I.

There is hardly any instance on record in the annals of history of a single peaceful event having exercised such a lasting and baneful influence on the destinies of a nation, as the coronation of Charles the Great at Rome towards the close of the eighth century. By placing the Imperial crown on the head of the then most powerful ruler in Christendom, Pope Leo III. symbolically established a spiritual supremacy over the whole Christian world, but more especially over Germany proper. It is true it was alleged that the new Cæsar was to be considered the secular head of the Christian world by the side of the spiritual head, but as it was the latter who crowned the former, it was evident that the sovereign pontiff arrogated to himself superior authority over the sovereign monarch.

Another disadvantage which resulted from that coronation was the peculiar nature of the newly created dignity, which became manifest by the designation, applied to Germany, of the “Holy Roman Empire of the German nation.” This self-contradictory title was intended to convey the notion that the German Emperors were—through transmission from the Greeks—the heirs and successors of the Roman Cæsars. They were not to be German sovereigns of the German monarchy, but Roman Emperors of the German Empire.

It is true the ancient German institution of royalty was not actually abolished, but it was so much eclipsed by the more pompous, though recent dignity, that in the course of time its Edition: current; Page: [xl] former existence was almost entirely forgotten, or at least looked upon with contempt; so much so, that a German sovereign of the fourteenth century—Henry VII.—considered it an insult to be addressed as “King of Germany,” instead of as “King of the Romans.” Even the German Electoral Princes claimed to exercise the function of “Roman Senators.” The foreign stamp thus imprinted upon Germany at the time when she had only just begun to emerge from a state of barbarism had, therefore, a most pernicious influence on the Germans, diverting as it did the free development of their national character from its natural course. Thus it may be truly said, that on Christmas Eve of the year 799, Germany was conquered a second time, if not by the Romans, still by Rome.

It was not long before the conflict between the two principal elements in the government of the world—the secular and the clerical—broke out in the two-headed Empire. This antagonism became manifest even under Charles the Great himself, in spite of the splendour of his reign, and the firmness and circumspection of his government. The encroachments of the clergy soon showed in what sense they understood the division of power. It was the practical application of the old fable about the lion’s share. Everything was to be done for the clergy, but without it nothing. This ambitious aim revealed itself more openly and effectively under the descendants of Charles the Great, the internal dissensions of whose reigns greatly facilitated the victory of the clerical order in their interference in secular matters.

Under the powerful rule of Henry I. (919–936), surnamed “The Fowler,” or more appropriately “the founder of the German Empire,” and also under the still more splendid reign of his son, Otho the Great (936–973), nay, even under the first Frankish Emperors (1024–1056), the authority of the Roman hierarchy was considerably diminished, while on the other hand the influence of the German clergy at home had greatly increased; which circumstance was a powerful factor in the conflict between the iron Pope Gregory VII. and the impetuous Edition: current; Page: [xli] and vacillating Emperor Henry IV. (1056–1106), and brought about in conjunction with the high-handed dealings of the self-dubbed “Roman Senators” of Germany, the degradation of the German Empire. The Papacy was now in the zenith of its power and glory, so that Gregory VII. could boastingly compare the Pope to the sun, and the Emperor to the moon; and although Henry IV. ultimately succeeded in taking revenge for his humiliation at Canossa, he never could wipe out its shame, and what is more, he was unable to suppress or eradicate the ideas represented by his defeated enemy, which had taken a firm hold on the minds of men. People believed in the supremacy of the Pope, even when he was driven from his seat of government; for his realm was of a spiritual kind and he had his invisible throne, as it were, in the hearts of Christian believers. An erring Pope was still the visible representative of the Church. The priests for the most part remained faithful to him under all circumstances. Such, however, was not the case with the Emperors and the Princes. In the first instance the former had no absolute power; secondly, they were elected by men, who considered themselves their equals, and lastly from the moment they lost their throne—no matter what the reasons were—they ceased to have a claim on the obedience of the people. The priests wished for a powerful Pope, because he was the natural guardian of their interests, whilst the German Princes objected to a powerful Emperor, because they trembled for their own independence and local authority.

If the German Emperors had not been constantly chasing the phantom of royal dignity in Italy, in order to be—plausibly at least—entitled to the vain-glorious designation of “Roman Kings,” they might have directed their whole energy to the consolidation of their power at home, and have held their own against Popes and Prince-Electors. Unfortunately, however, they were constantly attracted by the delusive brilliancy of possessions in Italy, as if by an ignis fatuus; thus leading on the best forces of Germany to moral and physical ruin, and Edition: current; Page: [xlii] leaving their native country an easy prey to scheming priests and ambitious nobles. The result was that, towards the end of the eleventh century, the Emperor of Germany had neither any influence on the priests, who now depended entirely upon Rome, nor any power over the nobles, whose fiefs had become hereditary; nor did he possess any considerable domains, or actual revenue in his Imperial capacity. He had nothing but the high-sounding titles of successor of the Cæsars and of ruler of the whole Christian world.

As a matter of course under these circumstances all progress of national life and culture was impeded. It did not spring spontaneously from within, nor did it receive any impulse from without. The Germans did not benefit intellectually in any way by their contact with the Italians. The conquered have often times become the teachers of their conquerors; but only when the latter settled in the vanquished country and made it their home. The German hordes, however, who crossed the Alps at the behests of their sovereigns, and urged on by the desire for adventure, warfare, and rapine, never permanently settled, as a body, in the flowery plains and flourishing towns of Italy. Numbers of those who survived the sanguinary battles fought in Italy, perished in the unused climate; the others returned home, frequently enriched by plunder and generally tainted by depraved morals. Thus the Germans did not even derive that small advantage from their connection with the Italians—who at that time did not themselves possess any literature or culture in the highest sense of the word—which a permanent settlement in Italy would have conferred on them.

The intellectual life of the Germans did not begin to flourish before the times of the Hohenstaufen (1138–1254). Unfortunately both Frederick I. (Barbarossa) and Frederick II. were almost constantly engaged in warfare with the Popes and the Italians, and both monarchs, especially the latter, utterly neglected the internal affairs of Germany, which country became a prey of the sanguinary contest between Guelphs and Edition: current; Page: [xliii] Ghibellines. The result was that Conrad IV., the last king from the Hohenstaufen dynasty in Germany, ruled without even a shadow of royal authority, and on his death, in 1254, the dissolution of the old German Empire may be said to have been complete.

During the lawless times of the Interregnum (1254–1273) the power of the German Princes consolidated itself more and more amidst the general anarchy. Order was restored, however, by Rudolf von Hapsburg (1273–1291), who concerned himself with the affairs of the country only. He had a right notion of what a King of Germany should be, and emancipated her—though temporarily only—from the fatal connection as an Empire with Rome. More than half a century later the Electoral Princes went a step further in this direction, by the formation of the Kurverein (1338) or “Election Union,” of Rhens, when the principle was adopted that the election of German Kings depended upon the Electoral Princes alone, and that the Pope had no voice whatever in the matter. This patriotic proceeding received, however, a counter-check in the unworthy dealings of the mercenary Charles IV. (1347–1378), who repaired to Rome to receive there the crown from the Pope. He little thought that by resuming the connection with Rome he conjured up the greatest danger for his own son and successor, Wenceslaus, who was deposed through the conspiracy of Boniface IX. with the priests, and his influence over the Electoral Princes.

In the course of time a new power—the third Estate—arose in Germany; namely, the Middle Classes as represented by the thriving cities of the Empire. The burghers generally sided with the Emperors, to whom they looked up as their natural protectors against the exactions of priests and nobles. But being imbued with a true mercantile spirit, they did not give away their good will for nothing; they asked for sundry privileges as compensating equivalents. The Emperors had, therefore, now to contend against three powerful elements, the clergy, the nobles, and the burghers. The first were, through their chief representatives—as we have seen—at all times the most dangerous Edition: current; Page: [xliv] antagonists to Imperial authority, and generally achieved the victory in their contests with it. It was only during the time in which the Papacy had transferred its seat of government to Avignon, that the Romish hierarchy received a check, chiefly in consequence of the depravity of the Papal Court and its surroundings. With the return of the Popes to Rome by the Decree of the Council of Constance (1411–1418), the Papacy recovered its former ground; but this recovery of the lost authority was external only, for with the cruel execution of John Huss—which no sensible Roman Catholic ever thought of justifying—the Papacy received a most fatal blow. That scandalous crime could not have been committed at a more unpropitious time both for the Roman hierarchy and the dignity of the Councils, which latter pretended, at times at least, to have received their mandate immediately from Christ, as the sovereign representatives of the universal Roman Catholic Church. The reforms in the Church, advocated by the celebrated French theologians Cardinal Peter d’Ailly and Chancellor John Gerson, had already met with the approval of numerous thinking men, and the doctrines of Wycliffe had also found, through the teaching of John Huss and his disciples, a sympathetic echo in the hearts of a large portion of the Christian community. Had the Council of Constance shown itself, not magnanimous, but merely just, towards the Bohemian Reformer, the ascendancy of the Councils, in general, over the Popes, would probably have been for ever established; whilst as it was, the next great Council—at Basle (1431–1449)—had to give way to the Pope, and the Roman hierarchy was once more re-established in its former strength and power.

The results of the Councils of Constance and Basle were, however, particularly disastrous to Germany. The former brought about the terrible wars of the Hussites, while the latter was the indirect cause of placing the Imperial power in the hands of Frederick III. (1440–1493), who was a staunch adherent of the Pope and delivered over to him the few rights and privileges which were still left to the German Empire. The Edition: current; Page: [xlv] Imperial dignity existed now in name only; for Frederick, who, as Heeren says, “had slumbered away more than half a century on the throne,” cared so little for Germany proper, that he remained absent from it for the space of full twenty-seven years. No wonder then that whilst the Imperial authority sank to the lowest level, the Papal supremacy rose higher than ever, and the Emperor became nothing more than the satellite of the Pope. Under these circumstances the German Princes began to raise the voice of opposition against their sluggish head; but as he was supported by the influential and subtle Pius II., all their efforts to make a stand against the encroachments of the Church were in vain.

A new order of things arose, however, when Maximilian, the son of Frederick III., was elected “Roman King” in 1486 by the Electoral Princes. The young King acquiesced in the constitutional demands of the Estates for concessions in return for various grants. Feuds were abolished for ever, an independent Chamber of Justice, Kammergericht, was established, and Germany received a new Imperial constitution. Nevertheless there were almost constant conflicts between the adventurous Maximilian and the Imperial Estates, so that the national unity, earnestly aimed at by both parties, could not be effected, in consequence of the absence of any connecting link between them. The only step which Maximilian took for the partial emancipation of Germany was his assumption of the title of “elected King of Rome” without being crowned by the Pope, and what is more, he also adopted the ancient title of King of Germany. This designation was, however, not intended to convey at the same time the notion of a severance from Rome in spiritual matters. This was now soon to be accomplished, but not by one bearing the imaginary crown of the Cæsars, nor by the decrees of a stately assembly. It was destined for one lowly born to break the fatal bondage in which Germany had been for centuries kept in durance vile by Rome.