It was confiscation that kept alive religious persecution, because the heretics were ingeniously made to furnish the means for their own destruction, and when all the heretics had been disposed of the languishing state of the Holy Office began to arouse real concern on the part of those who made good livings out of it. Confiscation of property for an assumed crime was one of the most effectual agencies for the destruction of civilization, and it is strange that Rome did not see the error of its ways when countries that had no Inquisition were increasing in prosperity and happiness.
Relaxation and the Stake.
It might be supposed that relaxation meant either release from custody or mitigation of punishment. The Holy Office, however, rose superior to verbal conventionalities, and defined the term to mean that the accused person should, after condemnation, be handed over to the civil power. It was equally well understood that the duty of the civil power was to burn him alive. The condemned was delivered to the magistrates with an appeal for mercy, which every one knew to be a transparent piece of hypocrisy. The Church was mainly responsible for these ferocious laws, and insisted on their being carried out, salving its conscience by giving out publicly that it had nothing more to do with the matter. Pope Boniface VIII embodied in the Canon Law rigid instructions for the punishment of those condemned by the Inquisition, and all magistrates who failed to carry out those instructions were cautioned to speak only in a general way of punishment, though the only penalty for obstinate heresy recognized by the Church was death by fire. Usually the civil authorities carried out willingly enough the behests of the Church, but they made occasional protests, and relaxation was not always treated as equivalent to death. Several of these protests are on record, but they were overruled, and the magistrates did their duty. Under the teaching of the Church the best men of the time regarded heresy as a manifest crime and the burning of heretics as an act of righteousness.
Sham and enforced conversions were numerous, and resulted in a large number of relapses, which were punished mercilessly, though not always by burning. The definition of relapse became more and more difficult, and some Inquisitors were not disposed to bring every trifle under that category. Bernard de Caux and his successor, Jean de St. Pierre, usually condemned to imprisonment, and the latter frequently protested against the indiscriminate burnings inflicted by the civil authorities of Toulouse. It is indeed remarkable that burnings were not more numerous. Thus Bernard Gui, the celebrated Inquisitor of Toulouse, is said to have declared that between 1308 and 1328 he had put to death 637 heretics. It appears, however, from the records that this figure represents the total number of sentences passed by him; of these only 40 were of condemnations to the stake of living persons, and 67 more were of persons already dead and therefore not personally interested in the proceedings. Evidently the chief efforts of the Inquisitors were directed to the exaction of confessions, with, of course, confiscation of goods, rather than to create a host of martyrs, an occasional cremation being merely a salutary example. The Church was not slow to profit by the experience of the Inquisition, and its spiritual courts rapidly extended the use of torture and other methods of persuasion. Probably an even more disastrous effect was produced upon the civil law of Europe, the increased severity and flagrant injustice of which are largely traceable to the influence of the Holy Office.
CHAPTER IV
HOW THE INQUISITION OVERRAN EUROPE
The South of France.
The Inquisition had uphill work before it in the South of France. There was plenty of heresy, but also plenty of popular sympathy with it. The Church’s repressive powers were not fully organized, the clergy were unpopular, the Bishops looked with a jealous eye on the Inquisition, and the Papal commands to assist the Inquisitors were frequently disobeyed. The Dominican priesthood, however, was burning with zeal, and succeeded in so far inflaming the popular feeling as to be able to commit serious acts of persecution without episcopal protest. The notorious Inquisition of Toulouse was set up in 1233, and, although for some years the Bishops maintained their superior jurisdiction, the Inquisitors seized every opportunity to disregard it and act independently. A revolting case occurred in 1234, when a dying woman confessed her heresy to the Bishop of Toulouse under the impression that he was a heretic Bishop. She was carried off on her bed and burnt, and the Bishop was able to go back to an interrupted dinner and return thanks to God for his achievement.
The popular sentiment vented itself many times in risings and tumults, especially at Albi and Toulouse, but with only temporary effect, though in 1234 a civil war broke out in Narbonne which lasted for three years. Count Raymond of Toulouse (the seventh of his name) was, like his predecessor, placed in a very difficult position between a persecuting Church and an angry people. His indifference to religion exposed him to the accusation of heresy, and, life being unbearable with the Church at constant enmity, he was compelled to persecute his own people, and his natural slackness in that unpleasant task kept him plentifully supplied with trouble. Bigotry was at that time less tinctured with financial greed than it afterwards became; the persecutors were mostly good men, whose sincerity brings into stronger relief the appalling results of their actions.
By about 1237 the Inquisition had established a definite supremacy over the Bishops, and reduced the terror-stricken people to obedience—a result to which the conversion of Raymond Gros, one of the heretical leaders, strikingly contributed. By the execution, two years later, of 180 Cathari at Montwimer, the heretical sect received a blow from which it never recovered. Count Raymond, however, actually succeeded in getting the Inquisition suspended in his dominions for three years, during which time his people were at least able to breathe; but by 1241 the Inquisitors, knowing the negligence of the Bishops and emphasizing to Rome the growing power of heresy, were able to resume active persecution. In that year occurred the death of Pope Gregory IX, one of the principal founders of the Inquisition, and for two years the Papal throne was virtually vacant. But the Inquisition had sufficient authority to proceed with vigour, and that it did so is shown by the large number of sentences and the speed with which the criminal list was got through. At the small town of Montauban, in one week of May, 1242, no fewer than 252 persons were sentenced for heresy—a plain indication that the infection was general. The punishments were mostly penances, but some of them involved real hardship. Three pilgrimages—one of 500 miles—for eating at the same table with heretics was a severe return for a friendly action, and showed the need of carefully choosing one’s company. These harsh penalties became so frequent that some localities were almost depopulated.
The massacre of a whole tribunal of Inquisitors and their Familiars in 1242, at a castle in the neighbourhood of Toulouse, was followed by war, in which Count Raymond was defeated; and his reconciliation with the Church marked the triumph of the Inquisition. A determined band of heretics threw themselves into the strong castle of Mont Ségur, and held out till 1244, when the place was captured by treachery and 205 men and women were cast into the flames. The energetic labours of the Inquisitors extended over half Languedoc, and some thousands of heresy cases were dealt with in the space of two years. Count Raymond, who had, in the latter part of his life, become a vigorous persecutor, died in 1249, and the Inquisition, relieved of its doubtful ally, had a halcyon time for the next twenty years. A more troublous period followed, for with the diminution of the power of great nobles, such as the Counts of Toulouse and Foix, that of the Crown became consolidated, and men began to turn to it for relief from the insufferable tyranny of the Inquisition. Opposition to its secret and arbitrary influence arose, not from heretics only, but also from good Catholics, who perceived that the land was being ruined, and whose humanity was outraged by the constant use of torture. With its superior concentration of purpose, the Inquisition fully held its own until, in 1291, Philippe le Bel, the King of France, ordered his officials to disobey the commands of the Inquisitors, except in the case of confessed heresy. Under threat of excommunication Philippe came to an understanding with the Pope which lasted for two years, when the quarrel broke out afresh, and the Carcassonne Inquisition had to suspend operations for three months.