Curiosities of Christian History Prior to the Reformation

by James Paterson

Matthew Paris says that Robert, Bishop of Lincoln, died in 1253 at Buckdon, in the night of St. Denis’s day. During his life he had openly rebuked the Pope and the King; had corrected the prelates and reformed the monks; in him the priests lost a director, clerks an instructor, scholars a supporter. He had shown himself a persecutor of the incontinent, a careful examiner of the Scriptures, a despiser of the Romans. In the discharge of his Pontifical duties he was attentive, indefatigable, and worthy of veneration. That same night Faulkes, Bishop of London, then staying not far off, heard in the air above a wonderful and most agreeable kind of sound, the melody of which refreshed his ears and his heart and fixed his attention. It was a supernatural sound, like that of a great convent bell ringing a delightful tune in the air above. It at once struck the listener that his beloved and venerable brother of Lincoln was passing from this world to take his place in the kingdom of heaven, and this noise was a warning, for there was no convent near in which there was a bell of that sort and so loud. The Bishop of London inquired, and found out that at that very time the Bishop of Lincoln had departed from this world. This wonderful circumstance was told as a fact to Matthew Paris by Master John Cratchale, a confidential clerk to the bishop. On the same night also some brethren of the order of Minorites, in passing through the forest of Vauberge, having lost their way and wandering about, heard in the air sounds as of the ringing of bells, amongst which they clearly distinguished one bell of a most sweet tune, unlike anything they had ever heard before. This circumstance greatly excited their wonder, for they knew that there was no church of note near. Next morning at dawn, being directed by the foresters to the right road to Buckdon, and inquiring as they went about the reason of the solemn ringing of bells that had filled the air the night before, they were informed that at that very hour the Bishop of Lincoln had breathed forth his happy spirit.

A FOOL POSING THE THEOLOGIANS (A.D. 1284).

John of Peckham, about 1284, says that a fool was once in company with some theologians at Paris, and he asked them which was better—to do what a man knows, or to learn what he does not know. Thereupon the doctors argued together for and against, and the fool, listening to their altercations, looked on, waiting for their conclusion. At last their deliverance was, that it was better to do what a man already knows than to learn what he does not know, because, as says the apostle to the Romans, “For not the hearers of the law are just before God, but the doers of the law shall be justified.” And Isidorus in De Summo Bono says, “A zealous student will be more prompt to perform what he reads than to know, for it is a less sin not to know what you desire to know than not to perform what you do know.” Then said the fool, “You are all mad, for you are working day and night only to learn what you do not know, and you do not care to act up to anything you do know.”

A HERMIT FOR A POPE (A.D. 1294).

In 1294, after the cardinals had tried in vain for a year and a half to agree upon a Pope, and no one would give way to another, a sudden solution was found by their choosing a solitary monk named Peter of Morone, in the Neapolitan territory, then distinguished in the wilderness for his austerities. He seemed to outdo the famous anchorites of old. He wore haircloth with an iron cuirass, lived on bread and water and herbs. At the age of twenty, when he became an earnest monk, one day the Virgin and St. John both stood before him and chanted portions of the Psalter, and every night a celestial bell with sweetest tones aroused him to prayer. Angels often visited him, and showered roses on his head. God pointed out a great stone, under which he dug a hole in which he could neither stand nor stretch, but only crouch behind a grating, and the place abounded with lizards, serpents, and toads. Yet crowds came to see him, and hailed him as a kind of leader of a new brotherhood. Somehow a voice from heaven pointed out to the perplexed cardinals that here was a Pope ready to their hands, and he was fixed upon unanimously. A deputation went to his cell. They found he was an old man, with a long shaggy beard, sunken eyes, heavy brow, pale cheeks, and meagre limbs. But they fell on their knees before him. He thought it must be a dream. He protested he was unworthy and unfit. But the news spread, and the crowd increased and urged him on, and he could not but accept. He at first refused to put on the gorgeous Pontifical robes, but had to consent. He then went with them, riding on an ass, with a king on each side holding the bridle. Never was an election more popular, and he took the title of Celestine V. Two hundred thousand people crowded the streets as he approached, and he had to show himself now and then on a balcony and give his benediction. After a few months the cardinals, kings, and nobles began to think that this Pope was not to be a success. He was incapable of business. He lavished his dignities and offices, and was easily duped. He became weary of his burden. He contrived to make a cell in the palace, which shut out the sky. But this was not enough. He wanted to abdicate. This at first was thought impossible and illegal. But he did abdicate, and at once went off to his old hermitage. It was the first instance of an abdication, and all agreed that nothing became him so well as the leaving of the high office a few months after having entered upon it. All the other hermits praised this last act as one of transcendent humility enhancing his glory.

PHILIP THE FAIR RETALIATING ON THE POPE (A.D. 1303).

When Philip IV. of France offended the Pope, the latter harangued his council and boasted that, as his predecessors had already deposed three kings of France, he would depose Philip like a groom. The act was done in 1303. Two supporters of the King, William of Nogaret and Sciarra Colonna, with three hundred horsemen and infantry, made their way to Anagni, where Pope Boniface VIII. then was, and beset his palace, and after a short truce set fire to the doors of the church adjacent and made their way through the flames; and the crash so alarmed the Pope that he felt his hour was come, and resolved that he would die with dignity. He put on the Papal mantle and the imperial crown of Constantine, and sat on the throne with the pastoral cross in one hand and with the keys of St. Peter in the other. The assailants, though at first awed at this sight, dragged him from the throne, struck him on the face, and forced him to parade through the town on a vicious horse, with his face to the tail. A rescue party, however, surprised the guard, and carried the Pope to the market-place, where, famishing with hunger, his wants were supplied by willing hands, and he was sufficiently restored to pronounce absolution on all but the plunderers of the church. He was then conveyed by his friends to Rome, where a frenzy fever overcame him, and he was put under restraint, dying very soon at the age of eighty-two. Some say he was poisoned; others that he refused food, and like a mad dog bit his own flesh; others that he was found with the bedclothes stuffed in his throat, and his staff lying as if it had been gnawed by him in his rage. The saying was that “he entered like a fox, reigned like a lion, and died like a dog.”

A POPE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY (A.D. 1300).

Boniface VIII., at the beginning of the fourteenth century, carried Papal absolution and worldliness to its highest point. After procuring his predecessor Celestine V. to abdicate and be imprisoned and then taken off by poison, he saw a great advantage in the ushering in of 1300 as a means of satisfying his cupidity. He circulated an address that all persons visiting St. Peter’s on January 1st, 1300, would obtain an extraordinary indulgence. Crowds flocked and left their offerings. Then he issued a bull offering the fullest indulgence to all who visited the cathedral at Easter, on the condition that they truly repented and confessed their sins. Attracted by his bull, multitudes repented and were allowed to see the handkerchief of St. Veronica, as many as two hundred thousand a day. The gain to the Church was vast. This Pope persecuted his enemies with uncommon zeal. He managed to ruin the powerful family of Colonna, which had opposed his election, demolishing their castles and confiscating their estates. Philip the Fair, King of France, his equal in avarice and ambition, had taxed the clergy, and a bull was issued excommunicating all princes and nobles who dared to demand tribute from the clergy, to which Philip replied with defiance, and sent a troop to arrest the Pope, which was done, as already narrated. The mob, after a few days, at last pitied his Holiness, and turned against the French, who retired. The excitement, however, threw him into a fever, and then into insanity, in which state he died. The Florentine historian recognised the judgments of God in thus punishing a Pope who was so worldly, and further in punishing such a king as was the instrument in the hands of Providence. King Philip made a tool of his own the next Pope, and kept him in France, and in 1309 began the seventy years’ residence of the Popes in Avignon, while they lived in a state of servility to France.