Читать книгу Sketches of Imposture, Deception, and Credulity - R. A. Davenport - Страница 6

Table of Contents

Account of Pope Joan—Artifice of Pope Sextus V.—Some Christian Ceremonies borrowed from the Jews and Pagans—Melting of the Blood of St. Januarius—Addison’s opinion of it—Description of the Performance of the Miracle—Miraculous Image of our Saviour at Rome—Ludicrous Metamorphosis of a Statue—Relics—Head of St. John the Baptist—Sword of Balaam—St. Ursula and the Eleven Thousand Virgins—Self-Tormenting—Penances of St. Dominic the Cuirassier—The Crusades—Their Cause and Progress, and the immense numbers engaged in them.

There appears to have been, on the one hand, an extensive belief in the existence of a female Pope Joan, while, on the other, many eminent writers have been anxious to relieve the papal chair of such a scandal.

By the believers in her existence, Joan is affirmed to have worn the tiara between Leo IV. who died 855, and Benedict III. who died 858. Anastatius the library keeper, in that age, does not appear to have made mention of this she-pope; but Marianus Scotus observes, under the year 855, that, Joan a woman, succeeded Leo IV. during two years five months and four days.

Joan, whose original name, we are told, was Gilberta, is said to have been a native of Mentz, in Germany, and to have received an excellent education. Falling in love with a young Englishman, a monk at Fulda, she assumed male attire to obtain admittance into the monastery where he resided. They subsequently eloped, and travelled through many countries.

Their time, however, was not wholly devoted to “love and love’s disport;” for they are said to have omitted no opportunity of acquiring knowledge, and, among other places, to have studied at Athens. Her lover having died, she repaired to Rome, still disguised as a man: she was extremely witty, and had a graceful way of arguing at disputations and public lessons; so that many were equally surprised at her learning, and delighted by her manner. She gained such friendship and goodwill, that, after the death of Leo, she was chosen Pope, and performed all the acts and ceremonies popes are wont to do.

Whilst she was Pope, she became pregnant by one of her chaplains; and as she was going in solemn procession to the Church of the Lateran, she was delivered, in the midst of the city, in the great square, and in the presence of all the people. She died on the spot, and was buried without papal pomp, or any of the usual honours. Her sudden death was said by some to be a judgment for her crime; and it was added, that, by a divine notification sent down to her, she had the choice of undergoing such a public exposure here, and obtaining pardon hereafter, or passing through life tranquilly, and incurring a future dreadful responsibility.

It has been maintained by others that Pope John the Eighth manifesting much imbecility and cowardice, the people thought he should rather be called a woman than a man; thence arose the unfounded report, that a woman was in reality elected pope. The general belief, however, is, that the whole story is an utterly groundless fabrication.

Pope Sixtus the Fifth, when he first came to Rome, was constrained to beg alms, but, by his abilities, he at last raised himself to the Popedom. When he first aspired to that dignity, while he was yet a Cardinal, he counterfeited illness and old age for fifteen years. During the conclave which was assembled to create a Pope, he continually leaned on his crutch, and very frequently interrupted the sage deliberations of the conclave by a hollow cough and violent spitting. This scheme took so well that the Cardinals fell into the trap; and every one thinking that, by electing Sixtus, he might himself stand a chance of being in a short time elected, he was unanimously chosen. As soon as the election was concluded, the new Pope performed a miracle; his legs became vigorous, his body, that had been before curved, became firm and erect, his cough was dissipated; and he showed, in a short time, of what he was capable.

It cannot be denied but that Christianity is adorned with the spoils of Judaism and Paganism: our best authors are of that opinion; among others Duchoul, at the end of his treatise concerning the religion of the old Romans, ingenuously owns the conformity there is between the ceremonies of the Christians and those of the Romans and Egyptians. Such being the case, it will not be thought extraordinary that many of the modern miracles, so famed in Italy, should be the identical prodigies of former times; for, in order to accelerate the conversion of the Gentiles, the first Popes found it necessary to dissemble, and to wink at many things, so as to effect a compromise between the original superstition and the modern creed.

The melting of the blood of St. Januarius, at Naples, when with great solemnity, it is applied to his head, on the day of his festival—whilst at other times it continues dry in the glass—is one of the standing and authentic miracles of Italy; yet Mr. Addison, who twice saw it performed, says that, instead of appearing to be a real miracle, he thought it one of the most bungling tricks he had ever seen, and believed it to be copied from a similar heathen miracle, the melting of the incense, without the help of fire, at Gnatia, as described by Horace in his journey to Brundusium:

Dum, flammâ sine, thura liquescere limine sacro

Persuadere cupit.

Another eye-witness to the same miracle, Dr. Duan, says, “he approached through the crowd till he got close to the bust of St. Januarius. The archbishop had been attempting to perform the miracle, and an old monk stood by, who was at the utmost pains to instruct him how to handle, chafe, and rub the bottle which contained the blood. He frequently, also, took it in his own hands, but his manœuvres were as ineffectual as those of the archbishop, who was all over in a profuse sweat with vexation and exertion, fearing lest the people might interpret so unpropitious an omen against him. The old monk, with a genuine expression of chagrin, exclaimed, ‘Cospetto di Bacco, e dura come una pietra.’[5] An universal gloom overspread the multitude. Some were in a rage at the saint’s obstinacy, and called his head an ungrateful yellow-faced rascal. It was now almost dark, and, when least expected, the signal was given that the miracle was performed. A Roman Catholic, who remained close by the archbishop, assured me this miracle failed altogether; the bottle was turned with a rapid motion before the eyes of the spectators, who would not contradict that which they were all expecting to see.”

An image of our Saviour is shown at Rome, which, some time before the sacking of that city, wept so heartily, that the good fathers of the monastery were all employed in wiping its face with cotton; thus following the example of the statue of Apollo, which, according to Livy, wept for three days and nights successively. This phenomenon resembles another, which is recorded respecting a statue of Orpheus, in Libethra, which was made of cypress wood. When Alexander the Great was on the point of setting out upon his expedition, various omens occurred; among them, this statue was in a profuse sweat for several days. Aristander, the soothsayer, gave a favourable interpretation to this apparent indication of fear, by saying it was emblematic of the labour the poets and historians would have to undergo, to celebrate the actions of the Macedonian monarch.

Mrs. Piozzi mentions a ludicrous metamorphosis of one statue at Rome. “A beautiful statue of Diana,” says she, “with her trussed up robes, the crescent alone wanting, stands on the high altar to receive homage in the character of St. Agnes, in a pretty church dedicated to her, (fuor della porte) where it is supposed she suffered martyrdom, and why? for not venerating that very goddess Diana, and for refusing to walk in her processions at the new moons. ‘Such contradictions put one from oneself,’ as Shakspeare saith.”

The incredible absurdities of some of the assertions made by the possessors of sacred relics, ought to have been sufficient, in the name of common sense, to convict them of imposture. What can be at once more ridiculous and irreligious than the following? The monastery of St. Benedict, in France, had for time immemorial been supposed to possess that invaluable relic, the head of John the Baptist. Many years since, however, the monastery of St. Francis overthrew their claim, by declaring, that in their dormitory they had discovered the genuine caput: and one of the friars testifying to its being the real head, in the most solemn manner asserted that when, in a holy fervour, he frequently kissed the lips, he found they still retained the flavour of locusts and wild honey. So strong a proof there was no withstanding; the claim of St. Francis was admitted, and established by the conclave. The recital of one forgery only recalls another, and it would be easy to recount well-authenticated tales, which would fill a volume. An exhibiter of holy relics showed with much veneration the sword with which Balaam smote the ass.[6] Being reminded that scripture only recorded Balaam’s wish for such a weapon, he adroitly replied, “Ay, and this is the sword he wished for.”

Those who have through motives of curiosity visited many of the shrines abroad may have remarked an incredulity often lurking about the countenances of the holy men who exhibit them: the bolder, indeed, will openly laugh, when questioned as to their own belief on these subjects.

The vulgar, however, have generally too much credulity to be sufficiently competent to judge of the truth or falsehood of what is set before them, and too many evidences still exist of their folly with regard to relics.

Cologne, on account of its numerous religious houses, relics, &c., was called the Holy City. The chapel of St. Ursula there became very famous for being the depository of her bones and those of the eleven thousand virgins, her companions, who came from England in a little boat to convert the Huns, who had taken possession of Cologne in 640, and who, unmoved by the sweet eloquence of so many virgins, quickly silenced their arguments by putting them all to death. Some doubt arose many years since, whether any country could have spared so many virgins: and a surgeon, somewhat of a wag, upon examination of the consecrated bones, declared that most of them were the bones of full-grown female mastiffs—for which discovery he was expelled the city.

The horrors of Hindoo penance may be thought equalled by the voluntary sufferings of some of the earlier saints in the calendar, when fanaticism and ignorant credulity went hand-in-hand. The most remarkable of these early fanatics was, perhaps, St. Dominic the Cuirassier, thus named from an iron cuirass which he wore next his skin, and which was never taken off, till it was necessary to replace it by a new one. Conceiving that he had incurred the guilt of simony, he not only refrained from performing mass, but resolved to do penance the rest of his life; the result of this determination is so well described in the pages of a leading periodical,[7] that it is transferred with slight condensation.

The first step towards this perpetual penance was, to enter into the congregation of Santa Croce Fonte Avellana, whose exercises were so rigorous that one of their amusements was to flog each other after the services. It was a general belief that the pains of purgatory might be mitigated by certain acts of penance and an indulgence from the Pope.

The monks of Santa Croce determined that thirty psalms, said or sung, with an obligato accompaniment of one hundred stripes to each psalm, making in all three thousand, would be received as a set off for one year’s purgatory: the whole psalter, with fifteen thousand stripes, would redeem five years from the vast crucible, and twenty psalters, with three hundred thousand stripes fairly entered, would be equal to a receipt in full for one hundred years.

This Dominic the Cuirassier, being very ambitious, tasked himself generally at ten psalters, and thirty thousand lashes a day, at which rate he would have redeemed three thousand six hundred and fifty years of purgatory per annum. In addition to this, however, he used to petition for a supplementary task of a hundred years. Being, as he hoped, already a creditor to a large amount in the angel’s books, and as no good works can be lost, he recited and lashed away for the benefit of the great sinking fund of the Catholic Church, with more spirit than ever. During one Lent he entreated for, and obtained, the imposition of a thousand years; and St. Pietro Damiano affirms that, in these forty days, he actually recited the psalter two hundred times, and inflicted sixty millions of stripes; working away with a scourge in each hand. In an heroic mood he once determined to flog himself, in the jockey phrase, against time, and at the end of twenty-four hours had gone through the psalms twelve times, and begun them the thirteenth, the quota of stripes being one hundred and eighty-three thousand, reducing purgatory stock sixty-one years, twelve days, and thirty-three minutes. It still remains to be proved, how he could recite verses and count lashes at the same time, or consistently have continued to wear his cuirass, which would have nullified the infliction of so many stripes.

There is no event in the history of the religious opinions of mankind more singular than that of the Crusades; every circumstance that tends to explain, or give any rational account of, this extraordinary frenzy of delusion in the human mind is interesting. In the account which follows, that which is given from the elegant pen of Dr. Robertson, in his Life of the Emperor Charles V. has been taken advantage of.

The Crusades, or expeditions to rescue the Holy Land out of the hands of Infidels, seemed to be the first event that roused Europe from the lethargy in which it had been long sunk, and that tended to introduce any considerable change in government, or in manners. It is natural to the human mind to view those places which have been distinguished by being the residence of any illustrious personage, or the scene of any great transaction, with some degree of delight and veneration. To this principle must be ascribed the superstitious devotion with which Christians, from the earliest ages of the church, were accustomed to visit that country, which the Almighty had selected as the inheritance of his favourite people, and in which the Son of God had accomplished the redemption of mankind.

As this distant pilgrimage could not be performed without considerable expense, fatigue, and danger, it appeared the more meritorious, and came to be considered as an expiation for almost every crime. An opinion which spread with rapidity over Europe, about the close of the tenth and beginning of the eleventh century, and which gained universal credit, wonderfully augmented the number of credulous pilgrims, and increased the ardour with which they undertook this useless voyage.

The thousand years, mentioned by St. John in the twentieth chapter of Revelations, were supposed to be accomplished, and the end of the world to be at hand. A general consternation seized mankind: many relinquished their possessions; and abandoning their friends and families, hurried with precipitation to the Holy Land, where they imagined that Christ would quickly appear to judge the world.

This belief was so universal, and so strong, that it mingled itself with civil transactions. Many charters, in the latter part of the tenth century, began in this manner: “Appropinquante mundi termino,” &c.—“as the end of the world is now at hand, and by various calamities and judgments the signs of its approach are now manifest.”

While Palestine continued subject to the caliphs, they had encouraged the resort of pilgrims to Jerusalem; and considered this as a beneficial species of commerce, which brought into their dominions gold and silver, and carried nothing out of them but relics and consecrated trinkets. But the Turks having conquered Syria, about the middle of the eleventh century, pilgrims were exposed to outrages of every kind from these fierce barbarians.

This change, happening precisely at the juncture when the panic terror above mentioned rendered pilgrimages most frequent, filled Europe with alarm and indignation. Every person who returned from Palestine related the dangers which he had encountered in visiting the holy city, and described with exaggeration the cruelty and vexations of the Turks.

When the minds of men were thus prepared, the zeal of a fanatical monk, who conceived the idea of leading all the forces of Christendom against the infidels, and of driving them out of the Holy Land by violence, was sufficient to give a beginning to that wild enterprise. Peter the Hermit, for that was the name of this martial apostle, ran from province to province, with a crucifix in his hand, exciting princes and people to this holy war, and wherever he came he kindled the same enthusiastic ardour for it with which he himself was animated. The council of Placentia, where upwards of thirty thousand persons were assembled, pronounced the scheme to have been suggested by the immediate inspiration of Heaven. In the council of Clermont, still more numerous, as soon as the measure was proposed, all cried out with one voice, “It is the will of God!” Persons of rank caught the contagion; not only the gallant nobles of that age, with their martial followers, whom we may suppose apt to be allured by the boldness of a romantic enterprise, but men in more humble and pacific stations in life, ecclesiastics of every order, and even women and children, engaged with emulation in an undertaking which was deemed meritorious and even sacred.

If we may believe the concurring testimony of contemporary authors, six millions of persons assumed the cross, which was the badge that distinguished such as devoted themselves to this holy warfare. All Europe, says the Princess Anna Comnena, torn up from the foundation, seemed ready to precipitate itself in one united body upon Asia. Nor did the fumes of this enthusiastic zeal evaporate at once: the frenzy was as lasting as it was extravagant. During two centuries Europe seems to have had no object but to recover, or keep possession, of the Holy Land, and through that period vast armies continued to march thither.

As Constantinople was the place of rendezvous for all the armies of the crusaders, this brought together the people of the East and West as to one great interview; and several authors, witnesses of this singular congress of people, formerly strangers, describe with simplicity and candour the impression which that new spectacle made upon their own minds.

The first efforts of valour, animated by enthusiasm, were irresistible; part of the Lesser Asia, all Syria, and Palestine, were wrested from the infidels; the banner of the cross was displayed on Mount Sion; Constantinople, the capital of the Christian empire in the East, was afterwards seized by a body of those adventurers who had taken arms against the Mahometans; and an Earl of Flanders and his descendants kept possession of the imperial throne during half a century. But, though the first impression of the crusaders was so unexpected that they made their conquests with comparative ease, they found infinite difficulty in preserving them. Establishments so distant from Europe, surrounded by warlike nations animated with fanatical zeal scarcely inferior to that of the crusaders themselves, were perpetually in danger of being overturned. Before the expiration of the thirteenth century the Christians were driven out of all their Asiatic possessions, in acquiring of which incredible numbers of men had perished, and immense sums of money had been wasted. The only common enterprise in which the European nations ever engaged, and which they all undertook with equal ardour, remains a singular monument of human folly.