the fact that, although the writers cited surely understood, popular preaching, gradually pushed the actual Clermont decree into the background. Brundage, however, Canon Law, pp. 148-50, interprets the crusade chroniclers as meaning by ‘‘remission

of sin” a complete abolition of guilt and penance even in the hereafter. |

116 JI. 5608 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 136): “we have urged for the sake of the remission of all sins [pro remissione omnium peccatorum iniunximus]|’’; letter to the Catalans, Papsturkunden in Spanien, I, 287f: “we order for the remission of sins . . . truly an indulgence of their sins [tn peccatorum remissionem precepimus . . . peccatorum brofecto suorum indulgentiam}.” [B. Poschmann, A blass, pp. 54ff, has pointed out that in the eleventh century the term “remission of sins [remissio peccatorum]” was often used with the meaning of “remission of penance [remissio poenitentiarum].” As Mayer, Crusades, pp. 32ff, has pointed out, the Clermont

indulgence was not plenary in the sense later used by canonists to signify remission of temporal punishment in this world and the next,

but signified only the remission of penance already enjoined. See also Brundage, Canon Law, pp. 146ff, who regards the Clermont decree as

a “commutation of penance,’ and maintains that it is unlikely that Urban had a clear notion, in the canonical sense, of the privileges to be granted. The distinction between “guilt” and ‘‘punishment” had not yet been precisely defined even by theologians and canonists. In any

event, there is general agreement that the linking of indulgence with the Jerusalem expedition was the essential feature in the development of the crusade. See also Villey, Croisade, pp. 142-45]

117 Fulcher, I, 3, para. 5, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 135 (the remarks on this in Gottlob, Kreuzablass, p. 68, are based on mistakenly reading comparata instead of comperta). 118 Gesta Francorum, c. 8, para. 9 and 18, para. 4, ed. Hagenmeyer,

pp. 193, 280 (ed. Bréhier, pp. 42, go); Hugh of Fleury, MGH SS. 9.393; Fulcher, Prologue, p. 117.

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into paradise.41® So runs the crusading song that has come down to us from that time: Whoever proceeds thither, And should die there, He will receive the bounties of heaven And live with the saints.12° Urban IT had said the same in his appeal to the Catalans.1#1

The doctrine had a long past; we need only recall the letters of Leo IV and John VIII from which, just a little earlier, Ivo of Chartres had inferred the general principle that death in battle with the Saracens led to the heavenly kingdom.}2?

A series of details have now been examined that distinguish the crusade from secular wars. For each one we have pointed out the links to the previous age; several expansions and enrichments have been encountered, as though finish-

ing touches of an evolution, but never a leap or a new beginning. We have yet to consider the most outstanding external sign—the taking of the cross—which gave its name to the entire enterprise. ‘The crusaders sewed crosses of colored cloth to their clothes;1?* it was widely reported that the pope

himself had recommended this at the Council of Cler-

mont.124 ‘This symbol was unquestionably an innovation. The historical precedent of “crossing oneself” may of course be invoked.125 But this was only a fleeting gesture, while 119 Letters of 1097 in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 150 and 154; also Baldric, 1, 4 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 15). 120 G. M. Dreves, Analecta, 1, 78.

121 See above, p. 317. 122 See above, pp. 27-28, 267. _ 123 ROhricht, Geschichte, p. 30 n. 1; Erdmann, “Kaiserliche Fahnen,”’

pp. 37ff; only in a later period was the cross placed on the banners. 124 See the documentation in Gottlob, Kreuzablass, p. 83 n. 3, and in Hagenmeyer’s ed. of Fulcher, p. 141 n. 12.

125 The expression “‘to be guarded by the sign of the cross [signo crucis munirt],” which was current for making the sign of the cross (Erdmann, ‘“‘Kaiserliche Fahnen,” p. 35 n. 1) was now, as it appears, used for the bearing of the crusader’s cross; it is often difficult to decide in what sense it is meant (the same with signo crucis armari). Hagenmeyer is hardly correct in uniformly interpreting its usage in 345

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now a durable, visible emblem had come into being. Con-

temporaries must have been deeply impressed, for the sources are much concerned with it. Medieval history offers

no earlier example of a company of laymen adopting a distinctive emblem for their clothing; we need only consider how widespread this custom would become—it survives to the present day—in order to realize the decisive significance of its invention.

Military history is naturally the area where it most mattered: the cross was the first “army insignia” that was common to a whole army and gave external expression to its

unity; it was the first step in the direction of a “uniform.’’?°° ‘The meaning that contemporaries often ascribed to the cross fitted in with this: they regarded it as a symbol of religious militia and of divine victory.1?7 While an earlier age had thought of the cross as a symbol of Christ’s victory contrasting with symbols of military combat,1?§ the conversion of the cross to military uses hereafter expressed the unification of heavenly and secular warfare. Yet there was

also another meaning: the cross became a symbol for the the Gesta Francorum as referring to the crusaders’ cross (p. 22); in the passage, C. 18, para. 6, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 252 (ed. Bréhier, p. 72), both

meanings come together, as shown by undique and batulabat. The

same is surely true of Sigebert of Gembloux a. 1096, MGH SS. 6.367: “signed and equipped with the power and sign of the holy cross [virtute et signo sanctae crucis signati et armati].” 126 The history of military insignia has yet to be written; the statements of A. A. von Siegenfeld, Landeswappen, pp. 1-60, are stimulating but not definitive; cf. Erdmann, Kaiserfahne, pp. 88off. 127 Fulcher, 1, 44, p. 141 (on the taking of the cross): “indeed, God’s

warriors ought rightly to be marked and protected by the sign of

victory [sane pugnatores Dei merito victoriae signo insigniri et muniri debebant]”’; Ekkehard, c. 6, para. 6, p. 101: “the army signed with the symbol of the heavenly militia [imsignitum caelestis militiae stigmate

exercitum].” Cf. ibid., c. 6, para. 4, p. 94: “the cross-bearer of the army. . . believing that, in accord with the vision once revealed to Constantine the Great, he would triumph over the enemies of the cross of Christ [crucifer exercitus .. . credens in hoc, iuxta visionem Magno quondam Constantino revelatam, ab inimicis crucis Christi se triumphaturum |’; Guibert of Nogent, passage cited above, n. 106. 128 See above, p. 37.

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imitation of Christ, in accordance with the words of the Lord, “take up your cross and follow Me.’’!?° In this context the relationship with war and knighthood is lost; instead, we are in the thought-world of pilgrimages, which were usually associated with the carrying of the cross and the imitation of Christ.13° The “taking of the cross’ is closely related to the character of the crusade as a pilgrimage, for doing so was the sign of the crusading vow,**! 129 Gesta Francorum, c. 1, para. 1, and 1, para. 3, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 101, 105 (ed. Bréhier, pp. 2, 4); Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, c. 6, para. 2, p. 91; Baldric of Dol, 1, 5 (RHC, Occ., tv, 16); Robert the Monk, I, 2 (ibid., 111, 729f).

[On the development of the veneration of the cross during the second half of the eleventh century, with special reference to Peter Damiani and Anselm, and its probable influence on Urban, Delaruelle, ‘‘Essai’’ (1954), pp. 5off. Noting the shift in emphasis in liturgy and art from

the Christ triumphant of an earlier period to the suffering Christ, Delaruelle stresses more than most historians the spiritual quality of Urban’s view of the crusade, his feeling that members of Christian society, and especially participants in the expedition, must be reli-

giously dedicated penitents, sharers in the sufferings of Christ.] 130 Cf, Sergius IV, JL. 3972: ““Many . . . seeking hitherto the very

place where He trod with His own feet .. . did not cease to follow

the traces of Jesus Christ . .. bearing only His cross so that they might be made disciples and .. . , after Jesus, tread the road with the cross alone [Nonnulli ... eundem locum, quem ipse propriis tetigit pedibus, usque actenus querentes ... Jesu Christi non cessabant sequi vestigia ... suam tantummodo crucem tollentes, quatenus discipuli fierent et

... post Jhesu viam calcarent cum sola cruce}.” Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, c. 35, paras. 5f, pp. 307f on the sufferings of the pilgrims: “they are seen to have drunk the chalice of Christ amidst the offerings of the prayers for which they journeyed. Therefore, certain men cease,

as they must ... to taunt those who bear the cross after Christ very much in forced labor with Simon (calicem Christi bibisse cernuntur, inter orationum, pro quibus peregrinabantur, vota. Quapropter cessent,

necesse est, quidam ... crucem post Christum, quamvis in angaria cum Symone, portantibus inproperare}.” 131 Fulcher, 1, 4, para. 4, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 140f: “‘the crosses...

which . .. by the command of the aforementioned pope, the pilgrims were accustomed wear on their shoulders after taking the vow to go

[cruces ... quas ... iussu praedicti papae post votum eundi super humeros suos peregrini consuebant}.” [On the crusade vow, Brundage, Canon Law, pp. 32ff. Noth, Heiliger Krieg, pp. 120-39, has argued that since no formal crusade vow emerged

from the Council of Clermont, the vow did not originate with Urban II. Rather, it developed later as a consequence of pressure by the cru347

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and the custom that each individual should obligate himself by a vow to depart unquestionably originated from the practice of pilgrimages. Here is the explanation of the novelty that the taking of the cross represented within the developing tradition of Christian knighthood: it depended on the unification of holy war with pilgrimage, something that Urban first brought about.

This unification also had a significant effect upon the indulgence. As we saw, the indulgence already had an established place within the knightly idea of crusade; yet the

particular popularity it gained in the First Crusade was surely based on its coming together with the Jerusalem pilsrimage, whose penitential efficacity had widespread popular currency. Accordingly, the indulgence came into effect at the

very moment when the crusading vow and the cross were taken—a conjunction that further heightened its impact.1%?

The role played by the idea of pilgrimage in ensuring the success of the crusade to Palestine may hardly be underestimated. Yet it is clearly recognizable as a late addition, which cannot distract from the genuine evolution of holy war, Christian knighthood, and the general crusading idea. The conclusion we reach here is the same as in the matter of political and military goals: Urban II’s crusade was not a beginning but the culmination of a long development. Urban’s own attitude might be much more directly assessed if we had a genuine crusade encyclical of his. As it 1s,

the four surviving texts in which he speaks of the crusade are of another kind. His letter to the Flemings is less a summons than a brief notification of the naming of the legate saders themselves on Paschal II in the hope of reducing the number of stragglers and deserters. Brundage, “Army,” pp. 334-43, has questioned Noth’s arguments and contends that sufficient evidence exists to support the view that Urban did in fact intend a crusade vow, albeit within the context of a still not fully developed canonical doctrine. See also Brundage, “Votive Obligation,” pp. 77ff, and “Note,” pp. 234ff; also Mayer, Crusades, p. 41 and n. 15.| 132 See Gottlob, Kreuzablass, pp. 82ff, 149.

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and the time for departure.'8* The circular to the Catalans has the object of keeping them out of the Eastern crusade.134

In a letter to the men of Bologna, the pope expresses satisfaction with their pious crusading intentions, but he also sets certain limits on participation.?** Finally, the letter to the monks of Vallombrosa is entirely devoted to forbidding them the crusade.'%* As a result, we cannot make a comparison with the crusade encyclicals of Sergius IV and Greg-

ory VII, observing continuities or refinements. One point, however, is basic to all Urban’s utterances: the thoroughly defensive formulation given to the war aim. In this respect, the pope remains correctly within the framework of traditional doctrine. Again and again he says that the Christian brethren, or the churches, are to be liberated from heathen oppression and tyranny. As already noted, this presupposes

nothing other than the idea of a common front of Christianity against the heathen. But Urban did not pervert this concept to the point of turning the struggle against infidels into an end in itself. For him the ethical and religious justification of the crusade was that ancient Christian communities existed in the East, suffering under Turkish rule; he had no thought of converting the Moslems by military

action. It is understandable that popular ideas sometimes transgressed these limits.13? ‘There was talk during the crusade to the effect that the war was to “elevate [exaltare]” or

“widen [dilatare]” the Christian faith.15* The question of 133 JL. 5608 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 136). 134 Papsturkunden in Spanien, 1, 287; see above, pp. 317-18. 135 Italia pont., v, 248, no. 14 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 137). 136 Italia pont., WI, 89, no. 8 (Nachrichten Akad. Gottingen, 1901, p. 313).

137 The persecutions of the Jews by the crusaders are also to be understood in this way. In one sense, they were a result of agitation and lack of discipline, especially as the official church opposed them and

the organized contingents of knights did not participate. But it was, nevertheless, no accident that similar phenomena had made their appearance in relation to the crusade plan of 1009 and in the Barbastro war of 1064. The idea of the gathering of Christians against the nonChristians could easily produce such a popular misunderstanding. 138 Letter of Bohemond and the crusaders of 1098 in Hagenmeyer, 349

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the conversion of Moslems to Christianity was often debated;**® and it is reported that a company of crusaders, after seizing a Syrian town, spared the lives of those who be-

came Christians and put the rest to death.1#° Such actions pointed to a pure war of religion and departed from recognized ecclesiastical teachings. On no account were they a necessary presupposition of the crusade; Urban II’s attitude, as far as we know it, had no weak spot of this kind. His utterances bear no resemblance to the thoughtless words of the crusading appeal of Sergius IV, or to the excesses in various papal declarations of later date.1#! Urban II was not

only the most successful of all the crusading popes, but also the most moderate.

The same applies to the question how far he promoted hierarchical plans by means of the crusade and intended in this way to increase the power of the Holy See. The crusade

placed the pope in a position that older theories assigned

rather to the emperor. This had political importance in view of the conflict with Henry IV: the success of the pope’s crusading appeal was a defeat of the German king. The crusade clearly had an indirect significance for the hierarchical Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 162: Christiana fide exaltata; p. 165: christianum nomen super omne nomen exaltatum; Gesta Francorum, c. 33, para. 4, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 405 (ed. Bréhier, p. 174): “beseeching God that He might defend His people, raise up Christianity and cast down paganism [obsecrantes Deum, ut suum defenderet populum et christianitatem exaltaret ac paganismum deponeret]”; letter of Daimbert and the crusaders of 1099, in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 171f: “that he

might extend the realm of Christ and the church everywhere from sea to sea [regnum Christi et ecclesiae a mari ad mare usquequaque

dilataret\”; Annales August. a. 1099 (MGH SS. 3.135): ‘the Christian religion is extended throughout the provinces, all the barbarians are either eliminated or put to flight [religio christiana per provintias dilatatur, barbari omnes aut extincti aut fugati sunt].” 139 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 305 ff.

140 Gesta Francorum, c. 30, para. 6, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 387 (ed. Bréhier, p. 164).

141 In a letter of 1100 (JL. 5835; Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 178) Paschal II already writes to the crusaders: “your hands, which [God] has consecrated with the blood of His enemies [manus vestras, quas (Deus) hostium suorum sanguine consecravit].”

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idea of the papacy. The doubtful point is whether there were direct designs of this kind—whether, for example, Urban wished to found a papal principality in the East, based

on the theory that heathen land belonged to St. Peter.+#? This idea did in fact have a certain role during the First Crusade, especially in respect to the city of Antioch, which was regarded as the original bishopric of the apostle Peter and accordingly as “the hereditary property of St. Peter [hereditas b. Petri].’’4*8 After its capture, the crusaders led by Bohemond wrote to the pope, calling on him to come to his city and take possession of the Antiochene ‘“‘see of Peter

[cathedra Petri].’14+ Not Urban II, therefore, but the crusaders launched this idea, by proposing it to the pope. We have no report that Urban made claims of any kind to the 142 Above, p. 294.

[The idea that in launching the crusade Urban was largely concerned

to strengthen papal leadership during the controversy with the emperor, an idea more frequently suggested formerly than in recent years (see, e.g., an early opinion of Fliche, cited by Rousset, Origines, pp. 16-17), was championed by J. L. La Monte, “Papauté, pp. 154-67. For a different view, see the later works of Fliche, who integrates the cru-

sade into the entire range of papal ecclesiastical policy; also Z. N. Brooke in CMH, v, 94-95, and Delaruelle, “Essai” (1953), pp. 229-30, who cites contemporary German sources.] 143 See the letter of Anselm of Ribemont in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 160: ab hereditate beati Petri; Raymond of Aguilers, c. 11 (RHC, Occ., I, 258): quod haec terra iuris b. Petri sit; ibid., p. 259:

civitatis, quia iuris erat b. Petri et christtianorum. See also Gesta Francorum, c. 11, para. 7, and 28, paras. 2f, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 238, 364, 365 (ed. Bréhier, pp. 64, 148). Later on, in Caffaro (Annali Genovest, ed. Belgrano, 1, 10), Caesarea, another place where the apostle Peter was active, appears as property of the apostle. For a different view, J. Hansen, Problem, p. 46 n. 2. 144 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 164.

[Krey, “Urban’s Crusade,” pp. 238-41, suggests that the crusaders’ letter was part of Bohemond’s maneuvering to obtain Antioch for himself. The term “heretics” used in the letter to refer to Greeks and other Eastern Christians was designed to discredit the emperor. Since Urban died before any action was taken, his views remain unknown. It would

seem, however, that he must have felt that his primary concern, ecclesiastical reunion, which Adhémar had promoted, was seriously endangered. For the Council of Rome of 1099 did not, as planned, take up the question of reunion.] 351

URBAN II AND THE CRUSADE fought-over territories.4#5 On the contrary, we know that he

specified at Clermont that the churches of the conquered lands were to be subject to the rule of the conqueror.1*6 Even Paschal II gave no hint of territorial claims in his letters to the crusaders after the capture of Jerusalem.1*’

The popes evidently had none; claims of the kind that Gregory VII had advanced in Spain were alien to Urban IJ.+48

A more difficult question to answer is whether Urban tried to secure some kind of papal right of command over the crusading army. That he had some such idea cannot be

rejected out of hand, in view of the supervision Urban assigned to his legate. After Adhémar died in Antioch, the crusaders sent an invitation to the pope: since he was the

“initiator” of the campaign, let him personally bring the war “which is your own [quod tuum proprium est]” to a close, and they promised him obedience.1*® Later (1100),

Paschal II wrote to the crusaders in the same vein, that, since they had begun their campaign at the behest of Urban, 145 See F. Duncalf, ‘“Pope’s Plan,” p. 155.

146 Pflugk-Harttung, Acta, 1, 205, no. 247; cf. Fulcher, Ul, 24, para. 15, p. 740.

147 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 178f.

148] cannot agree with the opinion of Hansen, Problem, who sees hierocratic tendencies in the capture of Jerusalem (pp. 12ff) and supposes papal claims to Palestine (pp. 45f). The subsequent claims of the patriarch Daimbert to an ecclesiastical state were not made in the name of the papacy, but in favor of the patriarchate of Jerusalem. [La Monte, “Papauté,” and Feudal Monarchy, pp. 203-5, held that Urban and his successors did in fact envisage a papal fief in the East. Fliche also notes (Fliche and Martin, Histoire, vii, 287-88) that Urban may well have planned some sort of papal suzerainty over conquered territory in Jerusalem, as also does Villey, Croisade, pp. 169ff, who emphasizes the role of Daimbert. For a different view, generally in accord with Erdmann’s conclusions here, M. W. Baldwin, “Papacy,” pp. 277-87; also Rowe, ‘“‘Paschal II,” pp. 201-2.

Concerning the activities of Daimbert, it should be noted that the view, once widely held, that Daimbert was a papal legate has been disproved. See Krey, “Urban’s Crusade,” p. 241 and n. 21. On the institutions of the Latin Kingdom, J. Prawer, Histoire, and Crusaders’ Kingdom; J. Richard, Royaume latin.] 149 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 164f.

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the vicar of St. Peter, and since the Prince of the Apostles was the foundation of their labors, they should hold to his leadership to the end in faith and obedience.1®° Urban himself may well have said something like this, though no such statement of his has survived. There is a significant story in the Liber pontificalis that the crusaders ‘“‘served under St.

Peter [sub b. Petri militaverunt]” after Urban, who originally intended to accompany them personally to the East, dismissed them with a blessing.t*! The occurrence here of the Gregorian catchword militia s. Petri fits in well with the statement of the same source that Urban with his crusade only executed a plan of Gregory VII. Although the account is one-sided, there really was a connection between Urban and Gregory’s militia s. Petri. The most direct proof is that Raimond of Saint-Gilles was the first man whom Ur-

ban won to the crusade. Raimond was a papal vassal and the only survivor of that circle of French magnates who had once vowed to defend St. Peter and had been called by

Gregory VII to fight the Normans and the Turks.5? Urban’s dependence on the ideas of Gregory is again apparent. In one respect, however, he surpassed his great predecessor: in the capacity for moderation. Gregory had not only sought to utilize the movement of Christian knighthood for the di-

rect advantage of the papacy, but also wanted everything at the same time and had spoiled his own plans in this way; Urban, after initial hesitations, confined his policy strictly to war upon the heathen and thereby made possible a great

SUCCESS. , There is a further contrast in this regard: While accept-

ing Gregory’s militia s. Petrt, Urban turned it into something quite different. Only echoes among contemporaries and posterity allow us to infer his relationship to the cru150 [bid., p. 179.

151 Liber pontificalis, ed. Duchesne, 1, 293: sub eo principe et beato

P. militaverunt. The word eo must refer to Urban, but it probably should be corrected to Deo; cf. the continuation: Victoria itaque facta, Deo et beato P. eiusque vicario totus mundus laudes reddere cepit. 152 See Holtzmann, “Studien,” p. 196.

353

URBAN II AND THE CRUSADE saders, but even these suffice to show that he did not claim a

legal subordination of the knights to papal authority. The papacy unquestionably won moral authority from the crusade; such authority was implicit in the idea of ecclesiastical

knighthood itself. But Urban rejected the possibility of turning this gain into direct political power and of translating his relationship to the knights from a religious to a legal sphere. His attitude in this regard distinguishes him fundamentally from Gregory’s continual oscillation between piety and vassality, sacerdottum and military power. Beyond a doubt, Urban II knew that the political power of the papacy stood or fell with its priestly authority, that all hierarchical plans were doomed to miscarry if they lacked popular support, but that the position of the papacy would

grow immeasurably, and would even surpass the secular power in the long run, provided the general belief in the papacy’s inner strength and divine calling were firm. He therefore pursued the military and political course of his predecessors only to the point where it had been noncontroversial, and he was satisfied to set himself at the head of the popular enthusiasm of his age, even if it brought him no direct advantage. His greatness lay in this apparent dis-

interestedness, as well as in the incomparable skill with which he accorded with the mood of his contemporaries, joined together the various currents, and coined powerful phrases. This was how the crusading movement broke through with a force that was as surprising to contemporaries as it is to modern observers. The crusading idea had attained great force in the 1060s; Gregory VII had attempted to divert it into a separate and far too narrow channel and

thus, in fact, had dammed it up. Urban II understood at what point the dam must be opened and how to unite other waters with the mainstream.

The breakthrough of the knightly movement in the First Crusade displays the characteristic combination of continu-

ity and revolution that is proper to the great events of universal history. 354

APPENDIX

BYZANTIUM AND JERUSALEM:

THE MOTIVE AND THE OBJECTIVE OF THE FIRST CRUSADE

yt names of Byzantium and Jerusalem are signposts

of the political problem of the First Crusade. Was the idea to assist the Byzantine Empire or only to liberate the Holy Sepulcher??, Most modern scholars have sided em-

phatically with the second of these propositions: even though the pope, at Piacenza (March 1095), proclaimed a campaign of assistance to Byzantium, this was at most the stimulus for the real crusade or only an accidental coincidence; from at least the time of the Council of Clermont (November 1095)—so it 1s argued—he and the Westerners no longer had any intention of supporting Byzantium but thought only of Jerusalem and Syria.” ‘This supposition has 1 The term “Holy Land” is most often used in this context. Yet, as we saw above (p. 300), this term made its appearance only after the First Crusade and, therefore, is inappropriate in an account of the origins.

2 The earliest research did not discern a marked antithesis between the plans for Jerusalem and Byzantium. Ranke, Weltgeschichie, vill, 80,

hits the nail on the head, as usual, when he portrays the whole as a single project, but stresses that for Urban “the accent’ shifted to Jerusalem; similarly, von Sybel, Geschichte, pp. 182ff. Riant, “Inventaire,” p. 104, was the first to maintain that “the crusade was preached and carried out not in favor of Byzantium, but uniquely in the name

of the liberation of the holy places.” Although he gave no detailed justification, his assertion has since been widely endorsed. Gaston Paris

in Riant, “Inventaire,’ p. 75: “the crusade, to which . . . the desire to assist the Eastern empire was absolutely foreign.” ROhricht, Geschichte,

p. 19f, with some suggestions as to why the Byzantine plan had been abandoned, remarks on Urban’s crusade sermon: “Its goal, however, was no longer Constantinople, as at Piacenza, but Jerusalem. ... How this shift and change were actually brought about the sources do not say.” L. Paulot, Urbain II, pp. 283f, follows Riant literally. Bréhier, Eglise, p. 62: “in launching the crusade, the pope in no way responded 355

BYZANTIUM AND JERUSALEM

sometimes served as a norm for defining the concept of “crusade”: campaigns can be so called only if their military objective was “‘the liberation of the Holy Places” or to a wish expressed by Alexius Comnenus” (cf. p. 54, the crusade “is in reality a spontaneous expression of the enthusiasm for the Holy Land’). Chalandon, Premiére croisade, p. 18: “Riant showed .. . that to liberate Jerusalem was not the same thing as protecting Constantinople against the Turks.” Holtzmann, “Studien,” p. 193f: “. .. to grasp clearly the contrast between the appeals of Piacenza and Clermont: at the Italian council ... the liberation of the East Roman church... , in France, on the contrary, no further question of Alexius, the goal is

Jerusalem. ... To explain this change in the determination of the goal... ,’ and p. 199: “If the Curia took up both these questions in rapid succession, that is an accidental coincidence; in any event, the union plan was without significance for the fruition of the crusade idea.”’ Halphen, Essor, p. 62: “the only end publicly set for the participants was the liberation of the Holy Sepulcher.” In opposition to these views, W. Norden, Papstium, pp. 50ff, allows the Holy Sepulcher to play only an incidental part in Urban II’s crusade propaganda; and Leib, Rome, pp. 181ff, 187, emphasizes above all the idea of assistance to the oriental Christians and the original accord between crusaders and Byzantines. Further, Fliche, “Urbain II,” p. 294, sees the Clermont crusade plan as similar to that of Piacenza, but in ‘‘a more precise and concrete form.” Duncalf, “Pope’s Plan,” pp. 44f, has the pope give the crusaders a double goal: liberation of the Holy Land as the chief purpose, assistance for the Byzantine Empire as a subordinate objective.

W. B. Stevenson, “First Crusade” CMH, v, 270ff (not altogether so earlier in Crusaders, pp. 6ff), closely approaches Ranke’s conception and also agrees in large part with our conclusions. [It is impossible to document precisely the relative significance in Urban’s plans of Jerusalem and/or Byzantium and the Eastern churches. For it remains unclear (a) to what degree his plans developed between Piacenza and Clermont, (b) to what extent the character of the entire project was changed by the response after Clermont, and (c) whether the term “Eastern churches” or ‘‘Eastern Christians’ was intended to indicate the official Byzantine church or the Levantine Christians, or both. As a consequence, although recent scholarship has gained a somewhat larger perspective and can profit from continued researches, differences of interpretation and emphasis have persisted. In general they differ with Erdmann in maintaining that a marked change took place in Urban’s thinking between Piacenza and Clermont, and in emphasizing pilgrimage, Jerusalem, and the liberation of the holy places. See, e.g., Villey, Croisade, esp. pp. 82ff; Fliche, RHEF 23 (1937), 64; Fliche and Martin, Histoire, vii, 284; Rousset, Origines, pp. 55ff; Runciman, History, 1, 105ff; Duncalf, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, 237ff; Waas, Kreuzztige, 1, 66ff; Alphandéry, Chrétienté, 1, 31ff; Delaruelle, “Essai” (1953), pp. 233ff. 356

BYZANTIUM AND JERUSALEM

“the conquest of Syria.”* At the very beginning of the present book we laid down a different definition for ‘‘crusade,”’ and we shall now proceed to confirm our definition with reference to this question of objectives. For, if the earlier definition of “‘crusade”’ were correct, then Urban II would himself have had something rather more comprehensive in mind than a mere ‘‘crusade.”

It is no simple matter to determine what the pope said and intended at the Council of Clermont and in the ensuing propaganda. ‘The speeches attributed to the pope by several sources of later date differ considerably from each other; naturally, they tell us the ideas of their respective authors, and not the pope’s actual words.* But the ideas of contemporaries underwent fundamental changes during and after the crusade in specific regard to Byzantium. A profound quarrel

broke out between Latins and Greeks during the siege of Antioch; and, in 1100, the crusade had the odd result of establishing a ‘““Kingdom of Jerusalem,” a Latin island in the Islamic East that was no longer directly related even to Byzantium: an unavoidable consequence of these events 3 See Riant, “Inventaire,” p. 2; Paulot, Urbain II, p. 279; Stevenson, Crusaders, pp. 2 and 1of; also M. M. Knappen, “Robert H,” p. 79. 4See Rohricht, Geschichte, pp. 235ff; the attempt by D. C. Munro, “Speech,” to arrive at the pope’s words from the different accounts by extracting and recombining them remains unsatisfactory. {The difficulties in reconstructing Urban’s speech have long been recognized, and it is even possible that he made more than one. Neverthe-

less, although Erdmann and certain other scholars, e.g., Rousset, Origines, p. 58, have criticized Munro’s method of analysis by juxtaposing the various chroniclers’ accounts, his article is still generally cited. It is, of course, understood that the accounts were composed later and

presumably reflect the views of the authors at the time they were writing. Such views are not, however, without importance in any attempt to estimate the reactions to the pope’s words or to understand his policies in the weeks after Clermont. Moreover, the possibility remains, as Delaruelle has pointed out, “Essai” (1953), p. 233, that at least some of the salient points of the speech were correctly recorded. Further, since Urban was manifestly a person to take the lead rather than the opposite, the reiteration in excitatoria and thence in later accounts of such themes as Jerusalem and the suffering of Eastern Christians may well have resulted from papal instructions.] 357

BYZANTIUM AND JERUSALEM

was that the origins of the enterprise began to be viewed in

the light of its final outcome; there arose the concept of the “Holy Land” whose liberation was the sole and determining object of the campaign, and the special position of Jerusalem seemed to be the ideological basis of the whole undertaking. After a few years, another kind of distortion came into play. In 1105 and 1106 Bohemond of ‘Taranto had the pope’s blessing for issuing extensive propaganda for a crusade against Byzantium.® It popularized the theory that winning the capital of the Eastern Empire was necessary in order to facilitate the journey to Jerusalem, since the Byzantine emperor Alexius had betrayed and persecuted the crusaders; the perfidy of Alexius was set in sharp focus by the

allegation that he had summoned the crusaders himself in order then to turn against them.*® Thereafter we come across

the traces of a peculiar forgery, the letter that Alexius supposedly wrote to Count Robert of Flanders four years before the crusade, asking help from him and all Latins.? Notions like these obviously had an impact on the image of the cru5 See now Holtzmann, “Geschichte,” pp. 270ff.

[The extent to which Paschal II knowingly supported Bohemond’s campaign against Alexius was questioned by M. W. Baldwin, “Papacy,” pp. 284ff. For a critique of this view and an analysis of Paschal’s policies in this matter, see now Rowe, “Paschal II,” pp. 165-202. | 6 See esp. Guibert of Nogent, 1,5 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 131ff).

7 Last published in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 1930ff; cf. Dolger, Regesten, no. 1152. It seems clear that the falsified text available to us—whether or not a genuine text was its basis is of little interest— originated in 1105-6 as an Excitatorium to support Bohemond’s propaganda, and obviously circulated from the first with a preface similar to the existing one, which draws attention to the subsequent faithlessness of the emperor. This would explain not only the entire contents— the emphasis on Constantinople’s treasures of relics and the supposed readiness of the emperor to abandon Constantinople to the Latins rather

than the heathen—but also, in particular, the absence of the Holy Lance among the relics, and the closing words: “lest you lose the Lord’s sepulcher [ne Domini perdatis sepulcrum],” which would not be understandable before 1099 (despite Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 200). In any case, knowledge of the letter—in Guibert of Nogent, Robert the Monk, Hugh of Fleury, etc.—is demonstrable only after 1105. See also the parallel comments regarding the Gesta Francorum in Bréhier ed., pp. xvi f, and A. C. Krey, “Neglected Passage,” pp. 57ff.

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sade; as a result, the sources written after 1100, and especially after 1105, can be used only with extreme caution in reconstructing the history of how the crusade began. Unfortunately, the oldest crusading histories—the account of Raymond of Aguilers and the anonymous Gesta Francorum, whose core was composed while the crusade in the East was taking place—are almost exclusively concerned with what

happened during the expedition and therefore omit, entirely or almost, the origins of the crusade, the Council of Clermont, and Urban’s sermons.® All other accounts are of

later date; and even though the next oldest source, the work of Fulcher of Chartres, shows no trace of later legends and is certainly very significant—we shall hear more about it—its curiously contradictory narrative also fails to provide

a satisfactory portrayal. Our opinion must therefore be based, first, on a careful collection of the few utterances of Urban II and the rare statements of contemporaries up to 1099; and, second, on a critical analysis of later reports. For greater clarity, let us distinguish the motive of the crusade from its objective. The crusade was occasioned by news, complaints, and ap-

peals for assistance from the East: no one disputes this. There is no need to reconsider the legend that Peter of Amiens brought a letter from the patriarch of Jerusalem to the pope, since it has long been discredited. Yet the consensus of modern research agrees with that legend insofar as it maintains that the decisive appeals for help came from Jerusalem, not Byzantium: the crusading movement was set

in motion by the cruelty of Turkish rule in Palestine and the harassment of Jerusalem pilgrims, not by the battles on

the frontiers of the Byzantine Empire and the sufferings of the Christians of Asia Minor.® In contrast to such mod8 Raymond of Aguilers, Preface, RHC, Occ., WI, 237; Gesta Francorum, c. 1, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 101ff (ed. Bréhier, pp. 2ff). 9 Here too the decisive statements were made by Riant, “Inventaire,”’ p. 102. On p. 98, he sets down as “assured historical facts: around 1090, persecutions by the Turks in Syria, pilgrims prevented from visiting the holy places, communications sent to the West by the Christians of 359

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ern views, the crusading sources dating from after 1105 know of appeals from Byzantium as well as Jerusalem.'° Their accuracy as regards Byzantium is borne out by the papal negotiations of 1089-1091 and by Bernold’s account of the Council of Piacenza.11 From 1071 on, the Turks wrested the larger part of Asia Minor from the Byzantines and cap-

tured Antioch in 1085; their advance unquestionably was Palestine,’ etc. Apparently it did not occur to him that these points might be legendary and had to be confirmed by a critical proof from the sources. Nevertheless, his opinion was accepted by scholars: most recently, Holtzmann, “Studien,” pp. 198f and Hampe, Hochmittelalter, p. 112. Bréhier, Eglise, pp. 6of, adds to his otherwise correct presentation the erroneous assertion that the Gesta Francorum represents the profanation of the Holy Sepulcher and the holy places as a reason why Urban launched the crusade. 10 Ekkehard’s Chronicle (recension B of 1106), MGH SS. 6.213 (also

Ekkehard Hierosolymita, c. 5, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 8off); Bartolf of Nangis, c. 1, RHC, Occ., HI, 491 (Bartolf’s source, Fulcher, I, 1, para. 3,

ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 121, mentions neither the Byzantine Empire nor the Holy Sepulcher, but onlv the interiores Romaniae partes, i.e., the interior of Asia Minor); Guibert of Nogent, 11, 1 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 135); Robert the Monk, 1, 1 (zbid., 11, 727); Baldric of Dol, 1, 3 (ibid., Iv, 12); Narratio Floriacensis (ibid., v, 356). Of these six sources, Guibert speaks

only of requests by Alexius, the Narratio generally of an embassy of the viri religiost per totum ferme Orientem. Robert and Bartolf name Jerusalem and Byzantium (i.e., the Holy Sepulcher and the Byzantine Empire) as places of persecution, but speak only generally of news that had come to the ears of the pope, not of requests for help. Besides, Baldric relates only that citizens of Jerusalem and Antioch had been seen in the West as beggars and exiles. Ekkehard alone gives circumstantial information about embassies and letters from Jerusalem requesting aid: he speaks, on the one hand, about frequent letters of Alexius, and, on the other, about ‘‘repeated embassies and letters, seen even by us, mournfully calling the universal church to the defense of the church of Jerusalem [legationes frequentissimas et epistolas, etiam a nobis visas, universalem ecclesiam ecclesiae Hierosolimitanae in presi-

dium lugubriter inclamantes|.” But the peculiar turn of phrase shows what the letters were that he had personally seen: it is the old appeal of Gerbert with the address to Ea quae est Hierosolymis, universali ecclesiae, which Ekkehard evidently had read in a manuscript of Gerbert’s letters and whose contents he had misunderstood (see above, ch. I, p. 113, and Erdmann, “Aufrufe,” pp. eff). As a result, not even this layer of documentation includes a single credible and detailed report of appeals for help for Jerusalem. Of course, we entirely disregard the later sources, such as Albert of Aix and the users of Ekkehard. 11 Above, pp. 322 and 325-26f.

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one of the political causes of the crusading movement,*? and

the efforts of Alexius to recover these territories gave a direct impulse to the crusade. But what about the assertion that, aside from and independently of Byzantium, further appeals came from Jerusalem and Syria?

By their conquests, the Turks diminished the Byzantine Empire and, accordingly, the area of Christian rule; they had also captured Jerusalem (1071, finally 1078), which had been under Arab rule for many centuries. It has often been said that, as a result, the condition of Palestinian Christians and pilgrims to Jerusalem noticeably deteriorated, since the Turks treated Christians with less consideration than the Arab Fatimids had; and that the crusades were thus precipitated.13 But the original source supporting this view is Wil12 See Stevenson, Crusaders, p. 6. , 13 Gibbon, Decline and Fail, vi, 257, referring to William of Tyre; similarly, Wilken, Geschichte, 1, 43ff; Riant, “Inventaire,” pp. 62, 70, 98, with reference to Gibbon and to the presumed importance of the capture of Antioch for the situation in Palestine; RG6hricht, Geschichte, p. 12; Paulot, Urbain II, p. 278; Holtzmann, “Studien,” p. 199; Hampe, Hochmittelalter, p. 112; Loewe in CMH, Iv, 335. To the contrary, and

correctly, Stevenson, Crusaders, pp. 4f; on the other hand, the same author (CMH, v, 269), conjectures that, in fact, it was not the capture of Jerusalem, but rather that of Antioch which disturbed the West, since a part of the population of Antioch apparently emigrated to. Europe. The latter supposition stems from Baldric of Dol, 1, 3 (RHC, Occ., Iv, 12); but Baldric’s emphasis on Antioch probably arises from the propaganda of Bohemond: Bréhier ed. of the Gesta Francorum, pp. xviii f, and Krey, “Neglected Passage,” pp. 57ff. [For a discussion of the Turkish conquests in the context of pilgrimage, see C, Cahen, in History of the Crusades, ed. Setton, 1, ch. V; also Runciman, ibid., pp. 78-79, and “L’Islam,” pp. 625-35. It is difficult, if not impossible, to determine what were the actual conditions confronting pilgrims to Jerusalem in the final decades of the eleventh century, and what information Europe and the pope had of such conditions. Although it is true that no appeals are known to have come from Jerusalem, it seems likely that some reports of returning pilgrims circulated in the West. Apparently, the principal difficulty was not Palestine and Jerusalem, but the crossing of Anatolia. With regard to the article by Krey which Erdmann cites here, it may be added that R. H. Hill in his recent edition of the Gesta Francorum, Introduction, p. x and n. g, raises some doubts concerning the opinion that the Gesta was produced in the West after 1105 in support of Bohemond’s claims to Antioch.]

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liam of Tyre, an author who must be entirely disregarded because he wrote almost a century later.1! The only estab-

lished fact is that the church of the Holy Sepulcher remained standing even under Turkish rule and was visited by Christian pilgrims like Robert of Flanders and Adhémar of Le Puy. The pilgrims, to be sure, were not unmolested. We can believe that they had to pay tribute and were occa-

sionally robbed and harassed either on the road or while visiting the holy places, even though reports to this effect occur Only in the accounts dating from after 1105.15 But had

it been otherwise before? As early as the ninth century, the Arabs demanded tribute from Christian pilgrims at various

places, as we know from the itinerary of the monk Bernard;'® and a letter of Pope Victor II, from about the year 14 William of Tyre, 1, 7, final para. (RHC, Occ., 1, 25): “The Turks . . . Subjected Jerusalem to themselves, oppressing the faithful [Christian] inhabitants whom they found in the [city] with harder vexations than customary and burdening them with a multiplicity of compulsory services |furc: ... Hierosolymam subtugaverunt sibi, fideles quos in ea repererant habitatores durioribus solito aggravantes molestiis et angariarum multiplicitate fatigantes|.” Cf. ibid. c. 10, p. 31. Riant’s reference to Raymond of Aguilers, c. 8 and 18 (RHC, Occ., 11, 250f and 288) is also irrelevant; for Raymond states only that, upon the conquest of Antioch (which had been under Christian rule until then), the Turks turcaverant [i.e., converted] the Armenian and Greek youths, and that the Syrian Christians in Lebanon had suffered severe persecution from Arabs and Turks “for more than four hundred years [per quadringentos et eo amplius annos].” Nothing is proved from the fact that the portrayal of these persecutions agrees literally with the spurious letter of Alexius. Even less worthy of consideration are the accounts of Caffaro, Annali Genovesi, 1, g9f, and Michael the Syrian, ed. Chabot, mm, 18ef (RHC, Arm., I, 327), immediately recognizable as late legends, but which are cited by Hatem, Poémes, p. 72 n. 197. See further the pertinent remarks of E. Joranson, “German Pilgrimage,” pp. 41f. 15 Guibert of Nogent, 1, 4 (RHC, Occ., tv, 139f); Baldric of Dol, 1, 2 (tbid., p. 12); Ekkehard, Hierosolymita, c. 25, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 305. In addition, though later, William of Tyre, 1, 10 (RHC, Occ., 1, 30); and especially about the admission fee at the gates of Jerusalem: Albert of Aix, I, 1, (ibid., Iv, 271); Caffaro, Annali Genovesi, 1, ggf, and the romanticized Chronique de Normandie, RHF, Xi, 328. 16 Itinerarium Bernardi, c. 5-7, in Tobler-Molinier, Itinera, pp. 311f.

See also the (legendary) story about Fulk of Anjou in Chroniques

d’Anjou, ed. Marchegay-Salmon, pp. 102f; RGéhricht, Pilgerfahrten, pp. 941f.

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1055, tells us that the Greeks too did not neglect this source

of revenue.'7 In 1056 Christians were completely barred from the Holy Sepulcher for a year.1®§ This was also when Bishop Lietbert of Cambrai had to interrupt his pilgrimage at Laodicea owing to all kinds of difficulties and dangers;?®

and the great German pilgrimage of 1064 had to endure bloody encounters with armed robbers while en route.?° In other words, pilgrims had met with oppression well before the age of the Seljuks; it is arbitrary to say that the conduct of the Turks toward the Palestinian Christians and the pilgrims was basically different from that of their Arab predecessors.*?

Since the Christian West bore with these conditions for a very long time without being moved to a military expedition, the continuation of such conditions cannot possibly be regarded as the direct cause for the First Crusade. Yet it is a fact that, right at the beginning of the crusade, the situa-

tion of Jerusalem was mentioned as a reason for military action. Urban II himself says in his letter to the Flemings: ‘We believe that you have already learned from many reports that barbaric fury, in a deplorable attack, has laid waste the churches of God in the East and, worse yet, has subjected to unbearable servitude the holy city of Christ, made illustrious by His Passion and Resurrection.”?? Under

the year 1096, the contemporary chronicler Frutold of Michelsberg writes that the crusaders were aroused “by fre17 JL. 4342.

18 Annales August. a. 1056 and 1057 (MGH SS. 3.127). 19 Vita Lietberti, c. 35 and 41 (MGH SS. 30.855, 858). 20 See Joranson, ‘““German Pilgrimage,” pp. 41ff, and above, p. 302.

21 Note also that, in this context, Ekkehard (recension B of the Chronicle, MGH SS. 6.212, and Hierosolymita, c. 4, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 74) says that Arabs were a “much more infamous people than the Turks [Thurcis multo turpior plebs].”

22 JL. 5608 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 136): Fraternitatem vestram iam pridem multorum relatione didicisse credimus barbaricam rabiem ecclesias Dei in Orientis partibus muiserabili infestatione devastasse, insuper etiam sanctam civitatem, Christi passione et resurrectione inlustratam, suae intolerabili servitutt cum suis ecclesiis, quod dici nefas est, mancipasse. 363

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quent reports about the oppression of the Holy Sepulcher and the devastation of all Eastern churches.’’?? A charter of Clementia, countess of Flanders, in 1097, also gives as basis for the crusade that the “Persians” had occupied the church

of Jerusalem and had destroyed the Christian religion in every direction.** These three statements, dated to the period before 1099, leave no doubt that Jerusalem had a role in motivating the crusade. But two points about them should be noticed. First, they speak of the churches or religion in the rest of the East, not just of Jerusalem. Secondly, they never say that the awful news came to the West from the Palestinian Christians or from pilgrims to Jerusalem. The one certain report of an appeal for help from the East is Bernold’s narrative of the embassy from Emperor Alexius, which speaks generally of the defense of the church “in those regions”; if we take this source into

account, there is no contradiction at all with the reports mentioning Jerusalem. The Byzantine emissaries, in speaking of the fate of the whole Eastern church, may possibly

have stressed the situation of Jerusalem as a particularly important example.”® Even if this had not been the case, the 23 MGH SS. 6.208: excitati . . . in zelum frequentibus nunciis super obpressione dominici sepulchri ac desolatione omnium ecclesiarum orientalium. On Frutolf, H. Bresslau, “Bamberger Studien,” pp. 197ff.

At the year 1057, Frutolf explains (ibid., p. 198) that he wrote his chronicle in the forty-second year of Henry IV’s reign. He gives this correctly as the year 1098 (p. 209), but he writes the chronological digression to Henry’s forty-sixth year in the year 1099 (p. 100). On the

other hand the words of the Annales Leodienses a. 1095, MGH SS. 4.29: Occidentales christiani, indignantes loca sancta Hierosolimis a paganis occupari, una conspiratione contra eos proficiscuntur, are prob-

ably to be dated somewhat later in view of the chronological error (but not much later, since they were used by Sigebert of Gembloux, MGH SS. 6.367).

24 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 142: indignatio christianorum exarsit contra perfidiam Persarum, qui fastu superbiae suae Hierosolymorum invaserant ecclesiam et circumcirca longe lateque christianam demoliti sunt religionem. 25 Stevenson, in CMH, v, 271, also makes this conjecture.

{Most historians distinguish Urban’s first response to the emperor’s appeal from his more fully developed plan proposed at Clermont (e.g., Runciman, Crusades, 1, 104-5; Duncalf, in History of the Crusades, 364

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thought of Jerusalem might easily have come to mind spontaneously as soon as the Eastern church was in ques-

tion. In short, there is no need to assume that appeals came from the East otherwise than by the emissaries of Alexius; even though Westerners spoke mainly about Jerusalem, the actual impulse may well have proceeded from Byzantium.

A considerably simpler conclusion is reached when we

shift our gaze from the motivation of the crusade to its objective. Is it true that the crusaders did not intend to help the Byzantine Empire at all? A point not to be forgot-

ten is that half the result of the crusade consisted in the crusaders’ joining with Alexius to win back the larger part of Asia Minor for the Byzantine Empire. Had this been avoidable? The first Moslems whom an army would encounter were the neighbors and old enemies of the Byzantine Empire: could one seriously conceive of combating them without an alliance with Alexius? Was not such an alliance essential simply for reasons of supply? Geography

spoke in plain language. Constantinople and its environs were the only possible point of departure that could also serve as the concentration point for the various crusading armies.? Regardless of what the final objective was to be, the campaign had to set out from Constantinople. If so, the crusaders were forced, whether they liked it or not, to adopt the objective of assisting the Byzantine emperor for at least the first part of the war. ed. Setton, I, 229-30; Waas, Kreuzztige, 1, 67; J. M. Hussey, in CMH, Iv, 2d ed., 214). But certain commentators have noted that the possibility, suggested here by Erdmann, that Jerusalem was in fact mentioned at Piacenza appears to have been strengthened by the discovery of a Byzantine chronicle, written in the thirteenth century but citing earlier sources, which so states. See, e.g., P. Charanis, “Byzantium,” 17ff; Mayer, Crusades, p. 8.]

26 According to the Chronicon s. Petri Aniciensis in Cartulaire St.Chaffre, ed. Chevalier, p. 163, Adhémar, as papal legate, had explicitly

settled this beforehand. It matters little whether this report is correct or not, for the circumstances allowed no alternative. 365

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The argument advanced against this view is that the known statements of Urban II from the Council of Clermont onward mention assistance only to Jerusalem, and never to Byzantium. Let us examine the pope’s words. In the letter to the Flemings quoted above, the object of the crusade is given briefly as the “liberation of the Eastern

church.”?? The encyclical to the Catalans (translated in Chapter x) speaks of the unanimous resolve of the knights “to come to the assistance of the church of Asia and to free their brothers from Saracen tyranny.’’** The two texts offer

neither Jerusalem nor Byzantium as objective, only the church of the East or of Asia in general. In harmony with these are the two oldest accounts we have of the papal crusading propaganda in France, those in the history of Fulcher of Chartres and in a notitia from Limoges: they too are silent about Jerusalem and refer exclusively to Asia Minor and the East.?° This evidence justifies our saying at least that Jerusalem did not have a very prominent place in the pope’s propaganda.*? It is little wonder, then, that an appeal 27 JL. 5608 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 136): Gallicanas partes visitavimus eiusque terrae principes et subditos ad liberationem ortentalium ecclesiarum ex magna parte sollicitavimus. Norden (Papsttum, pp. 51, 55) took the words ex magna parte to mean that Urban’s plan was ‘“‘to free the Eastern church for the most part”; but, of course, the phrase modifies principes et subditos sollicitavimus. 28 Papsturkunden in Spanien, 1, 287: ceterarum provinciarum milites Asiane ecclesie subvenire unanimiter proposuere et fratres suos ab Saracenorum tyrannide liberare. See above, p. 317; the fact that Jerusalem is not mentioned is, of course, related to the particular purpose of this circular. 29 Fulcher, I, 1, para. 3, and I, 3, paras. af, ed. Hagenmeyer, pp. 121, 132f; Notitia Lemovicensis, UW, 1 (RHC, Occ., V, 352). 30 Norden, Papsttum, pp. 5o0ff is right on this point; see also Hagen-

meyer in his edition of Fulcher, p. 131. [This statement continues Erdmann’s tendency to underemphasize Jerusalem (see above, supplement to n. 2). Moreover, it is in some degree contradicted by the following passage, which refers to Jerusalem and its papal designation as at least an ancillary goal—i.e., Erdmann’s much-disputed distinction between Marschziel and Kampf- or Kriegsziel.

As Maver, Crusades, p. 11, has pointed out, though Urban may not have stressed, or possibly even mentioned, Jerusalem in his speech, he 366

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of 1100 to the crusaders, by Urban’s successor Paschal, did not even allude to the intervening conquest of Jerusalem;

Paschal simply praised God that the Eastern church was now “for the large part liberated” and called for prayer that God might complete what had been begun.3! There still was no question that the conquest of Jerusalem, of the Holy Sepulcher, of the holy places, or even of the “Holy Land” might have been the exclusive or real objective of the crusade.

Of course, it cannot be denied that Urban designated Jerusalem as an objective. Other papal statements clearly prove that he did. The canon of the Council of Clermont concerning the crusade establishes a plenary indulgence for everyone who “sets out for Jerusalem to liberate the church of God.”’%? A letter of Urban to the clergy and people of Bologna mentions that the indulgence is for all those who

proceed to Jerusalem “only for the good of their souls and the liberation of the church,” since they expose their persons and their goods “out of love for God and their was influenced by popular feeling to use it as propaganda in the subsequent months.

In a note on an article on William of Apulia’s History of Robert Guiscard by M. Fuiano (DA 9, 1951-52, pp. 559f), W. Smidt points out that Erdmann did not use this source which seems to substantiate the

idea that Jerusalem was less important as an objective than aid for Byzantium. |

31 JL. 5835 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 178); see also JL. 5812 (ibid., p. 174). The letter of Paschal JL. 5857 (¢bid., p. 179) is a modern forgery, as Kehr showed, ‘‘Brief Paschals II.,” 916ff. 82 Mansi, Concilia, xx, 815, c. 2: Quicumque pro sola devotione, non pro honoris vel pecuniae adeptione, ad liberandam ecclesiam Dei Hieru-

salem profectus fuerit, iter tllud pro omni paenitentia reputetur. The other version (ibid., go2, c. 8): Tunc et expeditio facta est et constituta est equitum et peditum ad Hierusalem et alias Asitae ecclesias a Sarracenorum potestate eruendas (cf. Riant, ‘“Inventaire,” p. 115 n. 12), seems, by contrast, to be secondary. In the excerpt used by Orderic Vitalis and William of Malmsbury (cf. W. Levison, “Bibliotheken,” p. 393 n. 4), the crusade is not mentioned; the text in Pflugk-Harttung, Acta, It, 161, states only: Ammoneri populum de itinere Hierosolimitano, et quicumque ibit per nomen penitentiae, tam ipse quam res eius semper sint in treuga Domini. 367

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neighbors.’ Another letter, to the monks of Vallombrosa, speaks of the knights who “‘set out for Jerusalem in order to

liberate Christendom” and are thereby “to humble the ferocity of the Saracens with their weapons and restore the Christians to their former freedom.’’** Here, as in the

texts previously cited, the liberation of the church or of Christendom is stated as the goal of the war [AKriegsziel], but Jerusalem is the goal of the campaign [Marschziel]. ‘This dis-

tinction fully explains how the pope spoke of goals in his appeals to crusade. The inference is that, while Urban did not in fact mention Byzantium, his military objectives fully coincided with those of Alexius. The whole Eastern church was to be freed from the Turkish yoke. ‘The first step, accordingly, had to be the reconquest of those parts of the Byzantine Empire that had been lost in the last decades— geography alone required that this be so—and these were precisely the districts whose recovery Alexius had in mind when he sent his embassy to the pope.

The statements of the other contemporaries prior to 1100 further confirm this conclusion. The clearest idea was

that of wanting to go as far as Jerusalem, not in order to conquer this particular city but, more generally, in order to fight the Moslems wherever they were and liberate the Eastern Christians.** At the year 1096, the Apulian chronic33 Italia pont., V, 248, no. 14 (Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 137):

omnibus, qui illuc (Hierusalem) non terrent commodi cupiditate, sed pro sola animae suae salute et ecclesiae liberatione profecti fuerint, paenitentiam ... dimittimus, quoniam res et personas suas pro Dei et proximi caritate exposuerunt. 84 [bid., 11, 89, no. 8 (Nachrichten der Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften

zu Gottingen, 1901, p. 313): cum militibus, qui Ierusalem liberandae

christianitatis gratia tendunt .. . nos enim ad hanc expeditionem militum animos instigavimus, qui armis suis Saracenorum feritatem declinare et christianorum [read christianos| possint libertati pristinae

restituere. 85 Under the year 1095, Bernold reports (MGH SS. 5.462; see above,

p- 325) the decision taken at the Council of Piacenza to supply assistance to Alexius, then at the year 1096 (p. 464) the movement of people toward Jerusalem “against the pagans, that they might liberate the Christians [contra paganos, ut liberarent christianos],” as the pope 368

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ler Lupus Protospatharius refers expressly to the intended comradship in arms with Byzantium: “they proceed to the royal city (Byzantium) so that, with the aid of Emperor Alexius in fighting the pagans, they might reach the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem.”°* Anselm of Ribemont, a participant in the crusade, wrote at the end of 1097 from the camp at Antioch about the successes thus far: ‘‘Let our mother, the Western church, rejoice that it has borne sons who have so marvelously aided the Eastern church.”’3”

In view of these comments, it may not even be said that the pope presented the crusaders with the double objective of assisting the Eastern Christians and liberating the Holy Sepulcher. No official statement had to be made about the second objective: it was the practical implication of the first. There was a certain discrepancy between the goal of the campaign and that of the war, the former being Jerusalem

in particular, while the latter was the Eastern church in general. This duality is particularly clear in the earliest account of the origin of the crusade, namely that of Fulcher of Chartres, who wrote this part of his work soon after 1100. Fulcher relates that the pope had heard of the suffering of the Christians in inner Romania (Asia Minor) and for this reason brought about the resolution of the Council of Clerhad admonished them to do “at the past synods [in praeteritis sinodis].” Frutolf, MGH SS. 6.208: turmae armata manu Hierosolimam tendere coeperunt ... Quibus (scil. ecclestis orientalibus) subvenire statuentes, etc. Annales August. a. 1096, MGH SS. 3.134: ad debellandos ecclesiae persecutores Hierosolymam proficiscuntur. Charter of Clementia (1097)

in Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 142 (on Robert of Flanders): ut copiosa manu armata ad reprimendam Persarum perfidiam expedi-

tionem adriperet.

36 MGH SS. 5.2: Boamundus cum alts ... perrexerunt in Regiam Urbem, quatenus cum Alexii imperatoris auxilio, belland[o] cum paganis, pergerent Hierusalem ad sanctum sepulchrum. 37 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, p. 142: Gaudeat mater occidentalis ecclesia, quae tales genuit, qui... orientali ecclesiae tam mirabiliter succurrerent. See also the second letter of Anselm (ibid., p. 160): “that you might rejoice about the rescue of Christians and the liberation of the mother-church of Antioch [ut de erepiione christianorum et de libertate Antiochensis matris ecclesiae gaudeatis].” 369

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mont.** In reporting Urban’s great speech at the council, he again speaks of Romania as far as the Bosphorus, along with Eastern Christians in general. But Jerusalem and the holy places have no place in his prehistory of the Crusade.?° Only later, when Fulcher speaks of the army’s departure, does he directly say that it was going to Jerusalem;*° how this was connected to the papal appeal cannot be inferred from his narrative.

Yet it is evident that, in the minds of the crusaders, a special war aim involving Jerusalem would have easily and almost necessarily evolved from the special objective of the campaign. Indeed, the earliest testimony for it is a crusading hymn that seems to have originated in the very year 1096. It refers not only to proceeding to Jerusalem and destroy-

ing Saracens—agreeing to this extent with the sources mentioned above—but also to acquiring God’s temple.* Regardless of whether the Temple rather than the Holy Sepulcher is mentioned,*? the goal of the war is clearly a particular locality, and no longer the liberation of Christians. We observe the same thing in the anonymous Gesta Francorum, whose core was composed during the crusade. There, the journey to the Holy Sepulcher first appears as an end in itself, as though it had been a pilgrimage without warlike intent.*® But as the account goes on, the idea often

recurs that the Holy Sepulcher also gave strength to the 38 Fulcher, 1,1, para. 3, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 121. 39 Ibid., 1, 3, paras. 2f. pp. 132ff.

40 [bid., 1, 5, paras. 5 and 12, pp. 149, 153. 41 Dreves, Analecta, 1, 78, no. 96, first an encomium of Jerusalem in six stanzas, then stanza seven: ‘“There must we go, sell our fiefs, Gain

the Temple of God, Destroy the Saracens [Illuc debemus pergere, Nostros honores vendere, Templum Dei acquirere, Saracenos destruere}.”

On the date, H. Brinkmann, Enstehungsgeschichte, p. 71. 42 This is perhaps explained by the fact that, while the Holy Sepulcher was in Christian hands, the so-called Templum Domini was a mosque closed to Christians. 43 Gesta Francorum 1, para. 1, ed. Hagenmeyer, p. 102 (ed. Bréhier, p. 2): sancti sepulcri viam arripere; cf. 1, para. 2, p. 104 (Bréhier, p. 4): viam incipere Domini. 370

BYZANTIUM AND JERUSALEM

warriors in battle against the heathens.** This makes it conceivable that “help for the Holy Sepulcher” and “liberation of the way to the Holy Sepulcher” were sometimes offered as the rationale of the war.*® The slogan “liberation of the Holy Sepulcher” also emerged during the crusade. We find it for the first time in the memorable letter that Bohemond’s crusaders wrote to the pope after the capture of Antioch.*®

The simplification of objective that was bound to take place spontaneously amidst the bands of crusaders should not obscure the fact that the pope had expressed the matter in another way. For him, assistance to Byzantium and to Jerusalem were not different things at all. Since he had in mind the totality of the Eastern church, he conceived of the two capitals in a both-and sense, not an either-or. 44 Ibid., 18, para. 5, p. 281f (Bréhier, p. 92): Christi nomine invocato

et s. sepulcri confidentes itinere ... pervenimus ad bellum; 18, para. 8, p. 285 (Bréhier, p. 94): superati sunt inimici nostri virtute Det et s. sepulcri; 29, para. 7, p. 377 (Bréhier, p. 156): in nomine Iesu Christi et s. sepulcri incepimus bellum; 32, para. 3, p. 401 (Bréhier, p. 222): adiutorio Dei et s. sepulcri devictis illis. 45 Ibid., 17, para. 5, p. 271 (Bréhier, p. 84): esto acer in aditutorium Dei sanctique sepulcri; 26, para. 5, p. 352 (Bréhier, p. 140): angustias ... passt sumus pro Christi nomine et sancti sepulcri via deliberanda. 46 Hagenmeyer, Kreuzzugsbriefe, pp. 164f£: sepulcrum Domini liberum

... facias.

371

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Section A

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Tramontana, S. 1 Normanni in Italia: Linee dt ricerca sut primi insediamenti, 1: Aspettt politici e militart. Universita degli studi di Messina, Facolta di Magistero, Pubblicazione dell’Istituto de Storia “Vittorio Caprariis,” 2. Messina, 1970.

Tritz, H. “Die hagiographischen Quellen zur Geschichte Papst Leos IX.,” Stud: Gregoriant 4 (1952), 191-364. Tschan, F. J. Saint Bernward of Hildesheim, 1. University of Notre Dame Publications in Medieval Studies, 6. Notre Dame, Ind., 1942.

Ullmann, W. The Growth of Papal Government in the Middle Ages, end ed. London, 1962.

Urbel, J. P. de. Los primeros siglos de la reconquista (Historia de Espana, ed. R. Menendez-Pidal, v1). Madrid, 1956.

Valdeavellano, L. G. Historia de Espana. Madrid, 1952. Valeri, N., ed. Storia d’Italia, 2d ed. Turin, 1966. Villey, M. La croisade: Essai sur la formation dune théorie quridique. Paris, 1942. Violante, C. La societa Milanese precommunale. Bari, 1935. ———. La Pataria Milanese nell’eta precommunale. 1: Le Premesse. Rome, 1955. ———. L’eta della riforma della chiesa in Italta 1002-1122. (Storia d’Italia, ed. Valeri, 1), 2d ed. Turin, 1966.

Visser, A. J. “Christianus sum, non possum militare,” Nederlands archief voor Kergeschiedenis 48, no. 1 (1967), 5-10.

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Windass, G. S. “The Early Church’s Attitude to War,” Irish Theological Quarterly 29 (1962).

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427

INDEX

(The index, based on that of the German edition, is limited to Erdmann’s text and notes; particular care is taken to list references to sources. ‘The Translator’s Foreword and supplements to the notes are not indexed.) Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle), 298. Albert of Aix, 360 n.10, 362 n.15

See also Albert Albert-Azzo II of Este, 219 Aaron, 164 n.65 Albesa, battle, g9-100 n.12

Abbo of Fleury, 33, 70 n.33, 88-9, Albinium, 179 n.110, 209 n.48,

96, 96 n.4, 237 n.26 211-12 Abdelmelik, 99 Albinus, 213 n.61 Abraham, 45 Alcoraz, battle, 280 n.46 Acerenza, archbishopric, 173 Alcuin, 23 n.51, 30n.73 Adalbero of Laon, bishop, 69-71 Aldhelm, 41 n.35

Adalbert, 280 n.46 Alexander II, pope, 12 n.14, 129,

Adalhard, St., 62 135, 198-9, 142-4, 152, 154-5, Adam of Bremen, 19 n.43, 105-6 156 n.35, 158-9 n.43, 179 n.114, Adelbert, St., 107 183-4, 188, 190-1 n.33, 196-7,

Adhémar of Chabannes, 43 n.42, 199, 202 n.6, 213, 216-17, 221,

61, 99 n.10, 110 n.44, 185, 228 n.125, 267, 285, 316, 344

186 n.14 Alexander Telesinus, 138n.71

Adhémar of Le Puy, bishop, Alexandria, 249, 297, 301 n.122 185, 328, 334, 352, 362, 365 n.26 Alexius, St., 43 n.42

Adso of Montierender, 89 n.78, Alexius Comnenus, emperor,

go n.81, 300 n.119 269 n.2, 289 n.82, 295-6, 320,

Advocate, advocacy, 46-7, 51, 59, 322-6, 327 n.68, 334 n.83,

gl 341 N.109, 356 n.2, 358, 360 n.10,

Aelred, 44 n.5o0, 56 n.86 361, 362 n.14, 364-5, 368-9 Africa, 8, 68, 111, 185, 293, Alfanus of Salerno, 201 n.2

294 n.100, 306—7 Alfonso VI, king of Castile, 69, Agarenes, 108, 114, 121 176, 204, 288, 290, 293

Ager, monastery, 138 n.69 Alfonso, son of Roger II of Sicily,

Agnes, empress, 167, 219 192 n.38

Agobard of Lyons, archbishop, Ali, Moorish ruler, 291 n.87

24 N.52 Alife, 192

Agrigento, 314 n.27 Allah, 4

Aimé, see Amatus Almansur, 97, 99

Aimo of Bourges, archbishop, Almoravids, 288, 290, 293, 314

64, 76 Alpert of Metz, 89-90 n.78,

Aimoin of Fleury, 46, 84, go-2 103 N.22

Alban, St., 276 n.go Altaich, annals of 66 n.21,

Alberic, 215 n.73 130 n.48, 297, 303

429

INDEX

Alvaro, 305 n.136 Antichrist, 298

Amadeus of Savoy, count, 216 Antidius, St., 277 n.31 Amalfi, 191 n.34, 193, 293, 339 Antioch, 185 n.14, 326, 351-2, Amatus (Aimé) of Monte Cassino, 357, 360, 361 n.13, 362 n.14,

109-10, 122, 125, 126 n.29, 369, 371

127-8, 131-3, 134 nn.58-63, 136, Aper, St., 36 n.8

197 n.66, 139 .75, 155 n.28, Apocalypse, 21, 301 161 n.53, 190, 200 n.61, 225-6, Apologists, Christian, 37 n.12

295 N.105, 303 Appolinaris, St., 36 n.4

Ambrose, St., 15, 34, 145, 205 n.24, Apulia, Apulian, 100, 133, 151,

249, 257, 260, 276 n.go 190 N.32, 192 n.38, 324, 368. Amiens, 62. See also Peter See also Roger, William Amonius, monk, 249 n.84 Aquileia, 179, 213

Andreas of Fleury, 63-4, 76, go, Aquitaine, see Walter, William 91 n.85, 93, 99 N.12, 100 Arab, Arabic, 31, 53, 99 n.12, 139, Andreas of Strumi, 141 nn.82-3, 290, 295-6, 361-3 142 nn. 85 & 87-8, 143 nn.go-1, Aragon, 222, 288, 312, 319. See

183 also Ramiro, Sancho

Andrew, St., 276 n.3go Arculfus, 278 n.38 Angel, 39, 40 n.28, 44, 54, 78. Ardo, 281 n.51

See also Castel San Angelo Argenton, 46

Angouléme, sacramentary of, Ariald, Pataria leader, 141-2, 153,

83 n.62. See also Gerard 183-4, 202 n.5

Aniane (Aniciense monasterium), Arian, Arianism, 11, 145, 249 chronicle of, 37 n.11, 63 n.13, Aribert of Milan, archbishop,

186 n.15, 365 n.26. See also 53, 66, 67 n.24

Benedict of Aniane Ark of the Covenant, 24

Anjou, see Fulk, Geoffrey Arkadios of Cyprus, 278 n.37

Anna Comnena, 186 n.16, 200, Arles, 276 n.31; council, 5 n.4, 266 296 n.106, 322-38, 342 N.110 Armenian, 362 n.14. See also Leo Annals, see Altaich, Augsburg, Arnald Mir, 138 n.69

Caesenatenses, Cavenses, Arnold of St. Emmeram, go n.81,

Elnonenses, Hildesheim, Q1, 274 n.21

Lambertus Parvus, Liege, Arnulf of Carinthia, emperor, Northumbrian, Quedlinburg, 26 n.62, 91 Romani, Saxon, Swabian Arnulf of Liége, 74 nn.38-9

Anselm of Baggio, see Alexander Arnulf of Milan, 37, 53, 6% n.20,

it 66, 142, 143 nn.go & g2, 153,

23, 51, ; _ _

Anselm of Canterbury (Bec), 188, 183-4, 199

312 ney, a2 4 a6 188 Asia, Asia Minor, 169, 296,

Anselm of Lucca, bishop, 466, 36 soe 338, 130 n.48, 146 n.104, 148 n.2, Asti sti, 77n.48, 328

158 n.g8, 160 n.48, 173, A ;

225 nn.109g—-10, 231 n.6, 241-8, tapuerca, battle, 98 n.g

261, 253, 256-7, 259-60, 267 Atenulf of Aquino, count, 126

Anselm of Ribemont, ' Athelstan, English king, 52

941 nn.108-9, 351 n.143, 369 Atho, Pisan layman, 186 n.18 Ansfried of Utrecht, 89-90 n.78 Atto of Vercelli, 18-19 430

INDEX Augsburg, 41; annals of, 128, 309-10 N.13, 312 N.23, 319 N.42,

gro 1.138, 363 n.18, 369 1.35. 320-1 See also Gerhard, Udalrich Basolus, St., 89 n.78

Augustine, Augustinian, 7-11, Bavaria, 192 n.38, 297. See also

18 nn.g6 & 40, 24 1.53, 32, 97, Welf

107, 158 n.38, 235 n.20, 237-8, Bayeux tapestry, 197-9 243-5, 249, 251, 258, 262, 266 Beatrice of Tuscany, 161, 270 n.g

Augustus, emperor, 287 Beauvais, see Lancelin, Warinus

Aurillac, monastery, 208. See also Bede, 17 n.32, 237 n.25, 301 n.122

Gerald Belinzo of the Marmorata, 49-50 Avars, 16 n.31 Benecy, castle, 64

Austria, 192 n.38 Bellum iustum, see Just war

Azzo, see Albert-Azzo Benedict, companion of Ogier, 282

Babyla, St., 196 n.51 Benedict, St., 27, 44 n.48, 46, 51,

Babylon, 296 64 n.17, 84, go nn.79, 81 & 83, Bagnorea, counts of, 161 n.53, gi-3, 99 N.12, 100 n.19, 126,

179 N.110, 250 127

Baldric of Dol, 300 n.121, Benedict VIII, pope, 37 n.10, 112, 336 n.86, 338, 340, 341 n.109, 197 1.55, 270 n.3 345 1.119, 347 0.129, 360 n.10, Benedict IX, pope, 49, 65,

361 n.13, 362 n.15 119-20, 183

Baldric of Li¢ge, bishop, 79 Benedict X, anti-pope, 129, 151 Balearic islands, 111, 186, 197 Benedict of St. Andrea, 41 n.38,

Balkans, 175, 287 48 n.42, 200 n.60, 297

Bamberg, 302. See also Gunther, Benedict of Aniane, 281 n.51

Meinhard Benedictus Levita (False

Banner, flag, standard, 21, 33, Capitularies), 66 n.4

36-66, 86-7, 92-4, 111, 122, Benevento, Beneventans, 20 n.44,

127-35, 182-200, 342-3, 121, 124, 160 n.51, 190 n.32. 34% n.123. See also Banner See also Falco

wagon, Church banners, Peter, Benignus, see St. Benignus

Saint’s banner Benjamin, 164 n.65

Banner wagon, carroccio, 53-6, Beno, cardinal, 151, 158, 264

66—7, 196 , Benzo of Alba, 54 n.79, 93 n.go,

Barbarossa, see Frederick I 130, 152, 159 N.44, 173, 264,

Barbastro, 136, 139, 185, 288-9, 269 n.2, 270, 273, 286 n.75, 287,

339, 349 1.137 299, 301 1.123

Barbatus, St., 20 n.44 Berchthold, duke, 227 Barcelona, gg, 100 n.12, 140 n.74, Berengar of Barcelona, count,

290-1 n.87, 313, 315. See also 171, 316

Berengar, Raimond Berengar of Sarlat, viscount, 208

Bari, 47, 110-11, 324, 326, Berengar of Tours, 204 n.22

327 n.68 Bern of Reichenau, abbot, 65-6,

Bartolf, 186 n.17, 343 1.115, 97 0.5

360 n.10 Bernard, monk, 362

Basil the Great, 17 n.32 Bernard of Angers, 78-9, go, Basileios of Reggio, metropolitan, g1 n.84, 275 n.28 431

INDEX

221 107-8

Bernard of Besalu, count, gg-100, Brun of Querfurt, 38 n.22, 73-4, Bernard of Clairvaux, 69, 142,187 Bruno, De bello Saxonico,

Bernard of Constance, 238-40 169 n.80, 194 N.44, 207 n.34, Bernard of ‘Toledo, archbishop, 226-47

317 n.37, 318, 336 n.87 Bruno of Cologne, archbishop, Bernardo Maragone, 111 n.50, 26 n.61

197 0.54 Bruno of Segni, 121 n.g, 123,

Bernold of St. Blasien, 55, 68, 124 n.22

69 n.go, 148 n.2, 205-7, 215 n.74, Bulgarians, 19 n.41, 39, 191 n.36

225-6, 240-2, 273, 294 N.100, Burchard of Strassburg, 54 n.77 309, 320 N.43, 322 0.53, 325, Burchard of Worms, 17 n.33, 80-1,

334 n.83, 336 n.86, 360, 364, 95 n.2, 240, 266

368 n.35 Burgundy, Burgundian, 136, 276,

79 William

Bernward of Hildesheim, bishop, 277 n.31. See also Hugh,

Berthold, count, 206 n.28 Burkhard of Halberstadt, bishop, Bertrand of Provence, count, 222 261 Besalu, 223. See also Bernard Byzantium, Byzantine, 21 n.47,

Besancon, 277 n.31 38, 44 1.51, 52, 53 n.74, 146, Blasius, St., 277 n.34 164-5, 167-8, 173 n.97, 175-6, Blois, see Stephen, Theobald 269-70, 279, 281, 286 n.75,

Bohemia, 220 295-6, 314, 319, 322-7, 330-1,

Bohemond of Taranto, 186, 355-71. See also Constantinople,

311 n.16, 326-7 n.68, 330, Greek 341 n.108, 349 n.138, 351, 358,

361 n.13, 369 n.36, 371 Cadalus (anti-pope Honorius II),

Boleslav Chrobry, 106 n.32 129-30, 152, 177, 264, 273, 286 Bologna, Bolognese, 55 n.83, Caesar, 37, 287

843 1.114, 349, 367 Caesarea, 351 n.143 Boniface, St., 14 Caesenatenses annales, 5% n.83

Boniface II, pope, 205 n.23 Caffaro, 351 n.143, 362 nn.14-15 Boniface VIII, pope, 187, 192 n.g7 = Calabria, 133, 320

Bonizo of Sutri, 49-50, 66 n.21, Calixtus II, pope, 186 123 n.17, 142 nn.88-9, 146 n.104, Cambrai, 61, 77 n.47, 262. See also

148 n.2, 151 n.7, 153 n.18, 155, Gerard, Lietbert 161 n.53, 179 N.110, 210 n.50, Campagna (Roman), 119, 131,

215, 225, 241, 247-56, 204 184, 211, 212 n.56

Bonvicinus de Rippa, 54 n.78 Campania (hinterland of Naples), Boso, cardinal, 191, 193 n.3g, 210 131 n.50, 138 n.71

Bosphorus, 370 Canossa, 149 N.4, 159, 203

Bouchard, knight, 272 n.13 Capua, 190 n.g2, 192 0.38. Bourges, 44, 64. See also Aimo See also Jordan, Richare

Bremen. , y,monastery 42, 44 Carolingians, Carolingian, 16,

Brescia, 241 14% Brindisi, 324 Carpophorus, St., 130, 273 n.17 23-5, 30, 59, 98 n.8, 104, 132,

Brittany, 221 n.g4 Carroccio, see Banner wagon Brixen, 159 n.43, 291 Carthage, 294 43°

INDEX

Castel San Angelo, 312 345, 352, 355, 356 n.2, 357, 350,

Castel Volta, battle, 174 366-7, 369-70

Castel Volturno, see Volterra Clovis, 11, 19 Castile, Castilian, 204, 290. Cluny, Cluniacs, 65 n.20, 68-73,

See also Alfonso 75, 87-8, 94, 289, 304, 305 n.136,

Catalonia, Catalan, 48, 99, 137, 307, 329 n.73. See also Hugh, 140, 171, 315, 317, 344 n.116, Odilo, Odo

345, 349, 366 Codinus, 275 n.26

Cavenses annales, 192 n.38 Cologne, 44, 276 n.30; council Cencius, chamberlain, 213 n.61, (1083), 65 n.15; pontifical of,

277 n.32 273. See also Bruno

Cencius, prefect, 163 n.65, 171, Colonico, 48

206 n.28, 215-16, 250 Conques, 48, 78

Cencius Stephani, 215 n.73 Conrad II, emperor, 49, 66, 103 Cenomannensium episcoporum Constance, 65. See also Bernard

gesta, 44 n.49 Constantine (I), Constantinian,

Cerami, battle, 134-5, 280 5, 35> 37-9, 108, 222 n.100, 230, Cervia, bishop of, 119 n.5, 248-9, 290 n.87, 346 n.127; 120 n.8, 123 n.18, 124 n.22, donation of, 132, 189; holy

126 n.28 lance of, 44, 79

Charlemagne, 22, 23 n.51, 24, Constantine Monomachos, 41 n.38, 95, 108, 195-6, 200, emperor, 52 n.69, 121-2, 279 221, 222 N.100, 281, 285, 287, Constantine Porphyrogenitus,

296-9 emperor, 52 n.69, 275 n.26

Charles Martel, 28 n.68, 106 n.g2 Constantinople, 152, 161, 278,

Charles the Simple, 43 n.42 296-9, 301 n.122, 319-21,

Charroux, synod, 60 324-5, 327, 329, 334 n.83, Chartres, see Fulbert, Fulcher, 355-6 n.2, 359 n.7, 365. See also Hildegar, Ivo, Stephen Byzantium, Paul Christianity, primitive, 5, 35 Constantius, St., go n.81 Chronicle, see Amalfi, Aniane, Corbie, 62

Monte Cassino, Normandy, Cordova, 99-100, 284 n.65, 285

Pinnatensis, St. Benignus Corsica, Corsicans, 179 n.110, Chrysostom, John, St., 13 n.18 208 n.47, 221 Church banners, 41-4, 46, 56, Cotta, 196 n.51

63, 64 Cremona, Cremonans, 55 n.83,

Cid, the, see Rodrigo 202 n.6, 328 Cimini forest, 162 Crescentii, 112

Circumcelliones, g Crispin and Crispinian, Sts.,

Civita, battle, 120, 123, 124 276 n.3g0

Clavijo, battle, 274 Croats, 47, 111, 194 N.42, 221. Clement III, pope, 187. See also See also Demetrius Zwonomir

Wibert Cross, cross insignia, 35-9, 41,

Clementia of Flanders, countess, 45, 54-5, 82, 135, 182 n.2,

364, 369 N.35 196-9, 226, 290 n.87, 345-8

Clermont, council (1095), 6, n.15, Cyprian, 262 116, 197, 188, 317 n.37, 324, Cyril of Alexandria, patriarch, 328-31, 332, 334 n.83, 337, 343, 249 n.b4 433

INDEX

Daimbert of Pisa, bishop, Egilbert of Trier, archbishop,

341 n.108, 350 n.138, 352 n.148 231 Dalmatia, Dalmatians, 47, 111, Egypt, 82, 294

218, 221 Eichstadt, 128. See also Victor II

Damascenes, see Idumaeans Einhard, 276 n.go

Danes, Denmark, Danish, 33, 79, Ekkehard of Aura, 291-2,

217, 221, 222. See also Sven 299 n.118, 300 N.120-1, David, 45, 78, 145, 242, 273, 294 301 N.123, 311 N19,

Deborah, 130, 225 332 nn.79-80, 341 n.108, Demetrius, St., 6, 275, 277, 279 342 N.109, 343 0.112, 346 n.127,

Demetrius Zwonomir, king of 347 nn.129-30, 360 n.10,

Croatia, 194 n.42, 221 362 n.15, 363 n.21

Denia, 291 n.87 Ekkehard of St. Gall, 282-3

Denis, St., 196 n.49, 273-4, Elnonenses annales, 297 n.111

276 1.30 Elster, battle, 226-7

Desertion, 5 n.4, 19, 144 1.95, Emmeram, St., 90 n.81, 91,

201, 266 274 n.21. See also Arnold

Desideratus, St., 277 n.31 England, English, 33, 44, 52, 56,

Desiderius, king, 283 97 0.6, 136, 154-5, 157, 188, 197, Desiderius of Monte Cassino 199, 221 (Pope Victor III), 126 n.29, Erlembald, Pataria leader, 141-3, 127, 174, 185, 196, 293, 306-7, 153-4, 171, 183-5, 194, 196,

344 202 1.5, 203, 215-16, 250, 303

Deusdedit, cardinal, 129 n.42, Ermengaud of Urgel, count, gg, 131 N.51, 146 n.104, 194 n.42, 316 211.54, 213 n.60, 221 n.g6, Eugenius III, pope, 37 n.10

223 nn.103-4, 248 n.80 Eulogius, 305 n.136

Diego of Compostela, 271 n.g Eusebius (of Caesarea), 39

Dol, see Baldric, Samson Eustace, St., 277 n.33

Doiainicus of Olivolo, bishop, 47 Eustace of Boulogne, 199

Donatists, 8-9, 237, 245, 249 Eustratius St., 275

Donizo, 43 n.42, 159 n.45, Everhelm, 89 n.78 194 1.44, 225 N.109, 312 N.20 Ezekiel, 308 n.7 Dorylaeum, 319

Drogo, sacramentary of, 40 Faith (Fides), St., 48, 52, 77 n.48, Dudo of St. Quentin, 36 n.8, 78 n.50, go n.80, gi n.84, 93,

69 n.g0, 89 0.75 275 n.28

Durazzo, 175, 320, 326 n.68 Falco of Benevento, 192 n.38 Faro, see St. Faro

Eadmer, 44 1.50, 134 1.57 Fatimids, 361 East Germanic peoples, 11 Felix, St., 7 n.g Ebolus oe Roucy, 155-6, 218 n.85, Fermo, March of, 179 224, 288-9 Ecclesia (allegorical figure), 40-1 Ferreolus, St., 277 1.81 Ecclesia militans, 12 0.15, 40 n.31 Ferruccio, 310

Edmund, English king, 33, 88-9, Fiano, 162

237 1.26 Fides, see Faith 83 n.62 Flag, see Banner

Egbert of York, pontifical of, Firmicus Maternus, 6 434

INDEX Flanders, Flemings, 348, 363, 366. Galvaneus Flamma, 54 n.78,

See also Clementia, Philip, 184 n.9

Robert | Garigliano, battle, 25

Fleury, monastery, 72, 89, 91. Gebhard of Salzburg, bishop, 261

See also Abbo, Aimoin, Gelasian Sacramentary, 29, Andreas, Floriacensis, Gistolf, go n.78, 81, 83 n.62, 86

Hugh, Theodoric Gelasius II, pope, 186

Florence, Florentines, 55 n.83, Gellone, sacramentary of, 30 n.73,

96 n.g 96 n.g. See also William

Floriacensis narratio, 334 n.83, Gennadius, exarch, 10

360 n.10 Genoa, Genoese, 112, 114,

Folkvin of Laubach, 15 197 N.52, 293, 351 n.143,

France, French, passim 362 nn.14-15

Franks, Frankish, 11, 15, 19, 22-4, Genulfus, St., 297 n.110 26 n.62, 30, 31, 98, 102 n.17, Geoffrey, see Godfrey 125, 195, 276 n.g0, 277 n.32, Geoffrey Malaterra, 54, 55 n.80,

297-8 134, 185, 280, 294 n.101,

Fredolus, knight, 48 320 N.44, 321, 324 n.61, 339 Frederick I Barbarossa, 54 n.'77, Geoffrey of Anjou, count, 48,

56 n.85, 192 1.98 151 nN.

Frederick of Mémpelgard, count, Geoffrey of Vendéme, abbot, 310

206 n.30, 273 Geoffrey the Bearded, count, 49

Frederick of Verdun, count, 305 George, St., 6, 14, 52, 54, 87, 91,

Frisians, 15 135, 273-80, 334 n.83. See also Frosinone, 212 n.56 San Giorgio

Frutolf of Michelsberg, 331 n.78, Georgslied, 278 n.36

363, 364 n.23, 369 n.35 Gerald, advocate, 46

Fulbert of Chartres, 77-80, 262 Gerald of Aurillac, 87-9, 142 Fulcher of Chartres, 185 n.14, Gerard of Brogne, abbot,

3oO N.121, 301 N.122, 89 n.78

311 nn.17-18, 332 n.78, Gerard of La Sauve, abbot, 272 334 n.83, 338-40, 343 n.112, Gerbert (Pope Sylvester II), 113,

344 nn.117-18, 345 n.124, 211, 220, 296, 360 n.10 346 n.127, 347 n.131, 352 n.146, Gereon, St., 276 n.go

359, 366, 369-70 Gerhard of Augsburg, 41 n.36

Fulco, 343 n.115 Gerhard of Cambrai, 76

Fulda, sacramentary of, 30 n.73, Gerhoh of Reichersberg, 14,

40 n.30 85 n.68, 160 n.48

Fulgentius Ferrandus, 13 n.17, 16 Germans, Germanic, 19-22,

Fulk of Anjou, count, 362 n.16 26 n.62, 32 n.77, 38, 53, 75, 255; 258, 284. [The German lan, guage uses Germanen, Gabriel, archangel, 45 germanisch for the Germanic

Galera, fort, 129 peoples of prehistory and the Galicia (Spain), 289 n.82 barbarian and Frankish Gallican Sacramentary, 30 periods, and Deutschland,

Gallus Anonymus, 106 n.32__ Deutsche for Germany and the

Galterius, Bella Antiochena, Germans of the regnum

43 1.43 Teutonicorum, i.e., from the 435

INDEX

Germans (cont.) 78, 139 n.75, 143, 147, 148-82, ninth century onward. 189, 191, 193-4, 199-234, 236, Erdmann’s index entry for the 241-2, 246-7, 248 n.80, 250,

latter category is passim.] 256, 258-61, 263-5, 267-70, Germanus of Paris, St., 27 n.64 288-9, 292, 294-6, 306-9, 311-13,

Gero, margrave, 102 n.19 8320, 323-5, 330, 333-4, 340,

Gerona, bishop of, 171 344, 352-4 Gideon, 273, 294 Gregory IX, pope, 78

Giovanni di Rode, 55 n.81 Gregory of Nazianzus, 260 Girard of Roussillon, 281 n.50 Gregory of Tours, 11, 20 n.44,

Gistolf, advocate of Fleury, 91 27 n.63, 41 n.35 Gisulf of Salerno, prince, 161-2, Guibert of Nogent, 300 nn.120-1,

179 1.110, 225-6 318 n.39, 334 n.83, 336, Glaber, see Radulf 337 n.89, 339, 340 n.106,

Godfrey, see Geoffrey 346 n.127, 358 nn.6—-7, 360 n.10,

Godfrey of Bouillon, 58 n.1 362 n.15

Godfrey of Lorraine (the Guido of Monte Cassino, 306 n.1 Bearded), 66 n.21, 155, 286 n.76, Guillelme, Guillaume, see

287 William of Gellone

Godfrey of Lorraine (the Guischart, knight, 284 n.65 Hunchback), 155 n.32, 161-2, Gunther of Bamberg, bishop, 291 209 n.48, 218, 222, 224

Goffredo di Bussero, 184 n.g Hadrian IV, pope, 194 n.42

Goliath, 242, 294 Hagen, 284 n.62

Good Friday Liturgy, 29 Hakim, caliph, 113 Gorgonius, St., 27 n.64 Harald Hardrada, 295

Gorze, monastery, 27 n.64 Harold, English king, 154, Goths, 7 155 n.28 Gozechin of Mainz, 201 n.2 Haroun, caliph, 298

Grado, 47, 111 n.49 Hartwig of Magdeburg, bishop, Gratian, Decretum, 7 n.10, 261 15 nn.26-7, 18 n.36, 25-6, Haserensis Anonymus, 123 n.16

146 n.104, 243 0.57, Hastings, battle, 199

244 nn.61-3, 245 nn.64-5 Helgaud, 89

onal eae€,ne289 9 &Henricians, 71 Heliand,234-7, 32 n.77 238 n.go Greek, Greek church, Greece, © » 23477, 23 “3

6, 110, 112, 123, 133, 270, Henry 1 (the Fowler), king, 21 275-8, 286 n.76, 287, 289 n.82, Henry II, emperor, 65 n.19, 298, 309 1.13, 319-20, 325-7, 69 n.30, 105, 107, 110 n.46, 112,

357, 362 n.14, 363. See also 280 n.46 Byzantium, Constantinople Henry I, emperor, 49-50, 65-6, Gregorian Sacramentary, 29 74, 132, 182-3, 190 n.g2 Gregory I, pope, 10-11, 15 n.26, Henry IV, emperor, 132, 158 n.43,

23 N.51, 25, 27 n.63, 32, 74, 160 n.48, 167-74, 175 n.100, 145, 180, 204, 244, 246, 251 n.97, 176-7, 206-7, 209, 219 n.86,

254, 261, 263, 276 n.30 226-7, 231~2, 236, 238, 242-3, Gregory VII (Hildebrand), 250, 259-64, 270, 286-7, 291, Gregorian, 71 n.34, 72, 73, 75; 299, 321, 350, 364 n.23

436

| INDEX Heresy, heretics, 9, 11, 119, 144, Hugh I of Burgundy, 288-9 146, 184, 218, 229 n.2, 237, 244, Hugh of Cluny, abbot, 69, 247, 250-1, 254-5, 261, 263-5 163-4, 167, 176, 305 n.136,

Hermagoras, St., 47, 52, 111 329 N.73 Herman, anti-king, 238-9 Hugh of Flavigny, 106 n.32, Hermann of Metz, bishop, 212 N.59, 213 n.63, 243 n.n6,

243 n.56 269 n.2, 331 n.78

Hermann of Reichenau, 120 n.8, Hugh of Fleury, 288 n.81,

122, 124, 190 N.32, 270 n.4 344 n.118, 358 n.7

Hermogenes, prefect, 249 Hugh of Lyons, 312 n.23

Herod, 291 Hugh of Vermandois, 186, 200, Herrand of Halberstadt, 264 342

Hersfeld, anonymous monk of, Hugo Aeduensis, 89 n.78

160 n.48, 260-2. See also Hugo of Egisheim, 206 n.28

Lampert Humbert of Silva Candida, 121,

Hervé, 295 122 n.11, 144, 146-7

Hezekiah, 65 Hungary, Hungarian: Christian, Hezilo, advocate of Reichenau, 49-50, 56 n.85, 65-6, 106,

206 n.28 208 n.47, 221, 274, 279 N.45; Hilary, St., 276 n.go 104, 287

Hierosolymitant, 341, 342 n.109 pagan 15, 21, 26, 95-6, 101,

Hildebrand, see Gregory VII Huns, 287

Hildegar of Chartres, bishop, Huzmann of Speyer, 231 170 N.114

Hildesheim, annals of, 103, Iberian peninsula, 68, 98, 293 106 n.g1. See also Bernward, Ibn-Chaijan, 139

Thangmar Idumaeans, 257

Hincmar of Rheims, archbishop, _ Illyricum, 311 n.16

18, 24 1.53, 244 1.58 Indulgence, 76, 115, 122, 124, 139,

Hodo, margrave, 103 172-3, 174 N.97, 214, 263, 270, Holy Land, 3, 186, 300, 333, 285, 292, 308, 316, 331, 343-4,

355 1.1, 356 n.2, 358, 367 348, 367

Holy Sepulcher, 41-2 n.38, Innocent I, pope, 257 113-17, 142 n.85, 168-9, Innocent II, pope, 192 200 n.60, 297-9, 302, 330-4, Innocent III, pope, 187, 191 n.36,

339, 355» 356 n.2, 358 n.7, 212 1.56 360 nn.g-10, 362-4, 367, Interdict, 75, 179 n.114

369-71 Isaiah )

Horace, 33 n.79, 254 » 299 .

Hrabanus Maurus, 17, 39 n.26, Islam, Islamic, 4, 11, 32, 53, 136,

80 289, 314 n.28, 318, 357. See also

Hrotsvitha, 102 1.17 Jihad, Mohammed, Moslem Hubald, legate, 187 Israel, Israelites, 24, 64, 82, 172, Hubert, legate, 157 n.38 240, 294, 300, 308

Hubert, St., 58 n.1 Italy, Italians, passim

Huesca, 319 n.41 Ivo of Chartres, 17 n.33, 265-7,

Hugh, margrave, 27 345 Hugh Candidus, cardinal, 140,

153 n.18, 305 n.136 Jael, 225, 250 437

INDEX

James, St. (Santiago), 274, Labarum, 35, 37-9, 45

275 N.24 Lambertus Parvus, annals of, 56 Jericho, 294 Lampert of Hersfeld, 130, 287, Jerome, 38, 251 N.99, 257 296 n.106, 302 n.127

Jerusalem, 41, 42 n.38. 109, 113, Lancelin of Beauvais, 179 115, 125, 141, 168, 185, 188, Landulf, Pataria leader, 141 200 n.60, 262, 270, 286 n.75, Landulf of Milan, 67 n.24, 291, 295-305, 315-16, 326, 328, 139 N.75, 141 nn.81 & 84,

330-2, 337 n.g2, 348, 352, 142 nn.85 & 88, 143 nn.go-1, 355-71 153, 157, 184 Jesus, 3, 107 Lanfranc of Canterbury, 189 n.29 Jews, 113, 117, 138, 349 n.137 Laodicea, 363

Jihad, 4, 11, 31-3 La Sauve, monastery, 272 John, see Giovanni 327 n.68; palace, 119, 153, John VIII, pope, 27-8, 257, 345 159 1.43, 195, 310 John X, pope, 25 Laurentius of Liége, 272 n.10 John XII, pope, 15 Laurentius of Monte Cassino, John Chrysostom, see Chrysostom 89 n.76 John Euchaites, 279 Lawrence, St., 272 n.10

Jocundus of Maastricht, 297 Lateran: councils, 120, 317 n.36,

John of Beverley, St., 52, 56 Lebanon, 362 n.14 John of Damascus, gi n.84, Leo, king of Armenia, 187

275 n.28 Leo I, pope, 5 n.4, 276 n.go

John of Salisbury, 253 Leo III, pope, 195

John the Apostle, 276 n.g0 Leo IV, pope, 25, 27, 267, 345

John the Baptist, 17 Leo VIII, pope, 195 n.47

John the Deacon, 27 n.64, Leo IX, pope, 74, 77 n.48, 78, 36 n.g, 47, go n.82, 110, 118-26, 128, 143-6, 151,

111 nn.47 & 49 153 n.18, 160-2, 169, 182, 190,

John the Monk, 278 n.39 249-50, 270, 323, 344 Jonas of Orleans, 17 ~ Leo of Ostia, 112 n.53. See also

Jordan of Capua, 309 Monte Cassino, chronicle of Joshua, 118, 273 Leofric Missal, 83 n.62, 96 n.g

Jovian, 249 Leonine Sacramentary, 28

Judas (Iscariot), 291 Le Puy, 62, 186 n.14, 328-9.

Judas Maccabeus, 74, 242, 250, See also Adhémar

273, 204 Letald of Micy, 90 n.81

Judith, 225 n.109 Leukas, archbishopric, 321 Julian, St., 27 n.63 Liber de unitate ecclesitae, see Julian the Apostate, emperor, Hersfeld

91 n.84, 249, 27% n.28 Liege, 262-3, annals of, 364 1.23.

Julius 1, pope, 112 See also Baldric, Laurentius, Rather, Wazo Just war, 8, 18, 31, 77, 258 Lietbert of Cambrai, 363

Justinian, emperor, code of, 244 Limoges, 61, 277 n.g1, 366 Liturgy, liturgical prayer, 28-31,

Kerbogha, 185 n.14 39, 43 1.44, 45, 53 1.74, 81-7, Kuno of Wiulflingen, 206 n.28 95, 96 n.g, 104, 255, 275-7

Kyrie Eleison, 25, 92, 227 Liutizi, 103, 105, 108 438

INDEX

Liutold, count, 206 n.go Mary, St., 52, 100, 111, 186 n.14, Liutprand, Pataria leader, 141 279 N.45 Liutprand of Cremona, 27 n.64, Matathias, 74, 142

92 n.88 Mathilda, queen, 102 n.17

Lobbes, 269 n.2 Mathilda of Tuscany, countess,

Lombard, Lombardy, 19, 126, 161, 167, 174, 194, 206, 212, 219,

145, 162, 242, 306 224-5, 242, 247, 250, 2638,

Lorraine, 212; reformers from, 270 11.3, 311, 312 .20, 313 73-4, 118. See also Godfrey Mauretania, 215 n.73

Lothar III, emperor, 192 Maurice, St., 14, 87, 130, 205, Louis II, emperor, 108 n.36 273-4, 276 n.g0, 277 nn.31 Louis III, West Frankish king, 25 & 33-4, 278

Louis the Pious, emperor, Maximinus, St., go n.81

24 n.52, 98 Maximus of Turin, 18 n.36

Louvain, counts of, 56 n.85, 79 Meinhard of Bamberg 274 n.22, Lucca, Luccans, 311, 326 n.66. 291, 302 N.125 See also Anselm, Rangerius Melfi, 128, 151 n.11, 320, 323-4

Lucius III, pope, 37 n.10 Melgueil, 223. See also Peter

Ludwigslied, 24-5, 43 n.44,92n.88 Mercurius, St., g1 n.84, 275-7, 279

Luni, 112 Metz, see Alpert, Hermann

Lupus Protospatharius, 37 n.11, Michael, archangel, 20-1, 44 n.51, 109 N.41, 158 n.40, 324 n.60, 45, 52, 100, 148, 294

331 n.78, 339 n.100, 369 Michael, emperor, 164 n.66, 175 Michael, Serbian king, 194

Maccabees, 236. See also Judas, Michael de Vico, 187 n.22

Matathias Michael the Syrian, 362 n.14

Macedonia, 311 n.16 Miesco of Poland, 103

Magdeburg, 102, 205. See also Milan, Milanese, 53-5, 66, 67 n.24,

Hartwig 140, 142-3, 145, 183, 196, 201,

Mahdia, 196, 293, 294 N.101, 307, 203, 205 n.24, 249, 276 n.g0, 328.

313, 324 n.61 See also Aribert, Arnulf,

Mainz, 80 n.54, 205, 276 n.g0, 302. Erlembald, Landulf

See also Gozechin Military orders, 78, 272, 274

Malchus, 257 Militia Christi (Dei, spiritualis,

Mallorca, 291 n.87 etc.), milites Christi, etc., 4 n.2,

Manasses of Rheims, archbishop, 9, 12, 13, 14, 21, 35, 37, 57> 77;

912 123, 142 n.85, 201-3, 206 n.30,

Manegold of Lautenbach, 234-40, 209, 242 N.53, 250, 264 n.161,

244, 265 1.163 nen n.g36,» 339-41, aoe 345? 283,

Mantua, 152 1.17, —_ Militia (milites) s. Petri, knights Maragone, see Bernardo of St. Peter, 200-28, 268, 272,

Marittima, 212 n.56 306, 312, 313, 334, 342, 353 Marseilles, 277 n.31 Militia saecularis, milites saeculi, Martial, see St. Martial etc. 14, 18, 21, 37, 57, 83, 89, Martin, St., 11, 14, 27 n.63, 48, 49, 142 n.85, 201, 272, 282-3, 337, 51, 53 0.73, 77, 90 0.81, 205, 274, 340 276 n.go, 278, 279 n.45. See also} Mission, missionary war, 4, 11-12,

St. Martin 16 nN.31, 23, 97, 105-8, 117

439

INDEX Mogehid, emir, 111-12, 291 n.87 Odilo of Cluny, abbot, 69, 71,

Mohammed, 4, 32, 53 304

Monte Cassino, 42, 112 n.53, Odo of Cluny, abbot, 72, 87-9,

126-8; chronicle of, 25 n.58, 142

43 N.42, 109 nN.41—-2, 122 n.12, Odo of Déols, 64 126, 127 n.34, 128, 185, 190 n.g2, Ogier, Othgerius, 282 200 nn.61 & 63, 293 nn.g7 & 9g, Oliva of Vich, 12 n.14 306, 307 n.2, 339 n.100. See also = Ollivolo, 47, 111 n.49

Amatus, Desiderius, Guido, Onulf, 89 n.78 Laurentius, Leo, Oderisius, Orderic Vitalis, 44 n.49, 131,

Peter the Deacon 1399 n.75, 184, 188, 192 1.37,

Monte Sarchio, battle, 160 n.51 277 n.33, 367 n.32

Mount Gargano, 21, 100, 304 n.133 += Orestes, prefect, 249 n.84

Moors, 28 n.68, 68, 70 n.33, 98-9, Origen, 5, 36 n.4 274, 288-90, 291 n.87, 315-16, Orihuela, 291 n.87

318-19 Oswald, St., 236

Moriana, 242 Othgerius, see Ogier Moses, 118, 164 n.65 Otloh, 287 n.77

Moslem, 4, 25-7, 31-2, 47-8, Otto I, the Great, emperor, 21,

53-4, 56 n.85, 68-9, 95-6, 42 N.41, 102-4

97-100, 108-12, 114, 116, 121, Otto II, emperor, 108 133-5, 156, 166, 282, 284, Otto III, emperor, 73-4, 79, 107 288-90, 293, 303, 318, 350, 365, Otto Morena, 54 n.77, 55 n.81

368. See also Saracen Otto of Freising, 125 n.26,

Mozarabs, Mozarabic, 6 n.7, 99 192 n.38, 311 N.19, 312 N.21 Ottonians, 44, 101

Naranteni, 47, 111 Oudalricus, see Udalrich Nicaea, 5 n.4, 319

Nicetas Choniates, 56 n.85 Palermo, 280, 293

Nicholas I, pope, 19, 26, 39, Palestine, Palestinian, 114, 265,

95 n.2, 171 n.89 278, 300, 302-4, 330, 348,

Nicholas II, pope, 58 n.1, 128, 352 n.148, 359, 360 n.g, 361, 364 138 n.69, 143, 146 n.104, 151, Paschal II, pope, 186, 197, 262-3,

211, 220, 228 n.125 318 n.38, 326-7 n.68, 341 n.108, Nicholas, St., 327 n.68 350 N.141, 352, 367 Nola, 7 n.g. See also Paulinus Pataria, 140-4, 145, 153, 154 n.23,

Normandy, 71; chronicle of, 164 n.65, 165, 171, 183, 201-3,

131 N.50, 362 n.15 215, 250

Normans (Christian), Norman, Paul of Bernreid, 106 n.g2, 54, 96, 103 N.22, 109-10, 120-1, 225 N.109, 243 n.56 123, 125, and passim thereafter Paul of Constantinople, patriarch,

Northallerton, see Standard 249

Northmen (Vikings), 25-7, Paul the Apostle, 12, 13, 58, 132,

28 n.68, 91, 95-6 172 N.92, 208, 214, 258, 301.

Northumbrian annals, 297 n.112 See also San Paolo Novalese, 42, 221 n.g1, 282-3 Paulinus, St., 276 n.go

Paulinus of Nola, 5 n.4

Oderisius of Monte Cassino, Paulinus of Périgueux, 37

341 N.109 Pavia, 27 n.64, 55 n.83, 65 n.18

440

INDEX

Pelagius I, pope, 244 Pirmin, St., 90 n.81

Penance, penitential discipline, Pisa, Pisans, 111-12, 114, 116, 16-17, 20, 27-8, 80-1, 122, 135, 162, 186, 187, 196-7, 292-4, 171-3, 174 0.97, 263, 285, 316, 313. See also Daimbert 322, 343, 348. See also Peni- Pleichfeld, battle, 55, 226,

tential books 270 0.3

Penda, Mercian king, 236 Poitiers, 61, 63, 75 n.42, Penitential books, 17 n.32, 28, 276 n.go

80 n.54, 81 n.55, 27 n.64, Poland, Polish, 102-3, 105-6, 108, 55 0.83 220 n.89g Perpetuus, St., 276 n.go Pomerania, 106 n.32

Persians, 364, 369 n.35 Poncius of Frassinoro, abbot,

Pesaro, bishop of, 179 243 n.56

Petchenegs, 279, 322, 325 Pontifical, see Cologne, Egbert Peter, Roman sub-deacon, Poppo of Stablo, St., 89 n.78, 305

204 N.23 Procopius, St., 275

Peter, St., passim; banner of Provence, 223. See also Bertrand (vexillum s. Petri), 37, 49-50, Prudentius, 36-7, 38 n.17 65, 115, 122, 131, 135, 139, 143, Priim, monastery, 42 n.39. 154, 182-200, 210, 293, 307, 324, See also Regino 342-3; church of (Vatican), 309, Prussia, 106 n.32, 107

311, 326, 327 n.68. See also Psellos, Michael, 52 n.69, 279 n.41

Militia Pseudo-Isidore, 6 n.4

Peter Crassus, 158, 233-4 Pseudo-Turpin, 56 n.85, 281 n.50 Peter Damiani, 36 n.4, 123, Puy, see Le Puy 130 n.48, 144-6, 163, 201-2, Pyrenees, 98, 155 215, 252, 257, 262, 278 n.36

Peter of Amiens, 359 Quedlinburg, annals of, 90 n.82, Peter of Melgueil, count, 222 102, 103 0.21, 205 n.24 Peter Orseolo, doge, 47, 110

Peter the Deacon, 193 n.39, Radarians (Slavic tribe), 102

306 n.1, 341 N.109 Radulf Glaber, 15 n.28, 43 n.42,

Peter’s Pence, 157, 217, 220-1, 48, 49 n.62, 53 n.73, 54 n.79Q,

312 N.23 , 61, 68, 70 n.33, 75, gO n.82, 110,

Petrus Thomasius, St., 192 n.37 303, 305 Philip I, king of France, 162-4, Radulf of Caen, 337

166 Raimond, see Raymond

Philip of Flanders, count, Raimond Borell of Barcelona,

56 1.85 count, 99

Philip the Apostle, 270 n.30 Raimond, count, 171

Philippe de Maiziéres, 192 n.37 ; .

Philistines, 78, 100 Raimond IV of St. Gilles,

Piacenza, Piacenzans, 214; count, 216, 289, 328, 335, council (1095), 325, 328-30, 34} n.108, 342, 353 334 n.83, 3m, 356 n.2, 360, Rainulf of Alife, 192, 199

368 1.35 Ramiro I of Aragon, 290 Pilate, 291 Ramleh, bishopric, 279

Pinnatensis chronica, 280 n.46 Ramward of Minden, bishop,

Pipin I, Frankish king, 22 43 0.45

441

INDEX Rangerius of Lucca, 130, 148, Robert the Pious, king of France,

152, 225 N.10Q, 231, 242, 89

245 n.67 Rodrigo Diaz, the Cid, 290

Rather of Liege, 18 Rodrigo of Toledo, 98 n.9, Ravenna, 174, 176, 212, 233, 321. 280 n.46, 318 n.38 See also Wibert Roger, son of Roger II, 192 n.38 Raxa, battle, 102 n.19 Roger (Bursa) of Apulia, Raymond, see Raimond 321 1.47, 323-4, 339

Raymond Berengar, 290 n.87 Roger I of Sicily, 55, 194 n.57, Raymond of Aguilers, 186 n.14, 135, 139, 154 1.25, 185, 279 11.43, 300 N.121, 341 N.109, 294 N.101, 314, 324-5, 339

351 N.143, 359, 362 n.14 Roger II of Sicily, 192 n.38

Raynald of Rheims, archbishop, Roland, Song of, 93 n.g1, 195,

329 n.74 199-200, 284-6

Regensburg, 149 n.4, 274 nn.1g Romani annales, 128, 151,

& 21, 302 152 n.16

Reggio (Calabria), 310 n.13, 321. Romania, 369—-70

See also Basileios Romanus of Rossano, archbishop,

Regino of Prim, 17 n.33 320 1.45 Reginus, general, 16 Rome, Romans, passim Rémi, St., 276 n.go Romuald, a Lombard, 19-20

Rheims, 84, 179 n.114, 276 n.30; Romuald of Salerno, 112 n.53,

council (1049), 77 n.48, 190-1, 192 n.38, 193

123 n.1g. See also Hincmar, Rothari, Edict of, 18 n.g9g

Manasses, Raynald Rou, Roman de, 93 n.g1

Rheinau, sacramentary of, Rouen, 63 n.15

30 n.73 Rouerges, count of, 58 n.1

Richard of Capua (Aversa), Roussillon, see Girard

127-9, 131, 155, 160, 161 n.53, Rudolf, Pataria leader, 202 n.5

306 Rudolf of Rheinfelden, anti-king,

Richard of Hexham, 56 n.86 169-70, 172-4, 206 n.3o, 208,

Richard of Normandy, duke, 222-3, 227, 259-60

89 n.7B Rufinus, magister, 229 n.1

Richard of St. Vannes, abbot, Ruotger, n.61

71, 304 Rupert oe 272 N.10 Richer, 26 n.62 Robert, monk, 176 Sabina, 112

Robert Crispin, 139, 295 Sacco-Talles, 131 n.50 Robert Guiscard, 127-8, 129 n.42, Sacramentary, see Angouléme,

131-3, 158 n.40, 160, 161 n.56, Drogo, Fulda, Gallican,

164-5, 167 n.74, 174-5, Gelasian, Gregorian, Leonine,

190 11.32, 191, 193-4, 205-6, Rheinau, St. Gatien, St. Gall,

210, 214, 224, 312, 324 Strassburg

Robert the Frisian, count of Sagrajos, battle, 288

Flanders, 262-3, 295 n.104, 296, Saint, see Adalhard, Adelbert,

322, 358, 362, 369 n.35 Alban, Alexius, Ambrose,

Robert the Monk, 299 n.118, 3309, Andrew, Antidius, Aper,

347 N.129, 358 n.7, 360 n.10 Appolinaris, Babyla, Barbatus, 442

INDEX

Basolus, Benedict, Blasius, San Paolo fuori le Mura, 152

Boniface, Carpophorus, Sancho, king of Aragon, 207,

Chrysostom, Constantius, 216-17

Crispin, Demetrius, Denis, Santiago de Compostela,

Desideratus, Emmeram, 304 n.133. See also Diego,

Eustace, Eustratius, Faith, James

Felix, Ferreolus, Genulfus, Saragossa, 290 George, Gereon, Germanus, Saracen, 106 n.g2, 110 n.46, 114,

Gorgonius, Hermagoras, 132, 133, 134 N.57, 136, 187 n.24, Hilary, Hubert, James, John 256, 267, 280, 286 n.75, 287,

of Beverley, Julian, Lawrence, 306, 313-15, 317, 336, 339, 345,

Martin, Mary, Maurice, 366, 367 n.31, 368, 370. See also

Maximinus, Mercurius, Moors, Moslem

Nicholas, Oswald, Paulinus, Sardinia, 111, 209 n.48, 218, 221,

Perpetuus, Peter, Petrus 270 n.3

Thomasius, Pirmin, Procopius, Savior, church of the (Rome),

Rémi, Samson, Sebastian, 159 n.43

Sergius, Servatius, Sigismund, Saxo Grammaticus, 38 n.22

Syrus, Theodore, Victor, Vic- Saxon Annalist, 44

torian, Vitus, Waldebert, Saxony, Saxon: Christian, 103,

Wenceslas, Wicbert, Wilfrid 105, 167, 169, 172, 194, 207, 226,

St. Benignus, chronicle of, 239, 287, 297; pagan, 23,

106 n.32 102 1.17

46, 93 Scots, 52

St. Benoit du Sault, monastery, Schiller’s Wallenstein, 18

Ste. Foix de Conques, 48 Scyths, 279

St. Faro, monastery, 282 Sebastian, St., 14, 87, 89 n.78,

St. Gall, sacramentary of, 30 n.73 go n.81, gi n.84, 206 n.go, 273, St. Gatien (Tours), sacramentary 277 n.33, 278

of, 95 n.3 Sedulius Scottus, 22 n.50

St. Gilles, 328. See also Raimond Seljuks, 363

St. Martial (Limoges), 43 n.42, Sennacherib, 65, 294 277 n. 31. See also Martial Sens, 179 n.114 St. Martin (Tours), 41 n.35. Sepulcher, see Holy Sepulcher

See also Martin Sergius, St., 6, 275

St. Pere en Vallée, monastery, Sergius IV, pope, 113-17, 165,

41 1.38 296, 302, 347 0.130, 349-50

St. Peter, see Peter Servatius, St., 297 n.110

St. Sixtus (Pisa), 293 Sibylline oracles, 298-9, 300 n.120 Saint’s banner, 40, 44 n.51, Sicily, Sicilian, 54, 108, 110, 114,

45-52, 93, 274 133-4, 139, 143, 154, 173;

Salerno, Salernitans, 108 n.36, 192 n.38, 204 N.23, 292,

109, 226, 303. See also Alfanus, 304 1.133, 314, 324, 325 n.61.

Gisulf, Romuald See also Roger, William

Samson, St., 47 n.56 : Sigebert of Gembloux, 56 n.85, San Angelo, Castel, see Castel 67 n.25, 194 n.42, 262-8,

San Angelo 265 n.163, 272 n.12, 341 n.106,

San Clemente (Rome), 42 n.39 346 n.125, 364 n.23 San Georgio in Velabro, 280 Sigismund, St., 277 n.31

443

INDEX

Silesia, 106 n.32 Tacitus, 38 n.21 Silos, Historia Silense, 98 n.g Tancred, 337

Simeon of Durham, 297 n.112 Tarragona, 313, 315-18, 331

Simon of Cyrene, 347 n.130 Templars, Order of, 272

Sisara, 250 Temple (Jerusalem), 370 Slavs, Slavic, 24, 38, 43 1.45, 44, Terracina, 324 n.61 96, 97 n.5, 100-8, 280 n.46, 287 Tertullian, 5

Soissons, 63 n.15, 76 n.45, Teutonici, 277 n.32

276 n.30 Thangmar of Hildesheim, 79

Solothurn, 277 n. 31 Theobald of Blois, 48

Sorbaria, battle, 148 n.1, 173, 242 Theodore, St., 6, 275-7, 279 Spain, Spanish, 4 n.7, 28 n.68, 39, | Theodoric of Fleury, 90 n.81, 91

56 n.85, 68, 70, 97-101, 105, Theodosius, 300 n.121 136-40, 143, 154-6, 166, 168, Theodosius I, emperor, 239 176, 204, 221, 275 n.24, 281, Thietmar of Merseburg, 38 n.22, 288-90, 203, 295 N.105, 303, 43 0.45, 92 n.88, 102, 103 n.23,

305 n.136, 314, 316, 318-19, 106, 112, 205 n.24

331, 352. See also Moors, Tiber river, 25

Visigoths Titus, emperor, 115

Speyer, 187. See also Huzmann Tivoli, 119 Spitignev, duke of Bohemia, 220 Toledo, Toledan, 6 n.4, 315, Standard, battle of the, 52, 56. 318 n.38. See also Bernard,

See also Banner Rodrigo

Stephanus Normannus, 186 Tord, battle, g9—-100

Stephen II, pope, 23 n.51 Tortona, 5 Stephen IX, pope, 128 Tortosa, 293

Stephen of Blois, 48 Toul, 118

Stephen of Chartres, 340 n.105, Tours, 48, 69, 272 n.11, 276 n.go.

341 n.108 See also Berengar, Gregory,

Stephen (of Hungary), 274 n.22, St. Gatien

279 n.45 Trani, 324 Strassburg, sacramentary of, Trent, bishop of, 209, 212,

30 1.73 270 1.3

Substantion, county, 222 Trier, 65, 276 n.g0. See also

Sulpicius Severus, 14 Egilbert, Wenrich Sven II of Denmark, 217-18 Troia, 112 1.53

Swabian Annalist, 142 n.89, Turks, Turkish, 161, 164, 168, 143 nn.g1 & 93, 179 N.110, 215, 169, 186 n.14, 295-6, 319, 322,

227, 272 N11 325, 329-30, 334, 338, 349, 353,

Sylvester, pope, St., 276 n.go 356 n.2, 359-63, 368

Sylvester II, see Gerbert Turpin, archbishop, 285. See also

Syracuse, 314 n.27 Pseudo-Turpin

Syria, 114, 318, 330, 350, 355, 357, Tuscany, Tuscan, 114, 162, 174,

359 n.g, 361, 362 n.14 17% n.100, 212. See also Beatrice,

Syrus, St., 27 n.64 Mathilda

Tusculum, 119-20

Tabari, 53 n.71 Tyrrhenian Sea, 280 444

INDEX Udalrich (Oudalricus, Udalricus) Walter of Aquitaine, Waltharius,

of Augsburg, 16 n.go, 41 n.36, 282-3

97 n.5 Warinus of Beauvais, bishop, 61

Udalrich of Bregenz, 206 n.go Warneharius, abbot, 26 n.62 Udalricit codex, 230, 231 n.7 Wazo of Lidge, bishop, 74, 118

Urana, monastery, 223 Welf of Bavaria, duke, 170,

Urban II, pope, 27 n.66,75.100, 115,206,116, ; _ 222 209, 218-19, 117, 122, 143, 165, 168-9, 185-6, Ww las. St.. 8 6

200, 212 N.56, 240, 256, 267, 289, ENCESTAS, Obes OG De]

297, 305, 306-54, 355-6 7.2, Wends, 102 n.19 357, 359, 360 n.g, 363, 366-8, Wenrich of Trier, 160 n.48, 173,

370 178-9, 232-4

Urgel, 99 n.12. See also Werden frescoes, 38 n.23

Ermengaud Wibert of Ravenna (anti-pope

Ursel of Bailleul, 295 Clement III), 158, 159, 161 n.53,

Utrecht, 276 n.go, 302. See also 173~4, 178 n.108, 195 N.47, 205,

Ansfried 214, 241, 246, 250, 256-60, 319 N.42, 321

Vakidi, 32 n.76, 53 nn.71-2 Wibert (of Toul), 118, 121 n.9,

Valencia, 290, 293 123 n.16, 125 n.26

Valentinian, 249 Wibertines, 242, 251, 309-12 Vallombrosa, monastery, 349, 368 wWichert, St., 272 1.12

Nee oe tes6 n.44, Wido of Ferrara, nn.4o 256, & 43, , 159 160 n.48,158 178-9, Venantius Fortunatus, 36 28 n.125, 259-61

187 233 n.12 Verona, 241 Widukind of Corvey, 26 n.61, 44,

Venice, Venetians, 47, 110-11, 114, Wido of Osnabriick, 160 n. 48,

Vespasian, emperor, 115 : 102 nn.17 & 19, 104 N.25

Vexillum, see Banner, Cross, Peter Wifred of Cerdafia, count, 99 Victor IT, pope, 37 n.10, 128, 362 = Wilfrid of Ripon, St., 56

Victor III, see Desiderius of William, Norman knight, 206,

Monte Cassino 322 N51

Victor, St., 277 1.31, William Carpentarius, 289 n.82 Victorian, St., 280 n.46 William of Apulia, 110, Visigoths, Visigothic, 6 n.7, 11, 134 nn.60 & 63, 193, 304 n.133 22 N.49, 30 N.72, 39, 43 0.44, William VI of Aquitaine, duke,

53 n.74, 82 n.58 137, 139, 163-4, 166, 209, 224,

Vitalis, Pataria leader, 202 n.5 288-9

Vitalis of Grado, patriarch, 47 William of Dijon, 13, 21 n.48

Viterbo, 161 William (Guillelme) of Gellone, Vivien, knight, 284 281-2, 284 Vitus, St., 102 n.19, 105 n.28 Chanson de Guillaume, 93 n.g1, Volterra (and variant forms), 138 William of Upper Burgundy, count, 161, 165, 209, 214, 216,

Waldebert, St., go n.81 224

Walram of Naumburg, 264 William of Jumiéges, 201 n.2 445

INDEX William of Malmsbury, 155 n.28, William of Tyre, 361-2

188, 311 n.16, 318 n.go, Wipo, 77 n.48, 103

339 n.gg, 367 n.32 Worms, 230. See also Burchard

William of Montreuil, 131, 139, Wotan, 21 153, 179 N.110, 184, 194, 270 n.5

William of Normandy, the York, 56. See also Egbert Conqueror, 136, 154, 188-9,

193-4, 197-9, 207, 242-3 Zallaca, battle, 288, 314 William of Poitiers, 155 n.28, 188 Zwettl, Historia pontificum,

William of Sicily, 194 n.42 311 N.19

446

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Frdmann, Carl, 1898-1945. The origin of the idea of crusade. Translation of Die Entstehung des Kreuzzugsgedankens. Bibliography: p. Includes index.

1. Crusades. I. Title. D157.E713 = g0g.07_ 77-719 80 ISBN o—-691-0525 1-4