Israel in Europe

by G. F. Abbott

Hence the lofty pretensions of the Popes were nowhere less respected than in their immediate neighbourhood. The spiritual autocrats, whose anathemas made foreign princes and peoples tremble with superstitious terror, found many severe critics among their own countrymen. The Italian chronicler Salimbene (1221–1288), though himself a monk, in his vivid and varied picture of thirteenth century life, does not hesitate to comment freely on the greed, profligacy, gluttony, heresy and other sins of many a contemporary pope, cardinal and bishop. Even more significant is the attitude of the author of the Divina Commedia. There the judges are judged, and they who doomed others to everlasting torture are themselves consigned to a similar fate by the stern Florentine poet, the spokesman of the Middle Ages. Celestine V., who, yielding to base fear, abdicated St. Peter’s chair in 1294, is sentenced by Dante to wander in hell naked, his face bedewed with blood and tears, and beset by wasps and hornets; one of the dolorous tribe of trimmers—“Wretches who never lived”; sinners whose very disembodied shades are “both to God displeasing and to His foes.”[74] Pope Anastasius is condemned to an even worse plight, as a heretic. Nicholas III. is found planted with his heels upwards, waiting to be succeeded in that uncomfortable position by Boniface VIII., “the chief of the new Pharisees,” who, in his turn, is to be followed by Clement V., “the lawless pastor,” who, besides many other sins of omission and commission, abetted Philip the Fair in the suppression of the Templars, and with him divided the guilt, if he were defrauded of the fruits, of the atrocious crime. To an equally sad eternity are doomed popes and cardinals “over whom Avarice dominion absolute maintains”; the monks of Cologne; and the “Joyous Friars” (Frati Godenti), notorious for things worse than joyousness.

Nor did the great religious upheavals of the Middle Ages which helped to tighten the Papal grip on the European mind produce any injurious effects in Italy. Far otherwise. The most serious of those movements, the Crusades, proved of signal benefit to the Italian republics. The campaigns that drained other countries of men and money, opened new sources of profit and power to Venice and Genoa, Florence, Milan and Pisa; they invigorated their maritime trade, and increased their knowledge of foreign lands. While the kings and knights of Northern and Central Europe dreamed dreams of military glory, of victory for the Cross, and of conquest for themselves, the commonwealths of Italy realised the more solid, if less splendid, boons of extensive commerce, and even more extensive credit. When Bayezid, surnamed the Lightning, towards the end of the fourteenth century, threatened to carry war into the heart of holy Christendom and boasted that his horse should eat his oats on the altar of St. Peter at Rome, it was not the Romans who resented the impious insolence of the infidel. Nor were they moved when the King of Hungary, Sigismund, panic-stricken, sent a bishop and two knights with letters to King Charles VI. of France, the eldest son of the Church, imploring him to ward off the evils that menaced it. The Italians saw with calm unconcern the young Count de Nevers, heir of the Duke of Burgundy, and cousin of the French monarch, accompanied by four other princes, lead his brilliant host of knights and squires against the “enemies of God.” It was the villeins of Burgundy and the burgesses of Flanders who paid the expenses of the ruinous campaign undertaken to save Rome from the Turk. And if the honest, but credulous, Froissart is to be believed, the Italians, so far from sympathizing with the aim of the expedition, actually assisted the infidels by information and advice. Bayezid, on hearing that the Christian forces had crossed the Danube, is reported by the Chronicler to have said: “My wishes are now accomplished. It is now four months since I heard of the expedition from my good friend the Duke of Milan, who advised me to draw up my men with prudence.”

♦1396 Sept. 28♦

Furthermore, when the champions of the Cross met those of the Crescent on the fatal field of Nicopolis, and left upon it the flower of their chivalry, the Italians were the only people who had no reason to mourn the disaster. All useless prisoners were put to death; but the young Count de Nevers, and a score other princes and barons of France, were held by Bayezid to ransom. After a long and painful captivity the survivors obtained their liberty for 200,000 florins. But, while this immense sum and the costs of the negotiations and embassies, as well as the means for the prisoners’ return home in a manner befitting their high estate, were laboriously raised by extraordinary taxes levied by the Duke of Burgundy upon all towns under his obedience, and more especially upon those of Flanders—Ghent, Bruges, Mechlin, and Antwerp—the merchants of Genoa showed their enterprising genius, no less than their prosperity, by giving prompt security to the Sultan for five times the amount stipulated. Lastly, when the French lords, on their arrival at Venice, found themselves hardly able to defray the expenses of their sojourn in “one of the dearest towns in the world for strangers,” as Sir John sensibly observes, they met with scant courtesy at the hands of the Venetians. The King of Hungary, though the revenues of his realm were “ruined for this and the ensuing year,” volunteered to assist the princes by “offering for sale to the rulers of Venice the rents he received from that town, which amounted to 7000 ducats yearly”; but the Venetians, on hearing of the proposal, “coldly replied that they would consider the matter,” and after a fortnight’s consideration answered, “as I was told by one who heard it,” that “if the King of Hungary was disposed to sell his whole kingdom, the Venetians would willingly make the purchase, and pay the money down; but as for such a trifle as 7000 ducats of yearly revenue, which he possessed in the city of Venice, it was of so little value that they could not set a price on it either to buy or sell, and that they would not trouble themselves about so small an object.”

The narrative brings into vivid, if somewhat unpleasant, prominence the contrast between the Italians and their neighbours over the Alps: their wealth, their pride, their eagerness to draw profit from other people’s enthusiasms, and their utter want of interest in the questions which agitated so deeply the rest of mediaeval Christendom. The sons of Italy were too much engrossed in the affairs of this world to make any sacrifices to the next. Already sensuous bliss was all the bliss they knew or cared for. Undistracted by celestial chimeras, they would gladly have exchanged all the dreams of eternity for one day’s enjoyment of earthly realities. But, if their worldly prosperity and their practical wisdom made the Italians selfish, they also made them tolerant. To them the prejudice of feudalism was as unprofitable as its idealism.

The Jews reaped the fruit of Italian tolerance. By one of those wonderful paradoxes with which history loves to surprise the student, the people that had crucified Christ, the people that was held guilty of the sufferings of His disciples at the hands of the Pagans, the people that was execrated as a perpetual source of heresy, had from the first dwelt and prospered in the very city which had witnessed the most terrible of those sufferings, and which had early claimed to be revered as the capital of Christendom and the Supreme Court of orthodoxy. While their brethren in France, Germany, and England underwent martyrdom, the Jews of Rome enjoyed comparative, if not uninterrupted, peace. The fury of the Crusades, which stained the waters of the Rhine and the Moselle with Hebrew blood, found no parallel on the banks of the Tiber. The calumnies which stirred up a tempest against the Jews in Norwich, aroused no responsive echo in Rome. The Bulls which doomed the “accursed people” to persecution in those distant realms remained unheeded in the very place where they were framed and signed. The Popes, who denounced and proscribed the “unclean and perfidious race” abroad, with few exceptions, cherished, protected, and trusted individual members of it at home.

♦1162–1165♦

Pope Alexander III., the great antagonist of the German Emperor Frederick Barbarossa and of Henry II. of England, had a Jewish Minister of Finance, or treasurer of the household, and on his return to Rome, after his voluntary exile in France, he was met by a jubilant procession of Jewish Rabbis. The Roman Jews were not subject to any special tax, nor was their evidence against Christians considered invalid. Even greater was the liberty enjoyed by the Jews of Southern Italy and Sicily, where they chiefly abounded. The Norman Kings confirmed to them the ancient privilege of trial according to their own laws. ♦1198–1250♦ In Sicily, under Frederick II., there were Jewish administrators and Jewish landowners. A favourite minister of King Roger of Sicily frequented the Jewish synagogues and contributed to the expenses of the Jewish community. Broadly speaking, until the end of the fifteenth century, such ill-feeling as existed towards the Jews in Italy proceeded entirely from their own aloofness and eccentricity, and was in no way fostered by priests or pontiffs. Nothing is more eloquent of the general prosperity of the Italian Jews in those days than the silence of history concerning any religious activity amongst them.

Besides the absence of ecclesiastical fanaticism, there were other reasons to account for the Jew’s normal immunity from persecution in mediaeval Italy. The Italians had no cause to envy the Jew his commercial success. In Italy the sons of Israel found keen competitors in the native Christians. The financial genius of the Florentine and the Venetian was more than a match for that of the Jew. The Italians, therefore, did not exclude the Jews from their municipal and industrial organizations, but, by making the entrance to their Guilds less difficult for non-Christians, enabled the latter to engage in various trades elsewhere closed to them. Nor was the Holy See strong enough to ban usury in Italy and to fan the superstitious antipathy towards money-lenders as it did in other countries. Among the Italians the interests of the market counted for more than the interests of the Church, and canonical prohibitions were easily set at naught for the sake of convenience. Furthermore, the division of the peninsula into a number of States politically sundered, and often hostile to each other, but geographically connected, enabled the Jews to seek refuge in one place from persecution in another, and as soon as the tempest was over to return to their homes.

For all these reasons we find the relations between Jews and Christians in Italy more cordial than in any other part of mediaeval Europe. The foreign origin and foreign connections of the Jew, far from being a source of prejudice, proved an attraction to the educated Italian. It is easy to imagine those old schoolmen, with their alert curiosity and unquenchable thirst for knowledge—in an age when books were rare, travel perilous, and all that was distant in space or time a desert, dimly known or utterly unknown—eagerly seizing at every chance of enlarging their mental horizon and of enriching their intellectual stores. A chance of this kind offered itself in the Jewish Rabbis, physicians, and scholars, and the Italians did not neglect it. Friendships between learned Hebrews and Christian divines were not uncommon.[75] In the tenth century we hear of a Jewish doctor Donnolo being on intimate terms with the Lord Abbot Nilus. One of the fruits of such friendships was the indirect transmission to the West of a few rays of Hellenic light long before the dawn of the Renaissance, through translations of the Arabic versions of the Greek classics into Hebrew, and from Hebrew into Latin. The most illustrious of these literary connections between followers of the new and the old Hebrew prophet was the tender affection which, towards the end of the thirteenth century, bound Immanuel, “the Heine of the Middle Ages,” with Dante, the poet of old Catholicism, and the embodiment of all that was true and pure and truly noble in mediaeval Christianity. The two friends must have formed a pair of extraordinary incongruity. Dante, grand, stern, and sombre, couching the gloomiest conceptions in the light and graceful language of Italy; Immanuel, witty and caustic, venting his frolicsome sarcasms in the solemn tongue of the Hebrew prophets. The contrast is brought home to us with almost deliberate vividness by the works of the two friends. They both wrote visits to the land of the dead. Dante’s is a tragedy; Immanuel’s a satirical comedy—almost a parody. But in one respect the Jew shows himself superior to the Christian. His paradise includes the great shades of the pagan world.