496 – That’s Me In The Corner

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Welcome to the British History Podcast.

My name is Jamie and this is episode 496.

That's me in the corner.

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For the first time since William the Conqueror, there was going to be a primatial council

at Westminster Abbey.

Now this was a huge deal, like enormous.

In fact, Anselm had been trying to hold a major reform council for years.

But King Rufus had refused, because reform, as you might remember, wasn't something

that the Red King was all that interested in.

But Henry, Henry was branding himself as a reformer, which gave Anselm a golden opportunity

and he wasn't going to waste it.

As such, this council appears to have been thrown together in a hurry.

Like, as soon as he got permission from Henry, there was no time to waste, though just

because it was organized quickly, doesn't mean that it was a modest or minor affair.

Anselm wanted this council to eclipse anything that even Archbishop Land Frank had accomplished.

But doing that, doing something that big and doing it quickly, was going to take a lot

of work.

And so Archbishop and some of Canterbury collaborated with Archbishop Gerard of York, and jointly

the arranged the council, or at least Gerard thought they were doing it jointly.

That is, until the ceremony began, and he walked into the room.

You see, Anselm's monks had been tasked with preparing the ceremonial room.

Which, no big deal, right?

I mean, someone's got to do it, and it was nice that Anselm and his boys would handle

that task while Gerard and his fellows were working on other aspects.

Well, upon entering the room, Gerard realized his error.

Because he saw that Anselm's brothers had prepared a seat for their Archbishop, a very

high seat.

And then for Gerard, well, he had a modest little seat nearby, at a lower level, like an

ecclesiastical kids table.

Have you ever watched Taskmaster?

You know how Greg always has Alex sit at a little seat to his side?

Kind of like that.

And Archbishop Gerard saw this for what it was.

A clear slight, intending to establish Anselm and supreme over all the others in the room.

And so, according to Hugh the Chanter, he marched right over to that little chair and kicked

it over.

Then he openly cursed Anselm, right in front of everyone, and demanded a seat on the

same level as Anselm's.

And no Anselm, no I won't be sitting down, not until this is fixed.

So fix it.

And the implication in Hugh's record is that it was indeed fixed.

Edmer, on the other hand, tells us that actually his boss and bestie was always intended to

be the head honcho at this gathering.

That there was no confusion about this during any of the preparations, and he even goes

so far as to assure us that King Henry had approved all of it himself.

And in Edmer's telling Gerard sat with the rest of the bishops, taking a seat with

Maurice, Gifford, and all the rest, like the good little bishop he was.

Now Gifford, by the way, wasn't even a consecrated bishop.

He was one of the guys that Henry had elevated to Bishop, but Anselm was all, bro, you can't

do investiture, and I'm not going to consecrate him unless you fix things with the Pope.

So, at least by Edmer's telling, Gerard was attending this council, not as an archbishop,

but more like a bishop, though not even as a full bishop, because he was sitting with

the bishop version of a PhD ABD.

And I'm genuinely not sure who's telling the truth here.

Edmer is far from unbiased, but he also is contemporary, whereas Hugh was writing a little

bit later.

Either way, though, from the sounds of it, this thing was off to a hell of a start.

And keep in mind, this wasn't just an ecclesiastical event.

There were a ton of magnates and officials who were also present, including the king.

Well, at least the king was there for parts of it.

This council lasted two full days, and King Henry had a lot going on, so he came and went

as necessary.

And the reason the council was more like a two-day marathon was because it had been quite

a long time since England had held a synod.

And as far as Anselm was concerned, that was the reason why, quote, vices have sprung

up like weeds, and the ardor of Christianity in England had grown quite cold.

And you know, maybe, but I'm guessing the reality here was that the loss in confidence

in the church, and the adherence to the rules, had less to do with two few meetings,

and far more to do with the fact that damn near everyone in power had abandoned even

the appearance of principles, and were now just nakedly seeking power through any and

all means available, including the clergy.

I mean, things had gotten so out of hand that that chair incident isn't even all that

surprising.

But Anselm was here to present a solution to all of this, because he was going to finally,

at long last, prohibit the clergy from wearing pointy shoes.

You know, it's weird that the ardor of Christianity was in decline when it was helmed by the likes

of Anselm who really had his finger on the pulse of what mattered most to the English people.

And to be fair here, I'm cherry picking a little bit.

Shoes weren't the only thing that they were tackling at this council.

You don't need to hold a council for two days straight,

if you're just going to do some passive-aggressive chair placements,

and then ban pointy shoes after Gerard kicks over his chair with his, I assume, two pointy shoes.

Even long-winded Anselm could do that in an afternoon.

And in truth, Anselm had a lot on his agenda,

and the clergy was not going to be happy about most of it.

For example, back in 1076, Land Frank had caused waves by prohibiting the clergy from marrying.

However, he strategically turned a blind eye to the clergy who were already married.

So this ban was only being enforced on new marriages, but those days were over.

No more married clergy in England, at all.

You could keep your wife, but if you did, you would need to get a new job.

And to reiterate, Anselm was also absolutely done with all of these pointy shoes.

Those shoes gave everyone intrusive thoughts about b****s.

Seriously, that's the complaint.

And it wasn't just Anselm either.

Mausbury also had the same very normal thoughts when he was looking at those pointy shoes.

And I assume that Anselm's notion here was, if the pointy shoes went away, so would the thoughts.

Now, unfortunately, Anselm couldn't make the night stop wearing those deliciously naughty shoes,

so the struggle would continue.

But if they banned them from the clergy, then at least they could get through mass without

thinking about, you know.

So only sensible shoes from now on.

But speaking of ecclesiastical love lives, Anselm wasn't an idiot.

He knew that the married clergy weren't the only ones getting handsy,

and quite a bit more than handsy.

And whether it was because of those sexy little shoes, or just because English nights can get

kind of cold, it didn't matter. It had to end. So he was banning Sodomy, which, you know,

was already banned. But apparently, it needed to be banned again.

And Anselm was just getting started. He also hated the way that the clergy were dressing.

It was way too garish for his tastes.

You fellas look tacky as hell. So I'm also banning garish clothing.

Anselm also had it up to here with how pickled the clergy were.

Apparently, these monks and priests were absolute luscious.

And fair play. I'm guessing Brother Unworth took one look at 12th century life,

and was all, this sucks. And if I've got to deal with knights,

I'm sure as hell not going to do it sober. But apparently, it was becoming something of a problem,

because Anselm banned boozy ecclesiastical parties, which had been a staple of English religious

life for generations. And he wasn't just banning the parties. He also included a provision

banning them from getting hammered in general. Because apparently, they weren't just keeping

it contained at private parties. And instead, public drunkenness was quite an issue among the clergy.

So enough of that too. And to make sure that everyone was on the same page and would actually

follow the rules this time, he was also banning lax discipline at monasteries.

We are here to do monk business, not monkey business. So the abbots better start enforcing

these rules upon their charges. So basically, Anselm held the first major ecclesiastical council

in years, just to say, stop your hoeing. And that is where things get difficult,

because he can't spell holy man without ho. And you might have noticed that a lot of what Anselm

was banning were things that were already banned. Much of this had to do with the sex lives of

churchmen. And most of that was already a no-no. But rather than enforcing the bans,

they just kept repeating them, which is going to become a theme this century.

Though sometimes they do spice it up and ban things that might be connected to the

already banned behavior, like those pointy shoes. Presumably, in the hopes that the clergy

would finally stop falling into the sins of the flesh if, you know, the associated thing,

the shoes went away. Though interestingly, I wasn't able to find any indication

that they enforced the rules about the shoes, either. Because, like I said, they had a serious

enforcement problem. But there was one exception. Simoni. Now, Simoni is the practice of buying

and selling churchy things. Now, technically, it could be pretty much anything ecclesiastical,

but what the church was most concerned about was the buying and selling of bishops, abbies,

and the like. And that, like a lot of the stuff we've been talking about, was already banned.

Though admittedly, no one seemed to care all that much about that rule since the Norman showed up.

And so Anselm, while he was banning shoes and tacky clothing, also banned Simoni.

But this one differs from the rest, because we've got plenty of evidence of enforcement for that

rule. So why? Well, we're not told. It's possible that this was the only enforcement that they

felt worthy of recording, and that they were actually enforcing everything, but they only wrote

this one down. But I seriously doubt that, since some of those other issues will continue to be an

issue for the church going forward. So instead, I suspect that we have clear records of enforcement

on the ban of Simoni, for the same reason why the American Bar Association commonly busts lawyers

for mishandling client funds. You see, clergy, like lawyers, had a lot of rules they had to follow,

like so many rules. But some of those rules are easier to investigate than others.

And Simoni, like client funds, is ultimately a document case. It practically investigates

itself, and as such, it's super easy to prove. Answering was Brother Richard getting

handsy in the confessional requires witnesses, oaths, weighing of evidence, and a whole bunch of

other investigatory steps that most churchmen weren't well trained in. Whereas, did Brother

William buy an abbey just requires a quick look at a charter. There's also the fact that if you

enforce this ban, you can seize an entire religious house, or maybe more, and then you can give it

to someone you prefer. On the other hand, if you bust father Roger for rogering in his free time,

you're not gaining any lands, but you are losing a priest. So, on a sheer material level,

what's the incentive there? There isn't one. If anything, there's a disincentive. And this,

I suspect, is the reason why Simoni was enthusiastically enforced, and the other rules weren't.

Now, at the end of the day, Anselm was not a big fan of English Abbey's being ruled over by

English Abids. He wanted the English church to be staffed up, at least on the upper levels,

by men who had been trained at his home abbey of Beck, or at least in houses that were associated

with Beck. He wanted good, proper, serious normans. None of this Anglo-Saxon nonsense.

And so enforcing Simoni would help him towards those goals. And as for King Henry,

well, as we've been discussing for a while now, he was molding the aristocracy of England into a

form that suited him, meaning that the old guard were on their way out, and a new group of hand-picked

loyalists were moving in to replace them, and enforcing Simoni would definitely help him accomplish

that. Finally, Rufus had been the main supplier for many of these illegal sales of religious lands

and titles, and Henry was trying to establish himself as a reformer. So cracking down on his older

brother's shady real estate business was probably something he was very interested in.

So I'm not at all surprised. We see an immediate enforcement of Simoni, and the subsequent fall

of nine abbots and abbot elects. And their replacements are exactly what you'd expect.

For example, the Anglo-Saxon abbot of Peterborough, Godrick, was turfed out of his role,

and he was replaced by a monk from Monts-Saint-Michel. Though at this point, the norming

colonization really shouldn't surprise us. It was such a common behavior that I doubt that Anselm

even really thought about it. He probably just saw it as common sense, like he was bringing

education and civilization to the English barbarians. So yeah, for the most part, what was

happening here was standard operating procedure. But not all of the deposed abbots were English.

Frankly, a lot of Normans bought religious lands, because Rufus had built one hell of a side-huzzle.

And when we look at which Normans were charged, we can see another element in play,

specifically the royal element. For example, the abbot of Ely was a man by the name of Richard

DeClaire. And you might recognize that last name, because the Clairs were a powerful dynasty.

And they were also united by marriage with the Giffords who were also powerful,

and during the reign of Rufus had earned a reputation for bullying the king's courtiers

and even the king himself. And so, like Dwarren, with his stag foot comments,

the declares were on the king's radar pretty much from day one of Henry's reign.

And then something happened. We're not told specifically. Instead, we're just told that

abbot Richard DeClaire, who held Ely, failed to respond to the king's commands quickly enough.

Now, given the timing and the family history, it's likely that the issue was that

when Duke Robert landed in England and King Henry called up the army,

abbot Richard DeClaire was one of those nobles who let that call go to voicemail.

At least that's my suspicion. But whatever it was, Henry, looking to make some examples

out of disobedient nobles from powerful families, moved quickly, and was all,

oh, I do declare. An abbot Richard Fitz Richard DeClaire became just regular old dick.

Another Norman abbot who was turfed out was a guy named Robert. And weirdly,

it was Henry who would install Robert as the abbot of Barry St Edmonds.

So presumably, he should be one of Henry's loyalists, right?

So what happened? Well, first of all, it is an open question as to whether abbot Robert

was a loyalist. It's quite possible that he was installed simply as a way to build an alliance

with another more important noble, because Robert was the illegitimate son of Earl Hugh Lupus of

Chester. But now, Earl Hugh Lupus was dead, and the monks of Barry St Edmonds absolutely

loathed abbot Robert, apparently, because he was incompetent. And so whatever utility this man

had to Henry had vanished. And he was unlikely to gain any support from his powerful half-brother,

Earl Richard of Chester, because Earl Richard was only about seven or eight at this point,

and he wasn't actually governing anything yet. And so abbot Robert was removed from office

and replaced. The point I'm getting at here is that like Henry's court, this council was reorganizing

and in some cases completely upending power structures in England. And while Anselm was presiding

over the council, sorry Gerard, you can see the influence of Henry in there as well. I mean,

how could you not? First of all, the king was in the room, at least on occasion. But beyond that,

Anselm had wanted to hold this council for years, and Rufus had flatly refused. So, at the very

least, you can imagine that Anselm would be looking favorably upon Henry for granting this council,

and was probably quite motivated to stay on the king's good side. And that's why, despite being

Anselm's big chance for reform in the English Church, he didn't address any of the royal

behaviors that they were seeking to reform, other than Simoni, which was something that Rufus

had practiced, not Henry. And as such, it suited Henry's goals rather nicely.

Meanwhile, Henry's powers over the Church remained untouched.

Now, unfortunately for Anselm, Henry was a pretty typical king. So, doing nice things for him wasn't

something to be appreciated, it was something to be expected. So, while Anselm was trying very hard

to stay on Henry's good side, it doesn't seem like Henry felt like he had any obligation to do the

same. Or, at the very least, he didn't seem all that concerned about Anselm's feelings.

Because Anselm felt very uncomfortable about the investiture controversy, and he was unwilling

to break with the Pope over it. As we discussed earlier, in an effort to find some sort of middle ground,

he had agreed he wouldn't excommunicate anyone if Henry invested the clergy while they waited to

hear back from the Pope. But Anselm was quite clear that he would not consecrate anyone that Henry

invested, unless the Pope said it was okay. Well, as far as Henry was concerned, Anselm's uncomfortability

was a personal problem. And he wanted his people consecrated. Now, Anselm refused. And so Henry

just had Bishop Robert of Lincoln, and Bishop Robert of Bath, we got a lot of Roberts in this

era. Well, he just had those two Roberts consecrate his chosen abbots for him. And this must have

outraged Anselm. But there was also little he could do about it. He was rapidly losing control of

this king. The only thing he could really do here was hold his ground where he actually held power.

And while Henry could have his loyalist bishops consecrate abbots, only an archbishop could consecrate

a bishop. So no matter how hard Henry pressed, Anselm refused to consecrate Henry's recent bishop

rica pointes, namely William Gifford, Roger of Salisbury, and Reinhelm of Heraphord. But in an

effort to soothe tensions, Anselm said he would consecrate Bishop William of Winchester, because

actually Anselm himself had invested Bishop William. So there were no investiture issues on that guy.

And Henry replied, no, you will consecrate all of them, or none of them. And Anselm was like,

deal, I'll consecrate none of them. Henry flipped his lid. And essentially said, you think you're

the only archbishop in England? If Canterbury is unable to fulfill its duties, then the archbishop

of York can. Jerry here owes me a favor, and I'm pretty sure that after that crap you pulled with

his tiny chair, he'd be happy to help. You know what? Screw it. That's what we're doing. I don't

need you Anselm. I got my own archbishop, and he's awesome. So go ahead and see yourself out.

And so Henry informed archbishop Gerard of York, William of Winchester, and Reinhelm of Heraphord

that they needed to get ready, because we were going to do some consecrations here. And I

wish we had a firsthand account of their opinion about this whole thing, because they had just

been placed in an impossible situation. The king was giving them a direct order, and it was an order

that would force them to violate the dictates of the archbishop of Canterbury and the Pope.

So no matter what they did, someone very powerful was going to be mad at them,

probably lots of powerful people. And eventually, the big day came. And now that he was face-to-face with

it, Reinhelm of Heraphord was having second thoughts. This didn't seem right. And then William

of Winchester spoke up, and he agreed. They would not accept any consecration by anyone

except for Anselm. Henry's big plan for humiliating Canterbury and proving that he, as king,

could do what he pleased, had backfired spectacularly. Suddenly Anselm looked more powerful than he

did before, and Henry absolutely lost it, and straight up exiled the would-be bishops from England

on the grounds of disobedience. And then, as if things couldn't get any worse, a messenger arrived

from Normandy, informing them that in Ruan, Sabila, Duke Robert's wife had just given birth.

It was a boy who they named after Robert's father, William, which meant that Robert had a legitimate

male heir, and Henry, despite having literally dozens of children, did not.

Oh, God, short pants is gonna win the goddamn taunting! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

It's time to stop messing around and get serious about this. And so Henry and Matilda started

trying to have another child. And based on timelines, it looks like they got to work immediately

after getting word of the birth of little William, because we are barely nine months away

from Henry, getting his own William. Meanwhile, in Rome, Pope Pascal II was meeting with the

English delegation. And I imagine that informing the Pope that Henry was threatening to exile Anselm,

and that, unless the Pope gave him everything he wanted, he was gonna withdraw support of the

papacy was awkward to say the least. The only thing that would have been worse would be telling the

Pope about how three bishops had made up a super secret conversation with him, and had given the

king everything he was demanding, despite the Pope's clear refusal in his letter. Now, I don't have

a firsthand account of what Pascal said or did, but I'm guessing whatever it was, it was loud.

And after he got it all out, he said about drafting a letter. And sweet Jesus was he ever

drafting a letter. Dear Henry, investiture is banned. Do you hear me? Band. I want to make sure

we're very clear on this point, since you seem to be having a reading comprehension issue.

So let me say it again very slowly. No investiture for you. Also, no more getting involved in

ecclesiastical stuff in general. Your days of appointing bishops are over. Oh, and speaking of

bishops, those three lying sacks of shit who claim to have a secret conversation with me. Yeah,

that didn't happen, but I'll tell you what did happen. Their excommunication. They are out.

Gone cast out. I hope it was worth it, you jackasses. Anyway, I'm a busy man and you're getting

on my last nerve. So knock it off and behave. Hugs and kisses. Pope Pascal the second.

Okay, maybe it wasn't in exactly those words, but that was the general gist of it. And with

letter in hand, the delegation started making their way back to England. Meanwhile, in England,

they were celebrating Christmas. And Anselm was probably wondering how on earth he was ever

going to repair his relationship with Henry. Or if repair was even possible. And then, finally,

in March of 1103, the people response arrived in England in the form of two letters.

One for Anselm and one for Henry. And the thing about correspondence during this era

is that while there were letters being exchanged, the messengers were well aware of what was being

written in them. That's why selecting the right people for a delegation was important,

because they would be acting as your representatives for any conversations that led up to the drafting

of that letter. So Henry and Anselm didn't need to open their letters to discover the Pope's opinion.

The messengers would have informed them. And what Henry heard must have been bad,

because he immediately set out for Canterbury. And he began to negotiate with Anselm about what to do.

Not directly though. Things had gotten so bad that these two guys were not speaking to each other.

So instead, they were negotiating through intermediaries. And actually, I've represented people

in mediation this way. And let me tell you, when you're in separate rooms and only speaking

through your representatives, things have gotten way out of hand. And if that wasn't awkward enough,

Anselm and Henry were both pretending that they didn't know what was in the letters,

because, you know, the letters hadn't been opened yet. So instead, Henry was arguing that he had

just come to Canterbury because he was tired of this conflict. And it was time for Anselm to be

reasonable and accept that no one, not even the Pope, can infringe on his royal prerogatives.

Investiture, as with all of his other powers, were his by divine right. And so Anselm really should

be siding with him on this. And Anselm, through his representative, provided his response.

Yeah, I get that, but why don't we open our letters and see what the Pope has to say?

To which Henry replied, why? We're discussing things that are mine. Why should I care

when he has to say about that, especially since he's trying to steal from me? And I'm guessing

there was a lot more negotiations than that. We got a lot more back and forth. I would imagine

that Henry kept trying to argue that they should come to an agreement between them. And Anselm kept

insisting that, as they could both read, maybe they should read those letters. Only for it to get

more personal and heated as time went on. But unfortunately, we don't have those exchanges.

Edmmer only related that short back and forth I just gave you. But one thing we do know

is that the negotiations went on for a while. And as they continued, the Kingsmen began circulating

rumors that Henry intended to mutilate an exile Anselm if he didn't agree to his demands.

And that, thankfully, is something that I have never seen in any of my mediations.

But it does reinforce my point that if you're negotiating from separate rooms,

things have come off the rails. Though I think it's notable that these men were deliberately

avoiding a direct meeting. And because of that, they could maintain this fiction that actually,

things between them were quite civil, because neither of them were shouting at each other.

And I guess they could also both rest in the fiction that the threats of mutilation were

just coming from Henry's fellas, not Henry himself. But speaking of pleasant fictions,

they were still pretending that they didn't know what was in those letters. And after a few days,

Henry was all, okay, well, I'll tell you what, why don't you go to roam yourself?

I mean, I don't know what's in these letters, and I don't even care, like whatever,

who cares what Pascal has to say. But, you know, why don't you go talk to Pascal and persuade

him to wave the people bands if he is banning anything? I mean, I wouldn't know. But it does seem

important to you, and I'll tell you what, I'll send William Warrow West with you so he could go

just in case he needs some support. Now, first of all, Warrow West, by this point, is kind of stepping

forward, is kind of England's first civil servant. Apparently it was great at this job. But I doubt

that interested Ansel at all. Instead, what was on Ansel's mind was that this seemed like a terrible

waste of time, because Ansel was well aware of what was in those letters. So it's not like the

Pope was going to say anything different. And so, probably out of desperation, he asked the king

if he could bring this matter before the magnates at the Easter court, which was going to be held

in a few weeks time. Presumably, he thought that the magnates might be able to talk some sense

into the king. And Henry, knowing he had far more control over his magnates than this archbishop

did, agreed. So Ansel traveled to Winchester, and he attended the Easter court, and he explained

the issue to the magnates assembled. Henry wanted Ansel to act as if the Pope had granted him the

waivers. And Ansel wanted Henry to read the Pope's letter and see what the Holy Father had to say

on the matter. It was a pretty open and shut case, right? I mean, anyone could see it. And the

magnates saw it as well. And we're all, wow, yeah, this is quite an impasse. And the only logical

solution is to send Ansel to Rome. And Ansel was all, dude, are you for real? I'm old as f***,

and that trip is dangerous even for young men. This is a terrible idea. Doesn't it make much more

sense for Henry to just read the Pope's letter? And they were all, no. No, you're going to Rome.

And once you're there, you're going to argue for the exemptions that the king wants, assuming,

you know, that the Pope didn't already give him the exemptions. I mean, maybe he did. No one knows

because we're not going to read his letter, Anselm. And here's the thing. These guys, they had knights,

whereas Anselm had a pallium. So he had no choice but to pack his bags and cross the channel.

But he didn't go straight to Rome. First, he headed to his old abbey of Beck. And once there,

he opened his letter from the Pope. I was right there in black and white. The bans, the

excommunication, the papal irritation. He was right all along. But it was hard to take comfort in

his righteousness. Because this letter meant he couldn't return to England, nor could he function

as the primate of England. Not unless the Pope issued that waiver that Henry was demanding.

Because it was very clear that King Henry was not going to back down on this. And unless the

Pope did, all of that royal fury would be aimed directly at Anselm. And so Anselm packed his

things up and he headed to Chartreau. Because his old friend, Bishop Ivo, was governing there.

And he might have some advice. And it turned out Ivo did have some advice.

Dude, do not go to Rome right now. It is hot as hell there. I'm not kidding. You'll just die.

Forders are dying there all the time and they're way younger than you. So go back to Beck,

hang out for a little while, and wait for the weather to cool down. And so that's what Anselm did.

He went back to couch serve with his old buddies at Beck when he tried to work out. How the hell

he was going to get himself out of this bind?

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, you can reach me at the British history

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