THE SIXTH CRUSADE.
CHAPTER XLI.
FREDERICK II. AND POPE GREGORY IX.
Seven years elapsed before another attempt worthy of record was made for the recapture of Palestine. Frederick II. (Hohenstaufen) of Germany was its leader; hero it had none.
Frederick was one of the ablest men of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, though not meriting the title given him by an English chronicler, “the Wonder of the World.” The grandson of Frederick Barbarossa, son of Henry IV. and Constance of Sicily, he united in his person the strongest traits of German and Italian stock. Born in 1194, at two years of age he was elected king of the Romans, and in his fourth year was crowned King of Sicily. Pope Innocent III. was the guardian of his childhood, and well discharged his duty, if the rare education of Frederick may be taken as evidence. The royal youth mastered Latin, Greek, French, German, and knew something of Arabic and Hebrew; he was creditably versed in Saracenic science and arts, as well as in Christian philosophy and scholasticism; he wrote well on the habits of birds, and shared with the Troubadours the joys of the poet’s art; he endowed universities, patronized painters, and encouraged architects. In government he deserves to rank among the empire-builders, for in a narrow age he extended the scope of law for the toleration of Jews and Mohammedans, for the emancipation of peasants from undue oppression at the hands of the upper classes, and for the enlargement of international commerce almost to the line of the modern theory of free trade. His liberality towards Moslems brought him the accusation of harboring in his heart a secret infidelity, which his severity with the Christian schismatics could not entirely dispel.
At the age of eighteen Frederick entered into contest for the imperial throne of Germany, and in 1215, at the age of twenty-one, won the crown of Charlemagne. In order to accomplish this grand object, he had, as a first step, secured the alliance of the Pope. This he did by pledging, among other things, to lead a crusade; but the pressing emergencies of his new crown caused delay from year to year. In 1225 he married Iolante, the daughter of John of Brienne, King of Jerusalem. He at once asserted that John held his crown only in virtue of being the husband of Queen Mary, and this lady having died, her daughter, Iolante, was lawful sovereign. Thus by marriage he annexed to his German title that of King of Jerusalem, and was looked to by all for the defence of his new dominion. But two years later (1227) he was still too busy unravelling European complications to absent himself in the distant East.
In this year Gregory IX. ascended the papal throne. While this Pope still retained the faculties and ambition of youth, he had developed also the obstinacy and petulance of old age. By his unwise dealing with the German emperor, and the impolitic assertion of his own capricious will as of divine authority, he may be said to have started the decadence of the papal throne, which in another generation was destined to lose the prestige of the Hildebrandian policy and all prospect of becoming the world monarchy.
On the day of his accession to power Gregory IX. issued a proclamation for all the sovereigns of Christendom to unite in a new crusade, and openly threatened Frederick with his ecclesiastical vengeance if he longer postponed the fulfilment of his vow. He accused the emperor’s delay with being due to luxury, if not sensuality, in living. The former charge probably had in it a measure of truth, for Frederick’s court at Palermo, where he spent more time than in his northern capital, was the centre of gayety, not only among the Christians, but to a certain extent for Mohammedans. Many of the fairest women of Asia and North Africa graced his salons. It might also be imagined of Frederick that his faith was not of that intense and credulous nature which foresaw a heavenly crown awaiting his exploits in the Holy Land. Equally detrimental to his repute for crusading zeal were the courtesies he was exchanging with Malek-Kamel, Sultan of Egypt. It was even rumored that he had made alliance with this sultan, pledging help against the rival Sultan of Damascus, on condition of the restoration of Jerusalem.
But the sincerity of Frederick was proved by the gathering of his fleets and the massing of his armaments at Otranto. The fame of his leadership attracted the noblest of Germany. Among them was Ludwig, Landgrave of Thuringia, noted for having won the hand of Elizabeth, daughter of Andrew II. of Hungary, who in her girlhood had attained renown for her asceticism and charities, and died (1231) at the age of twenty-four, to be canonized as the fairest saint of the middle ages. From distant England many came at Frederick’s call, and further impelled by visions of the Saviour on the cross of fire which appeared in that northern sky.
The season was intensely hot, and gendered a fever fatal to the crusaders who were gathered in southern Italy. Among its victims was Ludwig, leaving his faithful spouse to keep his memory revered by her refusal to marry any one of the numerous kings who were attracted to her feet. Many bishops and thousands of pilgrims succumbed to this plague. Frederick sailed, but only to return in three days, seeking hospital in Otranto.
Pope Gregory IX. fulminated against Frederick all the terrors of his personal scorn and ecclesiastical vengeance. From his pulpit he pictured him “breaking all his promises, bursting every bond, trampling underfoot the fear of God, despising all reverence for Jesus Christ, scorning the censures of the church, deserting the Christian army, abandoning the Holy Land to unbelievers, to his own disgrace and that of all Christendom withdrawing to the luxury and wonted delights of his kingdom, and seeking to palliate his offence by frivolous excuses of simulated sickness.” Then, while the cathedral bells were clanging a demoniacal accompaniment to what was transpiring beneath them, the clergy stood with lighted torches around the altar. Gregory invoked the eternal curse of God upon his imperial victim. The clergy dashed their torches and extinguished them upon the floor, in token of the “blackness of darkness forever” which should settle upon the emperor’s soul.