Magyar Egyház, 1964 (43. évfolyam, 3-9. szám)
1964-11-01 / 9. szám
MAGYAR EGYHÁZ 13 MAGYAR CHURCH ÜJljp (Ührátmas §tury CHRISTMAS II\ THE YEAR 1000 A.ü. By: Andrew Harsanyi Ralph the Beardless dipped his quill into the ink and continued his chronicle: “Seven years before the year 1000 Mount Vesuvius in Italy gaped far more often, it belched forth vast stones mingled with sulphurous flames and the stench of its breath was horrible. Almost all cities of Italy and Gaul were ravaged by flames of fire, even the great part of the city of Rome was devoured by a conflagration. At this same time a terrible plague raged among men, a hidden fire which, upon whatsoever limb it fastened, consumed it and severed it from the body, even in the space of one night...” The chronicler stopped and shivered from the memory of those horrible days. It was different now, some years later. His writing table was close to the window in the monastery’s library and as he gazed out he saw the new tower of a magnificent church. After the fatal year 1000 an awakening swept throug the world, all cathedrals and churches were rebuilt — even if there was no need for it — the faithful just wanted to make a new covenant with God. The bishops raised their pastoral staff to heaven and with outspread palms they cried, “Peace, peace, peace...” Thus they proclaimed the world’s escape from the destruction they had been certain would come. Yes, now there was plenty of corn and fruit and wine. Verily, a new world has begun. The chronicler took his gazing eyes from the mighty church tower and turned back to his work. He picked up a finished sheet of parchment and reread it: “Warned by the prophecy of Holy Writ, we saw clearer than daylight that in process of the Last Days as love grew cold and iniquity abounded among mankind, perilous times were at hand for men’s souls...” Ralph the Beardless, chronicler of the year 1000 closed his eyes so he could recall the sight of another great church, the cathedral in the city of Aix-la-Chapelle. It was on the afternoon of the day before the feast of the birth of Christ. The great cathedral was packed with people. But not worshippers for a divine service. They were more like campers. Outside, the skies were grey — it was about to snow; inside the cathedral it was chilly: stone walls, flagstone pavement. The shining gold on the altar made it feel even colder. Women clasped their little ones in their arms, wrapped in cloak and rags covering even their faces. The huge metallic door was open and more people tried to push their way into the cathedral. The church was full and yet new and new groups managed to get in. One could see on them that they had come from a long journey. The forehead of all — including the children — seemed to be smeared with dirt. At a closer look it showed it was the ashes of penitent pilgrims. Monks in coarse hoods were circulating among the people. Their faces stern, their eyes piercing. Some groups were chanting psalms — the monks nodded approvingly. But as they came upon a group of soldiers throwing dice the voice of one snapped out: “You miserable creatures! The world is about to end in a few hours, the Last Judgment will come upon us, and you ... you just keep on sinning. Repent. . . Repent . . . Repent ...” — echoed his voice from the wall. In front, left from the main altar, on gilded throne sat a young man. He wore no crown and his robe was the same coarse hood as the monks had on. His features were fine, he was a very handsome young man. He folded his long fingers on his chest, he hung his head — one couldn’t tell whether he was praying or sleeping. Otto 111, ruler of the Holy Roman Empire was not sleeping. But he wasn’t praying either; he was thinking — well, maybe this kind of thinking was as good as praying. He was now 20 years old, an emporor for 17 years. O, what 17 years! Full of wars — on the North some Slavic tribes held considerable portions of the realm occupied; from the East the rough and swiftly riding Hungarians held the Empire in constant fear even after their defeat on the field of Lech in 955; farther East, the Saracens made inroads into the Holy Land. “What people would pray tonight at the site of the Bethlehem stable?” —Otto was wondering. ■—■ “Is there anybody praying at all, or has it become the land of barbarians?” Italy, eternal Rome, has been a province of turmoil for many years. Some 100 years earlier the mighty and cunning Theophylactus founded a new dynasty there. His daughter, Marozia become the mother of a pope — as a matter of fact rumors had it that in her later years she herself sat on Peter’s throne pretending she was a man. What a debasement of the Holy See! “But that’s all over now” — Otto told himself. — “The new pope, Gerbert, was a fine man. A wonderful man.” He felt warmth around his heart as he recalled the serious yet love-radiating face of the old man. Gerbert was a sorcerer with numbers. He knew all the tricks the Arabians kept a secret from Western minds. But he was a dreamer, too — he dreamed of the restoration of the old Roman Empire, the fame and might of Constantine the Great. This was really the reason why Gerbert was chosen to become the instructor of the young emperor. And Gerbert made him a dreamer, too. “Rome shall be great again. There will be peace on earth, like the angels heralded on Christmas. Pax Romana —- Roman Peace — shall rule over the whole world. A new kind of peace, Pax Romana Christiana — Christ’s peace. And the world will be governed in brotherly unity by Pope and Emperor, the two representatives of God. There will be no more wars, people will be happy, and they will learn so they all can read the wonderful story of the Prince of Peace.” And Gerbert would add stressing every word: “And you, Sire, will be that Emperor.” He didn’t say who would be that Pope, partner of
