THE REFORMATION OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY.
The great struggle for religious liberty, which began with Huss and
Wycliffe, culminated in the age of Luther, Calvin, and Cranmer, and
continues to pervade modern thought and feeling, is apt to blind us to
earlier movements in the same direction. The sixteenth century is so
inseparably linked with our ideas of the Reformation, that to connect
the word with a previous epoch seems almost like a paradox. But the
intellectual night of the middle ages was not quite as dark as modern
Protestant pride is apt to fancy, neither did nations and individuals
bow without resistance to the yoke of Rome. The thirteenth century
especially may be justly described as an epoch of religious revolution.
Heresy raised its multifarious heads in all countries of Europe, from the
Danubian principalities to the English shores of the Atlantic. Everywhere
the vices of the clergy were laid bare with merciless satire, in many
places the cry for liberty of thought and doctrine was raised, and the
translation of the Bible into the language of the people is frequently
found amongst the demands of heterodox theologians. And whatever the
dissensions amongst the various sects might be, they were united in their
hatred and opposition to the Church of Rome.
This alarming circumstance was fully realised by the man to whose
energy the resistance and final victory of Papal supremacy were in a
great measure due, Pope Innocent III. Speaking of the various classes
of heretics, he says: ‘Species quidem habentes diversas, sed caudas ad
invicem colligatas.... Magisterium Ecclesiae Romanae refugiunt.’ As to
the extraordinary knowledge of the Bible amongst some of the sects,
another unimpeachable witness may be cited,—Reinerius, a Catholic
convert and violent assailant of the Waldenses, who professes to have
known a common peasant able to recite the whole of the book of Job, and
several others who knew the New Testament by heart. It was not without
reason, the reader will perceive, that about this time the Church became
more and more anxious to wrench such a dangerous source of dissent and
argumentation from the hands of the common people. Hence the notion,
frequently insisted upon in ecclesiastical writings of the period, of the
Bible being a book of unfathomable depth, all but incomprehensible to the
greatest scholars, and useless, if not dangerous, to the vulgar.
No country in those days offered a more favourable soil to the growth of
heresy than the south of France. Its wealth, its practical independence
from the central power of the French kings, and the natural spirit of its
inhabitants, had fostered a degree of local freedom all but unequalled
in other parts of feudal Europe. Particularly the citizens of the large
towns showed a remarkable spirit of pride and political ambition. As
early as the thirteenth century, we hear of a legally constituted
‘_tiers état_,’ consisting of delegates of the towns, at the provincial
assemblies of the county of Toulouse. A population of this kind was not
likely to bow in silent awe to a priesthood, the vices and weaknesses
of which were notorious, and formed a favourite butt for the satire of
the troubadours. The step from antagonism to the representatives of the
Roman Church to the rejection of its doctrine was easy, and hence we are
not surprised to see the south of France described as the brood-nest of
foulest heresy; nay, even the Provençal language, or _langue d’oc_, was
harsh and repulsive to orthodox ears, and, as was mentioned before, Pope
Innocent IV., in a bull dated 1245, forbade its use to the students.
The chief sect existing in the county of Toulouse and its dependencies
derived its name from the town or diocese of Albi. But it must be
remembered that Albigenses, or, in its French form, Albigeois, is a
collective name used by the Catholics almost synonymously with heretics,
and without regard to the most important doctrinal and moral variations.
The Vaudois or Waldenses, for instance, although frequently mixed up
with the Albigenses, seem to have had little in common with them beyond
their opposition to Roman supremacy.[26] My task being a purely literary
consideration of the subject, I must deal with the Albigeois doctrine
in the briefest fashion. Our knowledge of that doctrine is, moreover,
anything but satisfactory or complete, being mainly derived from the
statements of Catholic controversialists, the confessions of heretics
preserved amongst the documents of the Inquisition, and the decrees of
councils and provincial synods. The fanaticism of mediæval monks seems to
have been fatal to the utterances of their adversaries. We do not indeed
possess a single authentic document from an Albigeois source, and the
celebrated embodiment of the Vaudois creed, called ‘The Noble Lesson.’
which Raynouard dated from the eleventh century, is now generally
acknowledged to belong to a much later period, when the sect was cooped
up in its Alpine recesses, and had lost its real importance and vitality.
It seems at any rate doubtful whether this curious document contains the
pure doctrine of the original ‘Poor Men of Lyons.’
From such sources as those indicated above, it may be concluded with
tolerable certainty that the Albigenses were part of that great
new-Manichean heresy, which, taking its rise amongst the Slav populations
of the Balkan peninsula, gradually spread over almost every part of
Western Europe, leaving traces of its name and aspirations in more than
one modern language. The self-laudatory term of Cathari (from the Greek
word καθαρός, pure) assumed by some of the heretics, was converted by the
Germans into the generic term of ‘Ketzer,’ or heretic; and the Italian
word ‘bugiardo,’ liar, is a lasting testimony of the repute in which
Bulgarian veracity, deservedly or undeservedly, was held; not to mention
other still more opprobrious epithets derived from the same root.
In common with other new-Manichean sects, the Albigenses seem to have
rejected a Trinity, and to have placed in its stead a dualism of
creative principles: one good, the other evil; one representing the
invisible and spiritual, the other the physical and tangible. More
obnoxious perhaps than this merely speculative attempt at the solution
of an old metaphysical problem must have been, in the eyes of Romish
priests, those doctrines which more immediately clashed with Papal dogmas
and rites. To these belong the abolishment of mass and sacraments, and
of the veneration of the saints. The idea of transubstantiation the
Albigenses treated with scorn, and, moreover, they founded this and other
heterodox opinions on the exclusive authority of the Bible, or rather
of the New Testament, for against the Hebrew books they had a strange
prejudice. The spiritual tinge of their doctrine made them adverse
to marriage or any form of sexual intercourse, from which indeed the
initiated abstained totally. From a similar point of view we have to
explain another of their moral precepts, viz., vegetarianism, founded
not on the nature-worship of Buddhism, or on Shelley s humanitarian
enthusiasm, but on the abhorrence of the flesh and everything procreated
by the flesh. For the same reason the prohibition did not extend to fish.
It is less apparent on what grounds they insisted upon another demand
of modern philanthropists, the abolition of capital punishment. And it
is not unlikely that our admiration of this almost unique instance of
humanity in those cruel times would be considerably diminished by our
knowledge of its motive. Most probably some absurd theological crotchet
was at the bottom of it. For in that respect mediæval heretics were by no
means in advance of their Catholic contemporaries. One of the questions,
for instance, hotly discussed by Pope Innocent III. and the heretics,
was, whether the number of nails used at the Crucifixion was three or
four. The heretics inclined to the lower figure, and were soundly rated
for that reason by a learned controversialist, who denounces their
doctrine as unworthy of Catholics and Christians.
The charges of all manner of vices raised against the Albigeois by
monkish chroniclers ought naturally to be received with great caution.
Sometimes even these bear unwilling testimony to the general purity of
their manners. It is said that on one occasion Folquet, the fanatical
Bishop of Toulouse, asked a knight recently converted to Catholicism, why
he and his friends did not drive the heretics from the country. ‘It is
impossible,’ was the answer; ‘we have grown up amongst them, our friends
and relations are of them, and we know that they lead honest lives.’ It
is, however, by no means improbable that the exaggerated asceticism of
their moral code frequently led to secret vice and hypocrisy.
The anecdote just related may at the same time give the reader an idea
of the power and extension of the Provençal heresy, about the beginning
of the thirteenth century, the period which chiefly concerns us here. It
proves, and we know from other sources, that the sect was by no means
limited to the lower orders. We hear, for instance, of a great teacher
of the Albigeois, by name Guillabert de Castres, who had many followers
amongst the highest nobility of Southern France. At one of his religious
meetings, in 1204, he received amongst his flock five high-born ladies,
one of them the sister of Count Raimon Roger of Foix, one of the most
powerful lords of the country, of whom we shall hear again. The ladies,
the old account runs, surrendered themselves to God and the Gospel. They
consented to abstain from flesh, eggs, and cheese; the use of oil and
fish, on the other hand, was conceded to them. They also promised never
to take an oath nor to speak an untruth. Vows of perfect chastity, and
of adherence to their creed at the risk of their lives, were further
conditions of their reception amongst the faithful. The Count of
Foix, and many knights and citizens, are said to have witnessed this
conversion, and there is little doubt that the former himself followed,
or perhaps had preceded, his sister’s example. But the same is not by
any means certain of Raimon VI., Count of Toulouse, the champion of
the national and religious freedom of Southern France. There is little
evidence with regard to him of even an inclination towards the doctrinal
views of the heretics, and he died a faithful son of the Catholic Church,
although she refused him her comfortings in his last hours, and a grave
after death. But it is just this orthodoxy of his dogmatical opinions
which makes his position in the struggle so interesting. He is an almost
unique instance in the middle ages of a strict adherent, nay a martyr, to
religious toleration.
Raimon VI. was not, like his friend the Count of Foix, a fighting baron
in the ordinary sense. His personal courage on the battle-field was
unimpeachable, but he did not love the fight for the fight’s sake. When
the spreading of the heresy in his territories, fostered by his leniency,
first began to alarm the watchfulness of Rome, he did everything in his
power to avoid the thunders of the Church. Many were the penances and
humiliations and promises of amendment to which he submitted without
much personal reluctance, it would seem. But all attempts at a final
reconciliation were frustrated by his one unalterable resolve, not to
give over his subjects to the tender mercies of the Inquisition. Their
safety and freedom were to him dearer than his lands and castles, more
sacred even than the vows extracted from him under compulsion. Much fault
may be found with Raimon’s general conduct in these transactions; even in
his noble principle of toleration he may have been influenced by the ties
of relationship and other personal motives. But the fact remains, that
at a time when heretics were treated worse than robbers and murderers, a
great prince struggled and fought, at the risk of his life and property,
for the religious freedom of his subjects, whose belief he did _not_
share.
Raimon’s great antagonist—intellectually, and perhaps morally, infinitely
his superior—was Pope Innocent III. He is one of those characters in
history which leave their impress on periods of which they at the same
time represent the highest development in one direction or another.
Without him the Church of Rome might have succumbed to the aggressions
of temporal and spiritual enemies, but neither would he have been
possible except as the representative of a great spiritual power, full
of latent vitality, and with a strong hold on the minds of the people.
The one great idea of his life was the consolidation and enlargement of
the Church, with regard to its dogma, its discipline, and its political
power. To this aim he devoted the energy of his mind and the great stores
of his acquired knowledge; to it he sacrificed his personal interests,
perhaps his conscience. For, even accepting his own standard of duty, it
is difficult to justify at least the one act of his reign which concerns
us most immediately. This is, the diverting of the enthusiasm which found
its tangible result in the Crusades, from the Turk, the common enemy of
Christianity, to a comparatively harmless sect in his more immediate
neighbourhood. I am alluding to the celebrated crusade preached by him
against the Provençal heretics, fatal alike to the political freedom and
to the independent literature of Southern France.
When Innocent, in 1198, at the early age of thirty-seven, ascended the
chair of St. Peter, one of his first desires was to impart new life
to the hitherto somewhat sluggish action against the Albigenses. The
bishops of the threatened dioceses were admonished to take immediate and
energetic measures, and a number of Papal legates were successively
despatched to stem the current of heresy by preaching, personal
persuasion, and, if need be, severe repression. Amongst the priests most
devoted to the cause of Rome, and most fanatical in their orthodox zeal,
two names stand out prominently—that of Folquet, Bishop of Toulouse, once
a gay troubadour, now an ascetic; and that of St. Dominic, branded by
history as the originator of the Inquisition.
Count Raimon’s attitude in the meantime seems to have been one of
diplomatic evasion. When taken to task for his notorious connivance at
the heretical movement, he meekly confessed his guilt, and promised
the immediate expulsion of the culprits from his dominions. But no
result followed; not even after the severest punishment of the Church,
the Interdict, had been twice inflicted on him and his subjects.
The instrument of the Papal wrath on the second occasion was Pierre
de Castelnau, the legate; and his death at the hands of two unknown
assassins, with which Count Raimon was charged, is the tragic close of
the first scene of the Albigeois drama.
This event gave new zest to the extreme measure resolved upon by the Pope
shortly before—the preaching of a crusade against the heretics and their
protector. The political wisdom of such a measure is at once apparent,
and fully accounts for its ultimate success. The fertile valleys and
wealthy cities of Provence offered a tempting bait to pious plunderers,
who at the same time avoided a wearisome and dangerous journey to the far
East without losing any of the spiritual privileges connected with the
more onerous task. Moreover, the Papal mandate was chiefly addressed to
the ruler and the nobles of the French kingdom, who for a long time had
looked with a covetous eye on the broad acres and rich vineyards of their
southern neighbours.
The year 1209 marks the opening of the first crusade. The legates of
the Pope guided the sacred army. Amongst the worldly leaders, the name
of Simon de Montfort, father of the celebrated Earl of Leicester, is
the most prominent. The incidents of this war, which lasted over twenty
years, and laid waste the most flourishing provinces of France, are
matter of history. Suffice it here to allude briefly to the revolting
cruelties of the crusaders, and to such memorable events as the sieges
of Lavaur and Beziers, and the decisive battle of Muret, at which Peter
II. of Aragon, the brother-in-law and ally of Count Raimon, perished
with the flower of his chivalry. It was at the sack of Beziers that that
man of God, Arnaud, Abbot of Citeaux, when asked by the soldiers how to
distinguish Catholics and heretics, spoke the pious words: ‘Kill them
all; the Lord will know his own!’
In the end, the Church remained triumphant. Raimon died with a broken
heart and a broken fortune. His valour in the field of battle had been
in vain; even his most humiliating attempts at reconciliation with the
Roman See had come to naught, owing, in great part, to the personal
hatred of the legates and local clergy, who, out-heroding Herod,
frustrated the milder intentions of the Pope. It ought to be added, in
alleviation of the guilt of the priests, that religious intolerance was
supported in this case by worldly ambition and covetousness. The crusade
soon took the form of a political war between the North and the South of
France; it was a struggle of provincial autonomy against centralisation.
This issue also was gained by the invaders. As early as 1215, the lands
of the Count of Toulouse were by the Pope given to his champion, Simon
de Montfort, who, it is true, never enjoyed their quiet possession, and
died in the defence of his ill-gotten title. By his eldest son, Amaury,
these claims were ceded to the King of France, who in the meantime had
taken a prominent part in the crusade. In the final peace concluded with
the crown of France at Paris, in 1229, Count Raimon VII., son of Raimon
VI., barely succeeded in retaining possession of the scanty remains
of his heritage during his own lifetime. His daughter and heiress was
married to the brother of the King of France. This marriage sealed the
doom of southern independence; its customs, its traditions, and its
literature were rapidly merged in the overpowering influence of northern
centralisation. The _langue d’oc_ descended to the level of a local
patois.
It is sad to relate that the last recorded action of Raimon VII. was
his personal attendance at the conviction and burning alive of eighty
heretics. With the Treaty of Paris, the last hope of the Albigeois
movement had vanished, and its remnants were gradually hunted down by
the bloodhounds of the Inquisition, now an established institution in
beautiful Provence.