Joachim de Fiore

In a message for the World Day of Creation (27 June, 2024), Pope Francis said of Joachim de Fiore that he  "was able to propose the ideal of a new spirit" and that this was a turning point in history. And Rick Searle, author of the Utopia or Dystopia blog, called him "The Man Who Invented the Future" in a 2015 post. These are extraordinary 21st century statements about a little-known 12th century monk. So who was Joachim de Fiore?

He was born in Calabria c.1135 to a good family who made sure he was educated to become a clerk of the courts and then follow his father's footsteps and become a notary.

On a pilgrimage to the Holy Land c.1159 he experienced a spiritual conversion that made him turn away from a worldly life. On his return to Calabria, he became a hermit, wandering and preaching for several years although he did not join an order. Lay preaching was not always an acceptable practice to church authorities, who pressured him to "form Alize" his actions by joining the monks of the Abbey of Corazzo, where he was ordained c.1168. He began studying Scripture intently, certain that there was meaning hidden there that had not yet been revealed or understood. He was especially concerned with the apostle John's book of Revelation.

Around this time he had become a counselor to Margaret of Navarre, mother and regent for the underage William II of Sicily, where he probably met Peter of Blois.

About 1177 the monks of Corazzo, impressed by his scholarship and piety, made him their abbot, a responsibility and authority which he did not crave. In 1182, after trying and failing to join Corazzo to the Cistercian Order because of Corazzo's poverty, and convincing William II of Sicily to grant Corazzo some lands, he got permission from Pope Lucius III to step down as abbot and find another home. Joachim went to the Abbey of Casamari, which had recently changed from Benedictine to the more strict Cistercian Order. There he wrote three books: The Harmony of the New and Old Testaments, Exposition of Apocalypse, and the Psaltery of Ten Strings.

He was one of those rare people in this era who was writing things people had not said before, but did not get declared heretical. Lucius III and succeeding popes approved of what he was saying, and his fame spread. Constance the Empress of Sicily invited him to hear her confession, and left her raised chair to sit on the ground when he pointed out the need to humble herself. Richard the Lionheart met with him prior to the Third Crusade to get advice. The Spirituals of the Franciscans declared him a prophet (which Joachim denied).

In 1200 he submitted all of his writing to Pope Innocent III for examination and approval. Sadly, he died in 1202 before the results and before he could finish his final book, Tract on the Four Gospels, but his works were copied and distributed widely.

What was it that he wrote that created such an impact that, 800 years later, a pope would call his work a turning point and a scholar would call him the man who invented the future? I'll go. explain that tomorrow, but leave you with this teaser: by "future" Searle did not mean he predicted what things would be like in the future. Searle meant that Joachim invented the concept of the future. Stay tuned.

Itinerary Through Wales

Gerald of Wales (c.1146 - c.1223) provided us with extensive information on Ireland and Wales and England of his time. Serving several Plantagenet kings, he traveled in their service and wrote about what he saw and was told. Two of his several works were the Descriptio Cambriae ("Description of Wales") and the Itinerarium Cambriae ("Itinerary Through Wales"). He claims fairness in his treatment of the subject of his homeland, splitting the Descriptio into two parts, first the virtues of the Welsh, then their vices.

His writing for the Itinerarium through Wales is also better informed than his Topographia of Ireland, since he spent a little time in only a few Irish locations and gathered stories from men he deemed "reliable." He was more familiar with Wales, and he did in fact have an itinerary (see the illustration).

This tour took place while he was accompanying the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1188, preaching to raise a Third Crusade. Gerald writes the Itinerarium almost like a daily journal, recording sights and experiences as he came across them, so it is a more reliable account of day-to-day life in Wales in the last years of the 12th century, and the remnants of Roman Britain:

We went through Caerleon, passing far away on our left Monmouth Castle and the great Forest of Dean, which is across the Wye, but still on this side of the Severn, and which supplies Gloucester with venison and iron ore. We spent the night in Newport. We had to cross the River Usk three times. 

Caerleon is the modern name of the City of the Legions. In Welsh ‘caer’ means a city or encampment. The legions sent to this island by the Romans had the habit of wintering in this spot, and so it came to be called the City of the Legions. Caerleon is of unquestioned antiquity. It was constructed with great care by the Romans, the walls being built of brick. 

You can still see many vestiges of its one-time splendour. There are immense palaces, which, with the gilded gables of their roofs, once rivalled the magnificence of ancient Rome. They were set up in the first place by some of the most eminent men of the Roman state, and they were therefore embellished with every architectural conceit. There is a lofty tower, and beside it remarkable hot baths, the remains of temples and an amphitheatre. 

All this is enclosed within impressive walls, parts of which still remain standing. Wherever you look, both within and without the circuit of these walls, you can see constructions dug deep into the earth, conduits for water, underground passages and air-vents. Most remarkable of all to my mind are the stoves, which once transmitted heat through narrow pipes inserted in the side-walls and which are built with extraordinary skill. [Chapter 5]

But then comes the less reliable (but no less interesting) detail (especially since he says "in our days"):

It is worth relating that in our days there lived in the neighbourhood of this City of the Legions a certain Welshman called Meilyr who could explain the occult and foretell the future. He acquired his skill in the following way. One evening, and, to be precise, it was Palm Sunday, he happened to meet a girl whom he had loved for a long time. She was very beautiful, the spot was an attractive one, and it seemed too good an opportunity to be missed. 

He was enjoying himself in her arms and tasting her delights, when suddenly, instead of the beautiful girl, he found in his embrace a hairy creature, rough and shaggy, and, indeed, repulsive beyond words. As he stared at the monster his wits deserted him and he became quite mad. He remained in this condition for many years. Eventually he recovered his health in the church of St David’s, thanks to the virtues of the saintly men of that place. 

All the same, he retained a very close and most remarkable familiarity with unclean spirits, being able to see them, recognizing them, talking to them and calling them each by his own name, so that with their help he could often prophesy the future.

The story does not end there. He offered numerous instances of Meilyr's ability to see and speak to devils and demons and learn things from them.

Despite the more fanciful anecdotes, as a record of daily life among the Welsh and Normans, it is a valuable account for modern historians.

As I mentioned, he served several Plantagenets, and we'll take a look at what he thought of Henry II and his sons before we move on. See you tomorrow.

The End of Barbarossa

You are Frederick I, offspring of two of Germany's most powerful families. As a young man, you went on Crusade and distinguished yourself in battle. You become King of Germany and King of Italy. As Holy Roman Emperor, you attempt to re-establish the extent of the Roman Empire. Your help is requested for a Third Crusade, "the most meticulously planned and organized" of any Crusade up until then. The approach of your army so unnerves Saladin that he divides his forces, currently trying to lift the Siege of Acre imposed by Richard Lionheart of England.

Meanwhile, your forces proceed through the Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia, reaching the Saleph River (now called the Göksu in Turkey on a plateau in the Taurus Mountains). The army is sent along a mountain path, while you decide on a shortcut advised by the locals: simply cross the river on your horse.

Holy Roman Emperor Frederick I, called Barbarossa, drowned in the Saleph on 10 June 1190.

Accounts vary. A biography written within a few years of Frederick's death says he chose to swim the river—possible, but he was 68 years old at the time—and was swept away. A churchman who was with the Crusade says it was a simple swim to refresh himself, but the old man encountered an unexpected current (illustrated in a manuscript of the Saxon Chronicle above). Another says he was thrown from his horse and weighed down by his armor. A contemporary chronicler claims God saved them from an evil man by drowning him in shallow water while the emperor was washing himself.

Whatever the case, the body was subjected to mos Teutonicus, thousands of German soldiers abandoned the Crusade and went home, and Philip of France took the rest to the Holy land where he shared command of the Crusade with Richard I of England, with whom he was not on friendly terms.

Frederick's reputation was such that he is one of those characters who passed into legend, specifically that he is not dead but lies sleeping (like Arthur, with attendants) until such time as his country needs him, either in the Kyffhäuser Mountains in Thuringia or Untersberg. The signal for his revival will be the disappearance of ravens flying around the mountain. His red beard continues to grow, his eyes are only half-shut, and occasionally his hand raises, signaling a boy to go outside and see if the ravens are still flying.

Germany never lost its interest in Barbarossa. The Kyffhäuser Monument (also called Barbarossa Monument) was erected on the anniversary of Frederick's coronation in 1896 to commemorate him and Kaiser Wilhelm I, who was declared the reincarnation of Barbarossa. Hitler named his invasion of the Soviet Union "Operation Barbarossa," although originally called "Operation Otto" after Otto the Great.

These recent posts have, of course, told barely one percent of the extensive accomplishments of Barbarossa. Tomorrow I want to dip into one of his other actions: the revival of the Roman Justinian Code.

Starting the Third Crusade

Personalities and politics prevent progress. When Barbarossa received letters from the Holy Land asking for help in fighting Muslims, he refused because of a dispute he was having with the Archbishop Philip of Cologne.

The conflict was not unique to them. We saw it when Charlemagne was first crowned on Christmas Day 800, during the Investiture Controversy, and with Becket, to name just a few turbulent times in European history. Who had ultimate authority, pope or emperor? Philip of Cologne had plenty of authority as archbishop, with money flowing to him through the feudal system.

He wanted more, however, and started buying up the lands of his vassals and selling them to others for profit. His fiefdom was held from the emperor, Frederick I Barbarossa; in fact, his was the largest feudal territory under Frederick. Philip never openly challenged Frederick, but his growing economic power and control over land was a cause for concern. Frederick also annoyed Philip by giving market privileges to the cities of Aachen and Duisburg that would have cut into the economic power of Cologne. This "Cold War" made Frederick reluctant to leave for the Middle East for the length of time a Crusade would take.

Fortunately, the two made peace with each other on 27 March 1188 after a council in Mainz. Philip pledged his support of Frederick, and Frederick "took up the Cross." But that led to another issue for Frederick: in 1175, Frederick had made an alliance with Saladin. Now Frederick had to send a message to Saladin, informing him that their alliance was over.

There was another problem, faced by all Crusades: how to finance it? As have many European rulers over centuries, Frederick turned to the Jews. "Crusade fever" more often than not led to persecution of any non-Christian, and the Jews had suffered massacres connected to the First and Second Crusades. On the eve of Frederick's reconciliation with Philip, the Jews of Mainz were being threatened by a mob. Frederick sent Marshal Henry of Malden to disperse the mob, after which the chief rabbi met with Frederick. An imperial edict followed, threatening equal punishment for anyone who maimed or killed a Jew. Frederick also partially financed the Crusade by a tax on the Jews of Germany.

Sadly for Frederick, he would not survive the Crusade. We will see his end tomorrow.

Barbarossa!

Born about 1122-23, Frederick (Friedrich) was born in France to the Duke of Swabia. He grew up learning the noble arts of hunting and riding and martial activity, but not the less-necessary arts of reading and writing.

In 1147, as his father lay dying, Frederick decided to accompany his uncle, Conrad III (who was King of Germany) on the Second Crusade. Frederick's father was angry at his brother for taking Frederick away when soon the Duke's widow would need support. The Duke died in the first week of April, and (now Duke) Frederick departed on Crusade at the end of May.

A few months later, Frederick was "tested" by his uncle. A Crusader was robbed and killed in a monastery outside Adrianople in Turkey, and Conrad ordered Frederick to avenge the death. Frederick destroyed the monastery and killed the perpetrators. His military training served him well on Crusade, and he was noted for being victorious "before all others," even though the Crusade itself failed.

In 1152, Conrad died, and the only two people at his deathbed—Frederick and the bishop of Bamberg—agreed that he wished Frederick to be named king, rather than Conrad's own son (who was only six years old at the time). A few days after being crowned King of the Germans, Frederick was crowned "King of the Romans," a title used to by kings of Germany from 1002CE onward to denote they considered themselves Holy Roman Emperor. 

He made it his goal to truly restore the wide-reaching boundaries enjoyed by Charlemagne, and the first step was to unite all the various princes of territories in German lands, and then to extend his authority to Italy. After making concessions in Germany to get everyone on his side, he began a total of six expeditions to Italy, beginning with Sicily, under Norman control by King William I of Sicily. From 1154 until the 1170s, he managed to conquer parts of Italy, but stirred up a great deal of anti-German sentiment and rebellion. An alliance with Constantinople helped the Italian city-states in northern Italy to defeat Frederick, a shock to Europe. It was his time in Italy that gave him the nickname Barbarossa, which means "red beard" in Italian. This nickname became so entwined with his career that it was carried back to Germany, where he was referred to some times as Kaiser Rotbart, "Emperor Red Beard."

In 1187, the aging emperor received letters from the European rulers in some Crusader states in the East to come to their aid. Frederick declined to join this Third Crusade, and urged Philip II of France to go, but later changed his mind and chose to "take up the cross."

This change of heart regarding the Third Crusade involved the Archbishop of Cologne and the Jews of Strasbourg, which I will explain next time.

To Cook a King

Yesterday we discussed the problem of decay when a corpse had to be transported over a long distance. A medieval historian named Boncompagno coined the term mos Teutonicus ("German custom") to describe how Germans dealt with death of an aristocrat on Crusade.

The ultimate goal was to have a complete skeleton to take home and bury. The first step was to remove the entrails. Internal organs were not going to be preserved, and not considered an important part of the ultimate result, so they would be buried. Often, however, the heart would be carefully saved.

Then the body hd to be "de-fleshed." The most efficient way to do this (with minimal handling of the corpse) was to boil it. As Boncompagno wrote:

The Germans remove the intestines from the corpses of high-ranking men when they die in foreign countries, and let the rest boil in cauldrons until all the meat, tendons and cartilage are separated from the bones. These bones, washed in fragrant wine and sprinkled with spices, are then taken back to their homeland.

The boiling process would take hours. Now, the likelihood of having a cauldron large enough for the body seems dubious. On the other hand, an enormous retinue of nobles and their households making a long journey would have equipment for feeding a lot of people. It is possible that there were copper tubs for heating water/cooking that could accommodate an adult corpse. In the case of Frederick I Barbarossa who drowned during the Third Crusade in 1190, however, the report is that he was cut up and cooked. In 1167, he had ordered the same for several bishops and princes who were with him during his conquest of Rome and died from dysentery, delivering their bones to their respective homes.

Modern science has taken an interest in this practice: the bones of Emperor Lothar III were said to be the end result of mos Teutonicus after he died crossing the Alps in 1137. Scientific analysis of the breakdown of amino acids suggests that they were boiled for six hours. Modern forensic analysis has likewise taken advantage of remains that were preserved by methods other than putting them in the ground where they could thoroughly decompose. Richard I Lionheart's heart was preserved and sent to Notre Dame. It has been confirmed to 1) be a heart, and 2) have been embalmed with myrtle, daisy, mint, and frankincense, giving clues to medieval embalming preservation techniques.

The Church looked down on mos Teutonicus, as did other nations. The French much preferred taking the time and effort to embalm the body. The English were fine with dividing body parts, such as sending the heart to a separate place for sentimental reasons. The Church wanted the entire body intact for resurrection at the final trump. Pope Boniface VIII issued a papal bull in 1299 (re-issued in 1300, in case they weren't listening the first time) condemning the practice of separating the body.

(Later years have ignored this bull. Keeping a memento—sometimes grisly—of a loved one is not uncommon. Napolean's heart was given to Josephine, Chopin's heart was put in a crystal jar, Thomas Hardy's heart—what was left after being cut out and partially eaten by a cat—was to be buried in Stanford, Dorset. Mary Shelley supposedly had Percy Shelley's heart in a box; I say "supposedly" because the lump saved from his cremation could have been anything; the eyewitness who grabbed it, burning his hand in the process, said it was the heart. It's more poetic that way.)

As often happens, I have discovered in relating all the above that I have mentioned Frederick I Barbarossa more than once in the history of this blog without every going into detail about who he was. Tomorrow I will correct that oversight. Until then...

The Angevin Collapse

The Angevin Empire begun by King Henry II of England started to crumble after Henry's son and successor, Richard the Lionheart, died in 1199. The next heir should be the eldest son of Richard's brother, Geoffrey of Brittany. That would be Duke Arthur. Unfortunately, in the tradition of King Stephen I and King Henry I, someone else ignored the proper succession and raced to seize the throne and the treasury. That would be Richard's younger brother, John.

This should not have been a surprise. John had rebelled unsuccessfully against Richard's administration while Richard was on the Third Crusade. In the present case, the loss of Richard created an opportunity for Philip II of France to take some of England's possessions on the continent, Évreux and the Vexin. The nobles of Anjou, Maine, and Touraine supported Arthur. John did, however, have the support of Aquitaine and Poitou thanks to his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, as well as Normandy. After being declared Duke of Normandy, he sailed to England where he was crowned in Westminster on 27 May.

Although England was largely secure, possessions in France were constantly the target of Philip II. John was forced into treaties with Philip in order to stop the hostilities. The Treaty of Le Goulet in 1200 saw John paying Philip 20,000 marks, giving up lands in Auvergne and Berry, giving up on the areas of Normandy that had been seized by Philip, and giving up his alliance with the Holy Roman Empire, who occasionally was a rival of France. The illustration shows via shades of red the dwindling authority of the Angevins.

John then decided to make a politically advantageous marriage, but there were two problems with that: one is that he was already married, and the second that John's decisions were almost always the wrong ones. Stay tuned.