“The others,” says the same council, speaking of the Greeks, “have chosen the custom of not shaving; they ground their choice upon the example of the Apostles Paul, and James the brother of the Lord, saying with reason, for nothing should be concealed, that the clergy, as the laity, ought to preserve on their faces this ornament of virility, as a dignity of the human condition, a dignity created by God himself, and with which he has been pleased to honour man alone. As to the clergy, they should be distinguished solely by the tonsure of the head. The Greeks add likewise, that our Lord of Nazareth always wore his beard.” By this session of the council of Limoges, no mention is made of the two councils which expressly forbid priests to cut off their beards, nor of the authority of the fathers and the Levitican law; this was to suit the circumstances: and the council concludes on this matter, that if the Greeks have nothing to reproach us with, we have nothing to reproach them with.[[62]] After this declaration, though it is quite contrary to the fundamental discipline of the Church, the reader will be greatly surprised to learn, that the very same year, 1031, by a canon of the council of Bourges, all the clergy were ordered to get themselves shaved;[[63]] nor will he be less so to find pope Gregory VII. (formerly friar Hildebrand, a shaved monk, a turbulent, ambitious man, and the declared enemy of emperors and kings,) firmly maintain, that a priest, who wore a long beard, was guilty of a high crime and misdemeanour against Christianity. This pope Gregory was a confounded shearer of beards: he called a council at Gironne in 1073, where the clergy were expressly forbidden to wear this mark of manhood.[[64]] A few years after, this tyrant of the beards having learned that the archbishop of Cagliary preserved his in all its length, he immediately ordered him to get himself shaved, and at the same time wrote (in 1080) to Orzoc, the podestate of the town, these orders ... “We therefore order your bishop, our brother, to have his beard shaved, like all the Western clergy, who have preserved this custom ever since the commencement of the Christian faith:[[65]] in consequence, we command you likewise to oblige all the clergy that are under your authority, to be shaved, and to confiscate the property of those who shall refuse to obey, to the profit of the Church of Cagliary: make use of severity, for fear lest this abuse should increase.”
[62]. Et hac in re neque illi nos, neque nos possumus reprehendere illos, &c. Concil. Lemovicense, anno 1031, sessio II, acta Concil. tom. vi.
[63]. Council of Bourges, canon 7.
[64]. Synodus Gerundensis, can. vii. Thæsorus anecdotorum.
[65]. Scilicet ut quemadmodum totius occidentalis Ecclesiæ Clerus, ab ipsis fidei christianæ primordiis, barbam radendi morem tenuit, &c. Greg. Papæ vii. Epist. lib. viii. ad Orzoc, judicem Calaritanum.
This letter, wholly founded upon illusion, and which so justly characterises its author, proclaims the approaching destruction of the little beard yet left on the chins of the Latin priests. It was at this time no doubt that those ordinances de radendis barbis, which we still read in several communities, were made; and in a little time the laymen were the only ones that could, without a crime, wear long beard; but it did not continue so long.
The German priests soon followed this example, which is proved by a fragment of a letter preserved in the new history of the Benedictines of Black Forest, where Sigefroy of Goetz complains grievously to Papon, the reformer, that the Germans were beginning to imitate the French in several effeminate customs, among others, that of cutting off their beards. In time, the priests saw with pain, that they were separated from other men by a mortifying distinction: what should they do to relieve their offended self-love? Let their beards grow out? The difficulty of ordering it, even sometime after it had been forbidden, did not hinder them; but the quarrel with the Greeks was yet too recent for the Latins to think of looking like those haughty, clearsighted enemies. In order that all might be upon a par, it was decided, that the laity should be shaved: this mean had a very plausible appearance, and it was decided to begin with the princes.
That of Henry I. king of England, was the premier victim of the conjuration. Serlon of Abond, bishop of Seez, undertook the conquest of this royal fleece. Easter-day, 1105, he preached before this prince and all his court: his sermon ran entirely on heads of hair and beards; he exclaimed particularly against the length of the latter, which, he maintained, was contrary to the spirit of the Christian religion: his vehement tone and persuasive eloquence moved all the audience. The king, penetrated with compunction, resolved to be the first to give the example of a sacrifice as holy and new as courageous: then the preacher, approaching Henry, drew out of his sleeve a pair of scissars, and piously sheared the prince’s chin. All the assembly, carried away by this act of religion, would fain imitate him, and the holy bishop became the shearer of the whole congregation. This strange farce, which was not the only one, would appear a fable, if father Mabillon did not very seriously relate the particulars of it in his Annals of the Benedictines.[[66]]
[66]. Moxque Episcopus, extractis è manicâ forficibus, primo Regem, post cæteros Optimates attondisse, &c. Annal. Benedict.
Some years after, Lewis the Young’s beard underwent the same fate. This prince having burnt three thousand five hundred Champenese, who had taken refuge in Vitry church,[[67]] was soon a prey to his stings of conscience. Peter Lombard, bishop of Paris,[[68]] assured him, that there was no more effectual way to expiate this crime, than to have his long beard cut off forthwith. The king clearly saw there was nothing more reasonable; and this pious bishop executed himself the function of barber to his majesty.