Category Archives: The Crusades

The Crusades and the Jews

imageJewish communities had long been established in Europe, where local rulers and bishops often encouraged Jewish settlement for sound economic reasons: Jews were commonly traders and bankers, at a time when Christians were not mean to lend money and levy an interest rate for so doing (the sin of usury). In particular, Jews had settled in France and Germany in the 10th century. Anti-Semitism came in their wake: long lived beliefs in Jews as ‘Christ-killers’, and a source of moveable wealth. Throughout medieval history, that anti-Semitism could lead to violence, pogroms (campaigns of violent persecution) and systematic attempts to convert Jews to Christanity, often by force.

The surge of crusading passion brought anti-Semitic passions, and pogroms, in its wake. As the pilgrims gathered behind Little Peter, their leader was not averse to anti-Semitic preaching. His forces may not have resorted to violence, he seems to have been attempting to extort money from Cologne’s wealthy Jews to subsidise his campaigns; his followers were less restrained: when they reached Regensburg, they quickly resorted to the forced conversion of the local Jews. Even more serious was the pogrom that accompanied the mustering of crusaders led by Emich of Flonheim in south and west Germany in 1096. The pogrom of 1096 was begun in Speyer, where Emich’s men had assistance from some of the townsfolk, but were opposed by others (including the local bishop). At Worms, hundreds were killed, many others forcibly converted. At Mainz, a two day orgy of desecration, murder and forcible conversion ensued. By the time he reached Cologne, many of its Jews were in hiding, Even after Emich’s forces had been denied passage through Hungary and his army had fallen apart after being defeated by Hungarian forces, anti-Semitic violence continued.

imageSuch violence was not an accident. It was not sanctioned by the church. The church was virulently anti-Semitic, but it did not approve of pogroms. In part, the church taught that the ultimate conversion of the Jews would come, signally the second coming; as a substantial secular power, it wanted the Jewish presence for the same reason local elites often did. Local secular elites, and many ordinary Christians, sought to protect Jews: indeed, the creation of Jewish ghettos, with walls, was often as much to protect Jews as it was the separate them. Instead, the violence came from people fired with a mix of avarice and crusading zeal. In Mainz, there was much talk of avenging the blood of Christ.

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The process of evangelizing the Second Crusade saw a similar outbreak of anti-Semitic violence. Bernard of Clairvaux had sought to control the process of preaching, but as before some preached the crusade without license, others went way beyond the official line. A Cistercian monk, Radulf, another charismatic holy man like Bernard himself, despite the opposition of the archbishops of Cologne and Mainz, and of Bernard himself, launched a populist preaching campaign which featured a maniacal anti-Semitism: ‘Avenge the crucified one upon his enemies who stand before you; then go to war with the Muslims’. Otto of Friesing called for Jews to be killed as ‘foes of the Christian religion’.

Nor were they alone. Indeed, whilst Bernard may of opposed Radulf was merely arguing for legal tolerance because the Jews were the ‘living words of scripture, for they remind us always of what our Lord suffered’. Other churchmen, such as the abbot of Cluny, Peter the Venerable, whilst arguing that Jews should not be killed, called them ‘detestable’ and called for them to be punished as ‘enemies of Christ’. The violence of 1146-47 often had a ritualistic element: at Ramerupt the crusaders inflicted five wounds on Rabbi Jacob’s head, openly referring to the five wounds of Christ as they did.

Popular attacks on Jews had already begun as the crusade was preached before Radulf got going. Once he had though, things got worse: the Jewish chronicler Rabbi Ephrahim of Bonn records three massacres. In contrast to the pogrom of 1096, the pogroms of 1146-47 were more sporadic, mostly thanks to the protection offered Jews by local rulers. Nonetheless, there were murders, forced conversions, desecrations and the rest, and rumours of many more. In part, Bernard of Clairvaux’s famous preaching tour of Germany in 1147 was designed to counter that of Radulf; he eventually caught with him at Mainz and forced Radulf to desist. Bernard thus stopped the preaching of a pogrom and, perhaps most of all, asserted his authority over a rival.

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In 1190, Richard I’s coronation in 1189 was accompanied popular anti-Jewish riots against the ‘enemies of the Cross of Christ’. The recruiting process the following year for the Third Crusade was accompanied by anti-Jewish violence in places such as King’s Lynn and Stamford, reaching a grizzly climax when local notables led an attack by crusaders in York, leading to the infamous massacre and mass suicide of the city’s Jews at Clifford’s Tower. In contrast, a few days later in Lincoln, royal officials successfully protected Jews.

Temporarily used for contact details: Historic England, Archive Services, The Engine House, Fire Fly Avenue, Swindon, SN2 2EH, United Kingdom, Tel: 01793 414600, Email: archive@HistoricEngland.org.uk, Website: http://www.HistoricEngland.org.uk

CLIFFORD’S TOWER, YORK Commemoration stone in memory of the York massacre in 1190

It might be argued that where crusading zeal led to open anti-Semitic violence, that violence was permitted because of a lack of a strong central authority. In a Germany effectively ruled by the formidable Frederick Barbarossa, the Jews took refuge and were protected by the authorities. In an England without a present king (and Richard was long gone from England by 1190) saw authorities either unable or unwilling to resist crusading zeal and the anti-Semitic pogroms it all too often unleashed.

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Enrico Dandolo, the Blind Doge in his nineties: age and disability in politics and history.

Enrico Dandolo was born around 1207. He died in 1205, having been on campaign in Bulgaria. By his sixties, he was acting as a senior diplomat for Venice, notably in Constantinople and Sicily. He became doge (akin to Duke, ruler of the Republic) in 1192, at around 85 years of age.

It is often said that the modern world has become besotted by the cult of youth. Political leaders are commonly, it seems, getting younger. It need not be so. Certainly, some political leaders cling on well past their sell-by date. When Churchill became prime minister for the second time in 1951 he was 76, by his retirement he was clearly suffering the effects of a serious stroke, and old age. By the time Ramsay MacDonald stood down in 1935, at the age of 69, his mental powers were in steep decline. Monarchs and dictators often cling on to the bitter end. In the modern world, even beyond: the 82-year-old Franco and the 76-year-old Brezhnev were kept alive, after a fashion, to try and ensure a stable succession. Here is the old man, just about still going, with the man who would later change it all, Gorbachev (here receiving the Order of the October Revolution from the old man).

Some come to power when it is already, in truth, too late. The Renaissance papacy saw a succession of elections in which the primary criteria for election seemed to be age, leaving the college of cardinals safe in the knowledge that the new incumbent could not last too long and could not, therefore, become too powerful. Some maye be well, but turn out to be old men in a dangerous hurry: the 68-year-old Neville Chamberlain might be just one such example. By the time Andrew Bonar Law became prime minister in 1922, he had just a year to live; by the time he resigned his throat cancer had left him gravely ill and unable to speak audibly. Brezhnev was succeeded as leader of the USSR by the 68-year-old Yuri Andropov, whose ambitions to begin to reform a creaking Soviet system were undermined by his ill health and subsequent death 15 months later. His successor, Konstantin Chernenko, was 72: his health was far worse, however, and he was dead within 13 months. Hardly a shock.

Age need not be an Impediment, however, to political success. Famously, Churchill was 65 when he became prime minister; Ronald Reagan became president at the age of 69: neither could be accused of failing to make an impact.

The 3rd duke of Norfolk, the one we all associate with Henry VIII, died in 1554, at the age of 82. For all the previous reign he he been in the tower, yet after his release was still able to put down Wyatt’s Rebellion before dying later the same year. Age certainly had not withered them.

Thus, Enrico Dandolo was not without precedent. He was though, pretty remarkable. If he became Doge in 1192, it wasn’t until over ten years later when, as a man in his late nineties, he led the Fourth Crusade’s capture of Constantinople.

It wasn’t just that Dandolo was ancient; he was also completely blind. In this era, to be blind was generally taken to mean that a man could not lead. Indeed, it was almost commonplace in the late Byzantine empire to blind deposed leaders. The Fourth Crusade was diverted to Constantinople to restore Isaac II to the imperial throne, at the behest of his son, Young Alexios. Isaac, when he had been deposed by his brother, was then imprisoned and blinded. William the Conqueror blinded those who crossed him, meaning they could no longer lead men in battle, and were thus unfit to lead.

Dandolo’s blindness was total. Geoffrey de Villehardouin, the crusader and historian knew him, and reported as much. It might have been expected that his blindness would have prevented him from even being doge. He was unable to read and, by law, thus unable to sign documents. Instead, he proved to be an energetic ruler, notably reforming the Venetian currency.

He was by no means the only significant figure in politics or history to have been disabled in some way. Some were less admirable than others. Kaiser Wilhlem II had a withered arm, Goebbels had something like a club foot; however morally dubious they were, they made an impact. Baldwin IV of Jerusalem, the Leper King, was a pretty effective ruler until the progressive effect of his leprosy overwhelmed him. Disability can go hand in hand with greatness. Nelson lost an eye, and a right arm. Franklin Delano Roosevelt, one of the great US presidents, was left disabled by polio as a young man. Interestingly, though, FDR went to great efforts to disguise his disability in public.

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That blind people have achieved great things in history should not really surprise us. Milton went blind before writing Paradise Lost. In our own time, David Blunkett achieved high office, despite being brought up in an era in which a disability such as his blindness was generally taken to preclude people from much of education, especially higher education, let alone high office. It may seem more surprising that blind people could be warriors too: John of Bohemia died in battle at Crecy, despite having been blind for a decade or more; Leper King he may have been, but Baldwin IV defeated Saladin in battle.

Even in that company, Dandolo was remarkable. He led stood on the brow of his ship, led his men under hails of arrows and was carried on a litter in the vanguard of the assault on Constantinople. He was, in effect, the first leader to breach the great walls themselves. Once the city was taken, he organised the systematic looting of its religious treasures, most famously the horses atop the portal of St Mark’s. He then became the power behind the Latin throne.

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The great historian of the crusades, Sir Steven Runciman, famously described the cpsack of Constantinople as  the greatest crime. Some seems to agree. After they had attacked and taken Zara back for Venice, and thus attacked fellow Christians, Pope Innocent III excommunicated all the crusade’s leaders. The Franks repented, but the Venetians did not. Instead, they went to and took Constantinople as excommunicates. Whether they hoped that they would be reconciled, perhaps in gratitude for they way in which they placed Byzantium under The authority of the papacy,  we will never know. What we do know is that after welcoming the news, Innocent was appalled by the looting, rape and murder the sack of Constantinople soon became notorious for. Dandolo died excommunicate, and was buried in Haghia Sophia. When the Latin empire fell, his remains were disinterred and thrown to the dogs; legend has it that not even the dogs would touch them.

Yet he was not forgotten. Later, the site of his tomb would be commemorated, and it still is. All that for a man in his late nineties, and wholly blind too. Perhaps this history does have on lesson. Of those who aged, or disabled, or both, we should never assume weakness. Nor, it seems should we necessarily assume virtue. Instead, we should assume human nature, like the rest of us, for good or ill or both. Remember Enrico Dandolo.

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Richard the Lionheart and Saladin, Crusade Superstars go to the movies

Attention all crusaders! As we approach the Third Crusade, I thought it might be fun to think about how Richard and Saladin have been portrayed in film. I can’t say I’ll be rushing to see the above. Still, it can’t be too much worse than almost any Robin Hood movie. Sean Connery was, incidentally, uncredited, and given quite how cheesy this cameo is, perhaps on grounds of taste. It reminds one quite how hard it can be to parody Hollywood doing British history. Must admit I’ve never seen the film, but if the rest of it quite this bad it might almost be worth it. And, obviously! Richard would have had that so familiar Scottish accent. If you want to minimise the dreck, go straight to 3:30.

Nothing like a bit of historical realism, is there? The idea of Richard as the good king, popping up to accept Robin’s loyalty is a staple.

Mind you, Richard has his own TV series in the ‘sixties.

What of Saladin? Kingdom of Heaven gives the wise, cultured, Merciful and all that.


Interestingly, way back in the ‘thirties, Cecil B Demille’s epic gives us a civilised, sophisticated Saladin too.

In my humble opinion, so far so bad. There is one very good film featuring Richard, in this case the younger Richard in the reign of his father, Henry II. In a stellar cast, including Peter O’Toole as Henry and Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine, Richard was played by Antony Hopkins, making his movie debut.

I’m not the only one who likes it.

And here’s that scene.

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