A Curate’s Egg
I’m a huge admirer of the past work of John Julius Norwich, a popular historian in the sense of being widely read and accessible, in the sense of being informative without being weighed down by an intrusive scaffolding of scholarship. He is learned but he wears his learning lightly, which makes him a superlative communicator. I’ve enjoyed and benefited from reading his histories of the Normans in Italy, of Venice and, above all, his three volume history of the Byzantine Empire.
He is the master of the big subject, not the kind of keyhole history that is more fashionable in academic circles. If anything I would say that Norwich is in so many ways the modern Edward Gibbon, a man who wanders with considerable comfort down the highways and byways of the past.
Now he has tackled another big subject with a Gibbon-like verve and commitment. The recently published The Popes: A History is potentially the biggest subject of all, because there are so many of them, all the way back to Peter, because there is so much history, so much theology, so much philosophy and so much politics. In the nineteenth century it took the German historian Leopold von Ranke several volumes to cover a mere two hundred year period; Norwich covers the whole course of the papacy, right up to the modern day in just over four hundred and fifty pages.
Is it done well? Yes, in some ways it is, a fascinating discourse seasoned with partisan wit and dry humour. I recall what Gibbon wrote about two of the less saintly occupants of the chair of Peter. Of the unspeakable John XII, a tenth century pontiff at the very centre of a particularly degenerate period known as the pornocracy, he wrote: “We read with some surprise that his rapes of virgins and widows had deterred female pilgrims from visiting the shrine of St Peter, lest, in the devout act, they should be violated by his successor.” Of the fifteenth century anti-pope, another John, he writes: “The most scandalous charges were suppressed; the Vicar of Christ was only accused of piracy, murder, rape, sodomy and incest.”
Turning to Norwich this is what he has to say about Boniface VII, twice Pope in the late tenth century, notorious for the murder of two of his predecessors: “But Boniface had gone two far. Even for Romans, to have murdered two popes was too much. He survived on the throne for eleven months – having blinded a cardinal deacon whom he suspected of acting against him – and then, on 20 July 985, suddenly died. Was he assassinated? There is no firm evidence, but his subsequent fate suggests it. Stripped of his vestments, his body was dragged naked through the streets and exposed beneath the statue of Marcus Aurelius. There, left to the mercy of the mob, the remains of the antipope Boniface were trampled on and subjected to nameless indignities – and serve him right.”
It’s all such a rollicking good yarn!
There is really no escaping the fact that the papacy, for so many centuries, was a succession of sinners as much as saints. When the popes were good they were very, very good and when they were bad they were, well, despicable. Saints and Sinners might have been a better title, but that was already taken by Eamon Duffy, who published Saints and Sinners in 1997, a book that Norwich relies upon quite heavily.
Overall Norwich’s account is far more discursive and gossipy than Duffy’s. For example he has a whole chapter on Pope Joan, the legendary female pontiff, whom Duffy deigns even to mention. I should say that I have no particular objection to the exploration of a myth, other than that, for me, this was the first sign that Norwich’s treatment was shaping up to be selective and uneven. Given the number of people, some no more than names on a long list, selectivity is necessary. He certainly gives proper space to people like Gregory VII and Innocent III, the greatest of all of the medieval popes, but others, almost as important, are disposed of in a few paragraphs. Pope Joan, quite frankly, was not worthy of so much effort and so many words
I should stress that Norwich’s book is a purely political history and as such it works reasonably well. The history of the papacy, for so many centuries, was the history of a temporal as much as a spiritual power. Innocent III, sitting at the apogee, managed to combine both with consummate ease. But over time spiritual authority increasingly took second place to temporal power. In the early sixteenth century Julius II was in so many ways little different from the temporal princes with whom he made alliances or war, even going so far as to defend and extend the Papal States clad in full armour.
There are so many great stories here, so many ups and downs, impossible to cover even those that caught my attention in a necessarily brief review. Witty, intelligent and wide-ranging, Norwich covers his brief fairly well; he likes what he likes and hates what he hates. It’s entertainingly partisan, at its most partisan, possibly, in the treatment of Pius XII, the pontiff of the Second World War, who is made to carry an unusually heavy burden.
The Popes: A History is a decent primer, a reasonable introduction to a complex subject. But, sad to say, I detect a falling off; I detect that the historian has lost something of his power. There are some real factual howlers. For instance, he has Marie Antoinette executed on the same day in January 1793 as her husband Louis XVI, whereas she did not die until October; Mussolini and his mistress Claretta Petacci, according to Norwich, were both strung up on the same day as the Allies invaded Sicily in July 1943, whereas they both survived until 1945. The latter struck me in particular simply because the author lived through these events. Small points they may be but they raised bigger questions about the overall accuracy, questions over points with which I am not familiar.
As a work of literature I have no hesitation in recommending this book thoroughly, a delight to raconteurs and lovers of trivia everywhere. As I work of history – and it gives me no pleasure to write this – I feel it has to be treated with caution.