PREFACE.
Hildebrand, a monk, and the son of a carpenter of Soano,
in Tuscany, was born A. D. 1013. He raised himself to
power in the Church; through his influence successively
deposed two Popes, and elected two others; smote the last
of these in the face during high Mass, because his Holiness
had acknowledged the authority of the Emperor; ascended
the Papal chair himself, by forcing his own election; established
the supremacy of the Church over all other sovereignties;
and created a new system of things, which endured
nearly five hundred years after his death.
Short of stature, but deep-built as a temple wall, I have
supposed Gregory to possess great physical, as well as mental,
powers. Of his character and actions, this is not the place
to speak. The period of his death is ante-dated by dramatic
license, and its circumstances may easily be imagined as
coincident with his fall from supreme dominion. Such an
end seemed very natural for one who had previously both
wielded and directed “the sword of the Lord and of Gideon,”
and who, after the final struggle which terminated his individual
power—although it completed, in every sense, his
victory—with passionate eloquence celebrated Mass for the
last time as Pope, while the blood was streaming around.
This was, virtually, the scene of his final triumph and death;
nor did he actually survive it long.
With regard to the historical character of Gregory VII.,
as well as many of the most important actions and events of
his life, historians frequently contradict each other and themselves.
According to some writers, he was all devilishness and
“black art;” with others he was a lofty saint; but few of
them deny that he was a great man, if not a greater conqueror,
in his way, than the Alexanders and Cæsars. The best connected
accounts will, however, be found in “The Life and
Pontificate of Gregory VII.,” by Sir Roger Greisley, 1832;
—“Histoire des Republiques Italiennes,” by Sismondi;—in
Bayle's Dictionary, &c. See also “Historical development of
the German Empire,” by Putter, 1790.
Of the death of Pope Alexander by assassination, no proof
exists, and the best authorities seem against it. But after being
subjected to the indignity of a blow, while in full pontifical
state, and then locked up in a cell with orders to fast and
pray, any ultimate violence might have been expected from
one like Hildebrand, who was waiting for his absence. On the
day of Alexander's burial (some say on the day of his death),
Hildebrand caused himself to be elected to the pontifical chair.
But should my version of the matter be thought to cast an
undeserved stain upon the memory of Gregory VII., be it recollected
that his were most turbulent times; that frequent
insurrections occurred, which were originated, fomented, and
headed by the priests opposed to Gregory, and that numbers
of priests were killed in various ways—though it might be invidious,
as well as presumptuous, to say how many should
be considered as equivalent to a Pope. In short, I am willing
to acknowledge the “dark-dealing” with Alexander as a kind
of dramatic concentration of these events. The death of
Godfrey, however, seems to have circumstantial evidence of
considerable strength. But as for the different versions of
an attempt said to have been made by Gregory to destroy
the Emperor by causing a great stone to be “so ordered
and trimmed” that it might be dropped upon his head while
he was praying before a shrine in the church of Santa Maria,
they all appear fabulous. Many more wonderful things of
Gregory than this are both gravely and furiously narrated by
Cardinal Beno, “arche-priest of cardinals,” and the mad-headed
little work was translated and published in the black
letter, by “Wynkyn de Worde, Flete Street, 1534.” A copy
of this is to be found in the British Museum.
All the characters in the present tragedy are historical,
although nothing is to be discovered in history of some of
them beyond their names and the side on which they ranged
themselves during the mighty contests between the Papal
and Imperial powers. Justice has been morally aimed at for
all; and should any reader, learned in their histories, feel
disposed to make an exception with reference to certain points
in the character, conduct, and assumed fate of the noble and
disinterested Matilda, I can only exhort him to a yet more
careful consideration of the known circumstances of her life;
of the opinions current among her contemporaries; and to
make those deductions of the imagination as well as the reason,
which such data naturally suggest.
Notwithstanding their manifest originality, I should have
been glad had the striking situations in this tragedy—I may
say this, as they are, for the most part, not my invention—
been somewhat reduced in number and brilliancy.
“We may not hope from outward forms to win,
The passion and the life, whose fountains are within.”
But the truth is, that the very nature of the subject rendered
much of this imperative as a matter of art, for the
just presentation of the given characters and events. Most
of the external situations and effects have been selected,
moulded, and grouped from historical facts, with such poetical
licenses as the general structure of the whole demanded.
For very important assistance in the revision of these
pages, I have to express myself gratefully indebted to the
judgment, refined taste, and kindness of my friends Mr. Leigh
Hunt and Mr. John Forster.
And now, if it be permissible that one of “modern earth”
should attempt the expression of primitive feelings, at a period
when the world's heart has been declared by certain able and
influential writers, to be comparatively exhausted, let it not be
thought irreverent to appropriate the uplifting prayer of the
old inspired poet, George Chapman,—bearing, as it does, in
conclusion, that solemn moral corrective to all boundless aspirations,
whether Gregorian or artistical, which terminates
the prospect of a few years:—
“Loose my working soul!
That in her highest pitch she may controul
The court of skill; compact of mystery;
Wanting but franchisement and memory,
To reach all secrets! [OMITTED]
And he who shewed such great presumption,
Is hidden now beneath a little stone!”
Hymnus in Noctem.
