SECOND EPOCH OF THE INQUISITION IN SPAIN.
It has been said that Philip II. founded a new Inquisition in Spain,
more terrible than that of the Catholic sovereigns; at the same
time the Inquisition of Ferdinand and Isabella receives a certain
degree of indulgence, which is refused to that of their successors.
At the very outset, we find an important historical mistake in this
assertion. Philip did not establish a new Inquisition; he maintained
that which the Catholic sovereigns had left him, and which Charles
V., his father and predecessor, had particularly recommended to him
by will. The Committee of the Cortes of Cadiz, in the project for the
abolition of the tribunal of the Inquisition, excuses the conduct of
the Catholic sovereigns, and blames with severity that of Philip II.;
it attempts to make all the fault and odium fall on that prince. An
illustrious French writer, very recently treating of this important
question, has allowed himself to be led into the same errors, with
that candor which sometimes accompanies genius. "There were," says M.
Lacordaire, "in the Spanish Inquisition, two solemn periods, which
must not be confounded; the one at the end of the fifteenth century,
under Ferdinand and Isabella, before the Moors were expelled from
Granada, their last asylum; the other, in the middle of the sixteenth,
under Philip II., when Protestantism threatened to propagate itself in
Spain. The Committee of the Cortes has perfectly distinguished these
two epochs; and while it stigmatizes the Inquisition of Philip II.,
expresses itself with moderation with respect to that of Ferdinand and
Isabella." After these words the writer quotes a text, where it is
affirmed that Philip II. was the real founder of the Inquisition; if
that institution attained in the end to a high degree of power, it was
owing, it says, to the refined policy of that prince. We read, a little
further on, that Philip II. was the inventor of the _auto-da-fé_, to
terrify heretics; and that the first of these bloody spectacles was
seen at Seville in 1559. (_Mémoire pour le rétablissement de l'Ordre
des Frères Precheurs_, chap, vi.) Setting aside the historical mistake
with respect to the _auto-da-fés_, it is well known that neither the
_san-benitos_ nor the fagots were the invention of Philip II. Such
mistakes easily escape a writer who is satisfied with alluding to a
fact incidentally; if we bring forward this one, it is because it
contains an accusation against a monarch to whom, for a long time,
too little justice has been done. Philip II. continued the work which
had been begun by his predecessors; if they are excused, he ought not
to be treated with greater severity. Ferdinand and Isabella directed
the Inquisition against the apostate Jews; why could not Philip II.
avail himself of it against Protestants? But I shall be told he abused
his right and carried rigor to excess. Certainly there was not more
indulgence in the times of Ferdinand and Isabella. Are the numerous
executions at Seville and other places forgotten? Or what Mariana
says in his history, and the public measures taken by the Popes for
the purpose of checking the excessive severity? The words quoted
against Philip II. are taken from the work called _La Inquicitión sin
mascura_ (the Inquisition unveiled,) published in Spain in 1811. We
may judge of the value of this authority, when we know that the author
of the book was distinguished till his death by a deep hatred to the
Spanish kings. The book bears the name of Nathanael Jomtob; but the
real author is a well-known Spaniard, who, in his latter writings,
seems to have undertaken to avenge, by his unbounded exaggerations
and furious invectives, all that he had previously attacked; a writer
who assails, with an intolerable partiality, all that presents itself
before him--religion, country, classes of society, individuals, and
opinions--insulting and tearing to pieces all, as if he had been
seized with a sally of passion, and not even sparing the men of his
own party. Is it, then, surprising that this writer regarded Philip
II. as Protestants and philosophers do, that is, as a monarch placed
on the earth for the disgrace and misfortune of humanity,--a monster
of Machiavellianism, anxious to diffuse darkness, in order to maintain
himself in safety in his cruelty and perfidy? I will not undertake
to justify, on all points, the policy of Philip II.; I will not deny
that there are exaggerations in the eulogiums which some Spanish
writers have given to that prince. But, on the other hand, it cannot be
doubted, that Protestants and the political enemies of Philip II. have
ever been careful to denounce him. And do you know why Protestants have
done this? It is because it was he who prevented Protestantism from
penetrating into Spain; it was he who, at that period of agitation,
maintained the cause of Catholicity. Let us set aside the great events
of the rest of Europe, of which each one will judge as he pleases;
let us limit ourselves to Spain. We do not fear to assert, that the
introduction of Protestantism into that country was imminent and
inevitable without the system which he pursued. Whether Philip used
the Inquisition for political purposes, in certain cases, is not the
question we have to examine here; but at least it must be acknowledged
that it was not a mere instrument of ambitious projects; it was an
institution strengthened and maintained in presence of an imminent
danger.
It appears, from the proceedings of the Inquisition at this time,
that Protestantism began to spread in an incredible manner in Spain;
eminent ecclesiastics, monks, nuns, seculars of distinction, in a word,
individuals of the most influential classes, were attached to the new
errors. Could the efforts of Protestants to introduce their creed
into Spain remain altogether unproductive, when they employed every
stratagem in their ardor to introduce their books? They went so far as
to place their prohibited writings in casks of Champagne and Burgundy
wine, with so much art as to deceive the custom-house men: thus wrote
the Spanish Ambassador at Paris.
To perceive the whole danger, it is enough to observe with attention
the state of minds in Spain at this time; besides, incontestable
facts come in support of conjectures. The Protestants, taking great
care to declaim against abuses, represented themselves as reformers,
and labored to draw to their side all who were animated by an ardent
desire for reform. This desire for reform had existed for a long time
in the Church; but with some it was inspired by bad intentions; in
other words, the specious name of reform concealed the real intention
of many, which was to destroy. At the same time, with some sincere
Catholics, this desire, although pure in principle, went to imprudent
zeal, and reached an ill-regulated ardor. It is probable that such
zeal, carried to too great an extent, was, with many, changed into
acrimony; thence a certain facility in receiving the insidious
suggestions of the enemies of the Church. Many people who had begun
with indiscreet zeal, perhaps fell into exaggeration, then into
bitterness, and finally into heresy. Spain was not exempt from this
disposition of mind, from whence the course of events might have drawn
very bitter results, if Protestantism had obtained any footing on our
soil. We know that the Spaniards at the Council of Trent distinguished
themselves by their reforming zeal, and their boldness in expressing
their opinions. Let us remark, moreover, that religious discord being
once introduced into a country, minds are excited by disputes, they are
irritated by frequent shocks, and it sometimes happens that respectable
men precipitate themselves into excesses which they would have abhorred
a short time before. It is difficult to say with precision what would
have happened if the rigor had been at all relaxed on this point.
Certain it is, that, when reading some passages of Luis Vives, of Arias
Montanus, of Carranza, and of the consultation of Melchior Cano, we can
fancy we find, at the bottom of their minds, a sort of disquietude and
agitation, which may best be compared to those heavy murmurings which
announce from afar the commencement of a tempest.
The famous trial of the Archbishop of Toledo, Fray Bartolomé de
Carranza, is one of the facts which are most frequently cited to show
the arbitrary nature of the proceedings of the Spanish Inquisition.
We certainly cannot see without emotion, shut up in prison for many
years, one of the most learned men in Europe, the Archbishop of Toledo,
honored with the intimate confidence of Philip II. and the Queen of
England, allied in friendship with the most distinguished men of the
time, and known to all Christendom by the brilliant part which he had
played at the Council of Trent. The process lasted seventeen years;
and although the cause was carried to Rome, where the Archbishop must
have found powerful friends, a declaration of innocence in his favor
could not be obtained. Without staying to notice the many incidents
of a cause so long and so complicated, without insisting on the more
or less reason which the discourses and writings of Carranza may have
afforded for suspicions against his faith, I am quite certain, in my
own mind, that, in his own conscience and before God, he was perfectly
innocent. Here is a proof that places my opinion beyond a doubt. A
short time after the judgment was given, he fell ill; his malady was
supposed to be mortal, and the sacraments were administered to him.
At the moment of receiving the Viaticum, in the presence of a large
concourse, he declared, in the most solemn manner, that he had never
left the Catholic faith, that his conscience acquitted him of all the
accusations made against him; and he confirmed his declaration by
calling to witness God, in whose presence he was, whom he was about to
receive under the most sacred species, and before whose awful tribunal
he was in a few moments to appear. This pathetic act drew tears from
all present; all suspicions against him were dissipated as by a breath,
and a new sympathy was added to that which his continued misfortunes
had excited. The Sovereign Pontiff did not doubt the sincerity of the
declaration, as a magnificent epitaph was placed upon his tomb, which
certainly would not have been allowed if there had been the least doubt
of it. It certainly would be rash to refuse to believe a declaration so
explicit from the mouth of such a man as Carranza, expiring, and in the
presence of Jesus Christ Himself.
After having paid this tribute to the knowledge, virtues, and
misfortunes of Carranza, it remains for us to examine whether, whatever
may have been the purity of his conscience, it can be justly said that
his trial was a perfidious intrigue, carried on by envy and hatred.
This is not the place to examine the immense procedure in this case;
but since allusion has been made to it to condemn Philip II. and the
adversaries of Carranza, I wish, in my turn, to make some observations,
to endeavor to place the affair in its proper light. In the first
place, is it not astonishing that a trial devoid of all foundation
should have had so extraordinary a duration? At least there must have
been some appearance of it. Besides, if the cause had been decided in
Spain, the length of the trial might not have been so extraordinary.
But it was not so; the cause remained pending in Rome many years. Were
the judges so blind or so wicked that they could not discover the
calumny, or that they wanted the virtue to destroy it, supposing it
to have been as clear and evident as it has been pretended? It may be
replied to this, that the intrigues of Philip II., who was determined
on the destruction of the Archbishop, prevented the truth from
appearing; in proof of this assertion, have we not the difficulties
which the king made to allow the prisoner to be transferred to Rome?
It was necessary, it is said, for Pius V. to effect this by the threat
of excommunication. I will not deny that Philip II. attempted to
aggravate the situation of the Archbishop, and wished for a sentence
little favorable to the illustrious accused. Yet, before deciding
that the conduct of the king was criminal, we must know whether he
acted thus from personal resentment, from conviction, or from the
suspicion that the Archbishop inclined towards Lutheranism. Carranza,
before his disgrace, was highly favored and esteemed by Philip, as
appears from the missions which were confided to him in England, and
from his elevation to the first ecclesiastical dignity in Spain. How,
then, can we presume that so much good-will was converted on a sudden
into personal and violent hatred? Is it not, at least, necessary that
history should afford a fact in support of this conjecture? Now, I find
this nowhere in history, nor am I aware that others have done so. If
Philip took so decided a part against the Archbishop, it was evidently
because he believed, or strongly suspected him of being heretical. In
that case, Philip may have been rash, imprudent--all that you please;
but it cannot be said that, in the pursuit, he was moved by the spirit
of vengeance, or by low animosity.
Other men of the time were equally accused. Among the rest, Melchior
Cano. Carranza himself seemed to be suspicious; he bitterly complained
that Melchior Cano had ventured to say that the Archbishop was as
heretical as Luther. But Salazar de Mendoza, when relating the fact in
the life of Carranza, asserts that Cano, hearing this, openly denied
it, saying, that he had said nothing of the kind. Indeed, the mind
is easily inclined to believe him; men with intellects as favored as
his, have, in their own dignity, too powerful a preservative against
baseness, to allow them to be suspected of playing the infamous part of
calumniators.
I do not believe that it is necessary to seek for the cause of the
misfortunes of Carranza in private hatred or jealousy; it is found
in the critical circumstances of the time, and in the character of
this illustrious man himself. The grave symptoms which produced alarm
lest Protestantism might make proselytes in Spain; the efforts of
the Protestants to introduce their books and emissaries there; the
experience of what happened in other countries, and particularly in
the kingdom of France, created so much dread in men's minds, rendered
them so fearful and mistrustful, that the least suspicion of error,
above all, in persons elevated in dignity or distinguished for their
knowledge, occasioned disquietude and apprehension. We are aware of
the hot disputes which took place with respect to the Polyglot of
Antwerp and Arias Montanus, and we are not ignorant of the sufferings
of the famous Fray Luis de Leon, and some other illustrious men of that
time. Another conjuncture which contributed to push things to extremes
was, the political situation of Spain with respect to strangers.
The Spanish monarchy had too many enemies and rivals for her not to
have reason to fear that heresy, in the hands of her adversaries,
would become a means of introducing discord and civil war into her
bosom. These causes united, naturally rendered Philip suspicious and
mistrustful; the hatred of heresy combining in his mind with the desire
of self-preservation, he showed himself severe and inexorable with
respect to all that could affect the purity of the Catholic faith in
his empire.
On the other hand, it must be acknowledged that the character of
Carranza was not exactly what was required, in such critical times,
to avoid all dangerous wanderings. We perceive, in reading his
commentaries on the Catechism, that he was a man of acute penetration,
of vast erudition, of profound learning, of severe character, and of a
heart generous and frank. He spoke his thoughts without circumlocution,
without regard to the displeasure which his words might give to this
person or that. When he believed that he had discovered an abuse,
he pointed it out and condemned it openly, wherein he resembled his
supposed adversary, Melchior Cano, in more features than one. The
accusations against him in the trial were founded, not only on his
writings, but also on some of his sermons and private conversations.
I know not to what extent he exceeded the just limits; but I hesitate
not to affirm, that a man who wrote in the tone which we find in his
works, must have expressed himself _viva voce_ with great force, and
perhaps with excessive boldness. It must be added, to speak the whole
truth, that when treating of justification, in his commentaries on
the Catechism, he does not explain himself with all the clearness
desirable, and is wanting in the simplicity required by the unhappy
circumstances of the times. Men versed in this delicate matter know how
delicate certain points are. These points were then the subject of the
errors of Germany; and it may be easily imagined how much the attention
must have been fixed on the words of Carranza, and how alarming the
least shadow of ambiguity must have been. It is certain that, at Rome
he was not acquitted of all the accusations; he was compelled to abjure
a series of propositions, with respect to which he was judged liable
to suspicion; and some penances were imposed on him. Carranza on his
death-bed protested his innocence; but he took care to declare that
he did not regard the sentence of the Pope as unjust. The explanation
of the enigma is this: the innocence of the heart is not always
accompanied by the prudence of the lips.
I have dwelt upon this famous cause because it involves considerations
which strikingly exhibit the spirit of the age. These considerations
have, besides, the advantage of showing the truth in its proper light,
and prevent every thing being explained according to the wretched
measure of the malice of men. There is unhappily a tendency to explain
all in this way; and it may be truly said, that men too often give a
just foundation for it; yet, whenever there is no evident necessity
to do so, we ought to abstain from condemnation. The picture of the
history of humanity is sombre enough in itself; let us not take
pleasure in darkening it still more by new stains. We often call crime
that which was only ignorance. Man is inclined to evil; but he is not
less subject to error, and error is not always culpable.
Moreover, I believe that to Protestants themselves were owing the rigor
and anxious mistrust which the Inquisition of Spain displayed at that
time. They excited a religious revolution; and it is a constant law,
that all revolutions either destroy the power assailed, or render it
more harsh and severe. What before was looked upon as indifferent, is
now considered as suspected; and what, in all other circumstances,
would only have appeared a fault, is now regarded as a crime. Men are
in continual dread of seeing liberty converted into licentiousness;
and as revolutions destroy all, while they profess to reform,
whoever ventures to speak of reform, runs the risk of being blamed
as a disturber. Even prudent conduct is stigmatized as hypocritical
caution; frank and sincere language is termed insolence and dangerous
suggestion; reserve is a concealment full of cunning; even silence
itself assumes a meaning--it becomes alarming dissimulation. We have
seen so many things come to pass in our days, that we are placed in
an incomparable situation easily to understand the various phases of
the history of humanity. It is an undoubted fact, that Protestantism
produced a reaction in Spain. Its errors and excesses were the
reason why the ecclesiastical and civil power infinitely restrained
the liberty which had been previously enjoyed in all that related to
religion. Spain was preserved from the Protestant doctrines, when all
the probabilities were in favor of their being introduced there, in one
way or another. It is clear that this could not be obtained without
extraordinary efforts. Spain, at that time, appears to me like a place
besieged by a powerful enemy, where the leaders continually watched,
not only against attacks from without, but also against treason from
within. I will confirm these observations by an example, which will
serve for many others. Let us remember what took place with respect
to Bibles in the vulgar tongue; we shall then have an idea of what
passed with relation to all the rest, according to the natural order
of things. I have before me a testimony of what I have just said, as
respectable as it is worthy of interest--that of Carranza himself.
Hear what he says in his prologue to his commentaries on the Christian
Catechism: "Before the heresies of Luther had come from the infernal
regions to the light of this world, I do not know that the Holy
Scriptures in the vulgar tongue were anywhere forbidden. In Spain,
Bibles were translated into it by order of the Catholic sovereigns,
at the time when the Moors and Jews were allowed to live among the
Christians according to their own law. After the expulsion of the Jews
from Spain, the judges of religion found that some of those who had
been converted to our holy faith instructed their children in Judaism,
and taught them the ceremonies of the law of Moses by means of those
Bibles in the vulgar tongue, which they took care to have printed in
Italy, in the town of Ferrara. This is the real cause why Bibles in the
vulgar tongue were forbidden in Spain; but the possession and reading
of them were always allowed to colleges and monasteries, as well as
to persons of distinction above all suspicion." Carranza continues to
give, in a few words, the history of these prohibitions in Germany,
France, and other countries; then he adds: "In Spain, which was, and
still is, by the grace and goodness of God, pure from the cockle, care
was taken to forbid generally all the translations of the Scriptures in
the vulgar tongue, in order to prevent strangers having an opportunity
of holding controversy with simple and ignorant persons, and also
because they had, and still have, experience of certain particular
cases, and of the errors which began to arise in Spain from the
ill-understood reading of certain passages of the Bible. What I have
just stated is the real history of what took place; this is why the
Bible in the vulgar tongue was prohibited."
This curious passage of Carranza shows us, in a few words, the progress
of things. At first there was no prohibition; but the abuse committed
by the Jews provoked one, although still confined, as we have just
seen, within certain limits. Afterwards came the Protestants, upsetting
all Europe by means of their Bibles; Spain is threatened with the
introduction of the new errors; it is discovered that some persons
have been misled by the false interpretation of certain passages of
the Bible; they are compelled to take away this weapon from these
strangers, who attempt to use it to seduce simple people: from that
time the prohibition becomes rigorous and general.
To return to Philip II., let us not forget that this monarch was one
of the firmest defenders of the Catholic Church; and that in him was
personified the policy of the faithful ages, amid the vertigo which,
under the impulse of Protestantism, had taken possession of European
policy. If the Catholic Church, amid these great perturbations, could
reckon on a powerful protection from the princes of the earth, it was
in great measure owing to Philip II. This age was critical and decisive
in Europe. If it is true that he was unfortunate in Flanders, it is
not less undoubted that his power and ability afforded a counterpoise
to the Protestant power, which prevented it making itself master of
Europe. Even supposing that the efforts of Philip had only the result
of gaining time, by breaking the first shock of the Protestant policy,
this was not a slight service rendered to the Catholic Church, then
attacked on so many sides. What would have happened to Europe, if
Protestantism had been introduced into Spain as into France? if the
Huguenots had been able to count on the assistance of the Peninsula?
And what would have happened in Italy, if she had not been held in
respect by the power of Philip? Would not the sectaries of Germany have
succeeded in introducing their errors there? Here I appeal to all men
who are acquainted with history, whether, if Philip had abandoned his
much-decried policy, the Catholic religion would not have run the risk
of finding itself, at the beginning of the seventeenth century, under
the hard necessity of existing only as a tolerated religion in the
generality of the kingdoms of Europe? Now, we know what this toleration
is worth to the Catholic Church; England has told us for centuries;
Prussia shows us at this moment, and Russia adds her testimony in
a manner still more lamentable. Such is the point of view in which
we must consider Philip II. One is forced to allow that, considered
in this way, that prince is a great historical personage,--one of
those who have left the deepest marks on the policy of the age which
followed,--one of those who exert the greatest influence after them on
the course of events.
Spaniards, who anathematize the founder of the Escurial, have you,
then, forgotten our history, or do you esteem it of no value? Do you
stigmatize him as an odious tyrant? Do you not know that, in denying
his glory, in covering it with ignominy, you efface a feature of your
own glory, and throw into the mud the diadem which encircled the brows
of Ferdinand and Isabella? If you cannot pardon Philip II. for having
sustained the Inquisition,--if that reason alone obliges you to load
his name with execration, do the same with his illustrious father,
Charles V.; and, going back to Isabella of Castille, write also on
the list of the tyrants and scourges of humanity that name which
was venerated by both worlds, and which is the emblem of the glory
and power of the Spanish monarchy. They all took part in the fact
which excites your indignation; do not curse some, while you lavish
hypocritical indulgence on the others. If that indulgence is found in
your words, it is that the feeling of nationality which beats in your
bosom compels you to partiality--to inconsistency; you recoil when you
are about to efface the glories of Spain with a stroke of the pen--to
wither all her laurels--to deny your country. We have nothing left,
unfortunately, but great recollections; let us at least avoid despising
them: these recollections are, in a nation, like the titles of ancient
nobility in a fallen family; they raise the mind, they fortify the soul
in adversity; and, nourishing hope in the bottom of the heart, they
serve to prepare what is to come.
The immediate effect of the introduction of Protestantism into Spain
would have been, as in other countries, civil war; and this war
would have been more fatal to us than to other people, because the
circumstances were much more critical for us. The unity of the Spanish
monarchy could not have resisted the shocks and disturbances of
intestine dissension; the different parts were so heterogeneous among
themselves, and were so slightly united, that the least blow would
have parted them. The laws and manners of the kingdoms of Navarre and
Aragon were very different from those of Castille; a lively feeling
of independence, supported by frequent meetings of their own Cortes,
was kept alive in the hearts of those unconquered nations; they would
certainly have availed themselves of the first opportunity to shake
off a yoke which was not pleasing to them. Moreover, in the other
provinces, factions were not wanting to distract the country. The
monarchy would have been miserably divided at a time when it was
necessary to make head in the affairs of Europe, Africa, and America.
The Moors were still in sight of our coasts; the Jews had not had time
to forget Spain: certainly both would have availed themselves of the
conjuncture to raise themselves by means of our discords. On the policy
of Philip depended not only the tranquillity, but perhaps even the
existence of the Spanish monarchy. He is now accused of having been a
tyrant; if he had pursued another course, he would have been taxed with
incapacity and weakness.
One of the most unjust attacks of the enemies of religion against
her friends is, to attribute bad faith to them, to accuse them of
having in every thing false intentions, tortuous and interested views.
When they speak of the Machiavellianism of Philip II., they suppose
that the Inquisition, while apparently only religious in its object,
was, in reality, an obedient instrument of policy in the hands of a
crafty monarch. Nothing is more specious to the man in whose eyes
history is only a matter for piquant and malicious observations; but
nothing is more false according to facts. Some people, seeing in the
Inquisition an extraordinary tribunal, have not been able to imagine
the existence of that exceptional tribunal, without supposing, in the
monarch who sustained and encouraged it, profound reasons, and views
carried much further than appears on the surface of things. They have
not been willing to see that an epoch has its spirit, its own manner
of regarding things, its own system of action, both in doing good
and in preventing evil. During those times, when all the nations of
Europe appealed to fire and sword to decide questions of religion,
when Protestants and Catholics burnt their adversaries, when England,
France, and Germany assisted at the bloodiest scenes, to bring a
heretic to the scaffold was a natural and customary thing, which gave
no shock to prevailing ideas. We feel our hair grow stiff on our heads
at the mere idea of burning a man alive. Placed in society where the
religious sentiment is considerably diminished; accustomed to live
among men who have a different religion, and sometimes none at all; we
cannot bring ourselves to believe that it could be at that time quite
an ordinary thing to see heretics or the impious led to punishment.
But, if we read the authors of the time, we shall see the immense
difference on this point between their manners and ours; and we shall
remark, that our language of moderation and toleration would not even
have been understood by the man of the sixteenth century.
Do you know what Carranza himself, who suffered so much from the
Inquisition, thought of this matter? Every time that he has occasion
to touch on this point in the work which I have quoted, he expresses
the ideas of his time, without even staying to prove them; he gives
them as undoubted principles. In England, with Queen Mary, he did not
fear to express his opinions as to the rigor with which heretics ought
to be treated; and he was certainly far from suspecting that his name
would one day be made use of to attack this intolerance. Kings and
peoples, ecclesiastics and seculars, were all agreed on this point.
What would be said now-a-days of a king who would carry with his own
hands the wood to burn heretics, and would condemn blasphemers to
have their tongues pierced with a hot iron? Now, the first of these
things is related of St. Ferdinand, and we know that the second was
done by St. Louis. We now exclaim in seeing Philip II. assisting at
an _auto-da-fé_; but, if we consider that the court, the great men,
all that was most select in society, surrounded the king on these
occasions, we shall understand that, if this spectacle is horrible
and intolerable to us, it was not so in the eyes of those men, widely
different from us in ideas and feelings. And let it not be said that
they were forced there by the will of the monarch,--that they were
compelled to obey: this was not the effect of the monarch's will; it
was only a consequence of the spirit of the age. No monarch would have
been sufficiently powerful to perform such a ceremony, if the spirit
of the age had been opposed to it; besides, no monarch is so hard and
insensible as not to feel the influence of the times in which he lives.
Suppose the most absolute despot of our time, Napoleon, at the height
of his power, or the present Emperor of Russia, and see whether they
could thus violate the manners of the age.
An anecdote is related which is little adapted to confirm the opinion
of those who assert that the Inquisition was a political instrument in
the hands of Philip. As it paints in a curious and interesting manner
the customs and ideas of the age, I will insert it here. Philip II.
held his court at Madrid; a certain preacher, in a sermon delivered in
presence of the king, advanced, that _sovereigns had an absolute power
over the persons as well as over the property of their subjects_. The
proposition was not of a nature to displease a king; the preacher at
one blow relieved kings from all control over the exercise of their
power. Now, it seems that at that time all men were not in such abject
subjection to despotic control as we have been led to believe; some
one was found to denounce to the Inquisition the words in which the
preacher had not been ashamed to flatter the absolute power of kings.
Surely the orator had chosen a secure asylum; and our readers may well
suppose that this denunciation coming into collision with the power of
Philip, the Inquisition would have maintained a prudent silence. Yet
it was not so: the Inquisition made an inquiry, found the proposition
contrary to sound doctrine, and the preacher, who was perhaps far from
expecting such a reward, had divers penances imposed on him, and was
condemned to retract publicly his proposition in the same place where
he had made it. The retractation took place with all the ceremonies
of a juridical proceeding; the preacher declared that he retracted
his proposition as erroneous; he explained the reasons by reading,
as he had been directed, the following words, well worthy of remark:
"_Indeed, messieurs, kings have no other power over their subjects
than that which is given to them by the divine and human law; they
have none proceeding from their own free and absolute will._" This is
related by D. Antonio Perez, as may be seen at length in the note which
corresponds to the present chapter. We know, moreover, that he was not
a fanatical partisan of the Inquisition.
This took place at the time which some persons never mention without
stigmatizing it with the words obscurantism, tyranny, and superstition.
Yet I doubt whether, at a time nearer to us--that, for example, when it
is asserted that light and liberty dawned on Spain under the reign of
Charles III.--a public and solemn condemnation of despotism would have
been carried so far. This condemnation, at the time of Philip II., did
as much honor to the tribunal which ordered it as to the monarch who
consented to it.
With respect to knowledge, it is a calumny to say that a design was
formed to maintain and perpetuate ignorance. Certainly the conduct
of Philip does not indicate such a design, when we see this prince,
not content with favoring the great enterprise of the Polyglot of
Antwerp, recommending to Arias Montanus to devote to the purchase of
chosen works, printed or manuscript, the money which would revert to
the printer Plantinus, to whom the king had advanced a large sum to
aid in the enterprise. This chosen collection was to be placed in the
library of the monastery of the Escurial, which was then built. The
king had also charged _Don Francis de Alaba, his ambassador in France,
to collect in that kingdom the best books which it was possible for him
to procure_, as he himself says in his letter to Arias Montanus. No;
the history of Spain, with respect to intolerance in religious matters,
is not so black as it has been represented. When foreigners reproach us
with cruelty, we will reply that, when Europe was stained with blood
by civil wars, Spain was at peace. As to the number of persons who
perished on the scaffold or died in exile, we challenge the two nations
who claim to be at the head of civilization, France and England, to
show us their statistics on that subject at the same time, and to
compare them with ours: we do not fear the comparison.
In proportion as the danger of the introduction of Protestantism into
Spain diminished, so did the rigor of the Inquisition. We may observe,
moreover, that the procedure of that tribunal always became milder,
in accordance with the spirit of criminal legislation in the other
countries of Europe. Thus we see the _auto-da-fé_ becoming more rare
as we approach our own times, so that, at the end of the last century,
the Inquisition was only a shadow of what it had been. It is useless
to insist on this point, which nobody denies, and on which we are in
unison with the most ardent enemies of that tribunal; and this it is
which, in our eyes, proves, in the most convincing manner, that we must
seek in the ideas and manners of the time, what people have attempted
to find in the cruelty, in the wickedness, or in the ambition of men.
If the doctrines of those who plead for the abolition of the punishment
of death are carried into effect, posterity, when reading the
executions of our time, will be seized with the same horror with which
we view the punishment of times past, and the gibbet and the guillotine
will figure in the same rank as the ancient Quemaderos.[26]