THE INQUISITORIAL PROCESS.
The procedure of the episcopal courts, as described in a former chapter,
was based on the principles of the Roman law, and whatever may have been
its abuses in practice, it was equitable in theory, and its processes
were limited by strictly defined rules. In the Inquisition all this was
changed, and if we would rightly appreciate its methods we must
understand the relations which the inquisitor conceived to exist between
himself and the offenders brought before his tribunal. As a judge, he
was vindicating the faith and avenging God for the wrongs inflicted on
him by misbelief. He was more than a judge, however, he was a
father-confessor striving for the salvation of the wretched souls
perversely bent on perdition. In both capacities he acted with an
authority far higher than that of an earthly judge. If his sacred
mission was accomplished, it mattered little what methods were used. If
the offender asked mercy for his unpardonable crime it must be through
the most unreserved submission to the spiritual father who was seeking
to save him from the endless torment of hell. The first thing demanded
of him when he appeared before the tribunal was an oath to stand to the
mandates of the Church, to answer truly all questions asked of him, to
betray all heretics known to him, and to perform whatever penance might
be imposed on him; and refusal to take this oath was to proclaim himself
at once a defiant and obstinate heretic.[357]
The duty of the inquisitor, moreover, was distinguished from that of the
ordinary judge by the fact that the task assigned to him was the
impossible one of ascertaining the secret thoughts and opinions of the
prisoner. External acts were to him only of value as indications of
belief, to be accepted or rejected as he might deem them conclusive or
illusory. The crime he sought to suppress by punishment was purely a
mental one--acts, however criminal, were beyond his jurisdiction. The
murderers of St. Peter Martyr were prosecuted, not as assassins, but as
fautors of heresy and impeders of the Inquisition. The usurer only came
within his purview when he asserted or showed by his acts that he
considered usury no sin; the sorcerer when his incantations proved that
he preferred to rely on the powers of demons rather than those of God,
or that he entertained wrongful notions upon the sacraments. Zanghino
tells us that he witnessed the condemnation of a concubinary priest by
the Inquisition, who was punished not for his licentiousness, but
because while thus polluted he celebrated daily mass and urged in excuse
that he considered himself purified by putting on the sacred vestments.
Then, too, even doubt was heresy; the believer must have fixed and
unwavering faith, and it was the inquisitor's business to ascertain this
condition of his mind.[358] External acts and verbal professions were as
naught. The accused might be regular in his attendance at mass; he might
be liberal in his oblations, punctual in confession and communion, and
yet be a heretic at heart. When brought before the tribunal he might
profess the most unbounded submission to the decisions of the Holy See,
the strictest adherence to orthodox doctrine, the freest readiness to
subscribe to whatever was demanded of him, and yet be secretly a
Catharan or a Vaudois, fit only for the stake. Few, indeed, were there
who courageously admitted their heresy when brought before the tribunal,
and to the conscientious judge, eager to destroy the foxes which ravaged
the vineyard of the Lord, the task of exploring the secret heart of man
was no easy one. We cannot wonder that he speedily emancipated himself
from the trammels of recognized judicial procedure which, in preventing
him from committing injustice, would have rendered his labors futile.
Still less can we be surprised that fanatic zeal, arbitrary cruelty, and
insatiable cupidity rivalled each other in building up a system
unspeakably atrocious. Omniscience alone was capable of solving with
justice the problems which were the daily routine of the inquisitor;
human frailty, resolved to accomplish a predetermined end, inevitably
reached the practical conclusion that the sacrifice of a hundred
innocent men were better than the escape of one guilty.
Thus of the three forms of criminal actions, accusation, denunciation,
and inquisition, the latter necessarily became, in place of an
exception, the invariable rule, and at the same time it was stripped of
the safeguards by which its dangerous tendencies had been in some degree
neutralized. If a formal accuser presented himself, the inquisitor was
instructed to discourage him by pointing out the danger of the _talio_
to which he was exposed by inscribing himself; and by general consent
this form of action was rejected in consequence of its being
"litigious"--that is, because it afforded the accused some opportunities
of defence. That there was danger to the accuser, and that the
Inquisition practically discouraged the process, was shown in 1304, when
an inquisitor, Frà Landulfo, imposed a fine of one hundred and fifty
ounces of gold on the town of Theate because it had officially accused a
man of heresy and had failed in the proof. The action by denunciation
was less objectionable, because in it the inquisitor acted _ex officio_;
but it was unusual, and the inquisitorial process at an early period
became substantially the only one followed.[359]
Not only, as we shall see, were its safeguards withdrawn, but virtually
the presumption of guilt was assumed in advance. About 1278 an
experienced inquisitor lays down the rule as one generally received,
that in places much suspected of heresy every inhabitant must be cited
to appear, must be forced to abjure heresy and to tell the truth, and be
subjected to a detailed interrogatory about himself and others, in which
any lack of frankness will subject him hereafter to the dreadful
penalties of relapse. That this was not a mere theoretical proposition
appears from the great inquests held by Bernard de Caux and Jean de
Saint-Pierre in 1245 and 1246, when there are recorded two hundred and
thirty interrogatories of inhabitants of the little town of Avignonet,
one hundred of those of Fanjeaux, and four hundred and twenty of
Mas-Saintes-Puelles.[360]
From this responsibility there was no escape for any one who had reached
the age at which the Church held him able to answer for his own acts.
What this age was, however, was a subject of dispute. The Councils of
Toulouse, Béziers, and Albi assumed it to be fourteen for males and
twelve for females, when they prescribed the oath of abjuration to be
taken by the whole population, and this rule was adopted by some
authorities. Others contented themselves with the definition that the
child must be old enough to understand the purport of an oath, while
there were not wanting high authorities who reduced the age of
responsibility to seven years, and those who more charitably fixed it at
nine and a half for girls and ten and a half for boys. It is true that
in Latin countries, where minority did not cease until the age of
twenty-five, no one beneath that age had a standing in court, but this
was readily evaded by appointing for him a "curator," under whose shadow
he could be tortured and condemned; and when we are told that no one
below the age of fourteen should be tortured, we are left to conjecture
the minimum age of responsibility for heresy.[361]
Nor could the offender escape by absenting himself. Absence was
contumacy and only increased his guilt, by adding a fresh and
unpardonable offence, besides being technically tantamount to
confession. In fact, before the Inquisition was thought of, the
inquisitorial process was rendered absolute in ecclesiastical
jurisprudence precisely to meet such cases, as when Innocent III.
degraded the Bishop of Coire on evidence taken _ex parte_ by his
commissioners, after the bishop had repeatedly refused to appear before
them; and the importance of this decision is shown by the fact that
Raymond of Pennaforte embodied it in the canon law to prove that in
cases of contumacy the testimony taken in an _inquisitio_ was valid
ground for condemnation without a _litis contestatio_ or contest between
the prosecution and the defence. Accordingly, when a party failed to
appear, after due citation published in his parish church and proper
delay, there was no hesitation in proceeding against him to conviction
_in absentia_--the absence of the culprit being piously supplied by "the
presence of God and the Gospels" when the sentence was rendered.
Contumacious absence, in fact, was in itself enough. Frederic II. in his
earliest edict, in 1220, following the Lateran Council of 1215, had
declared that the suspect who did not clear himself within twelve
months was to be condemned as a heretic, and this was applied to the
absent, who were ordered to be sentenced after a year's excommunication,
whether anything was proved against them or not. Enduring
excommunication for a year without seeking its removal was evidence of
heresy as to the sacraments and the power of the keys, if as to nothing
else; and some authorities were so rigid with regard to this that the
Council of Béziers denounced the punishment of heresy for all who
remained excommunicate for forty days. Even the delay of a twelvemonth,
however, was evaded, for inquisitors were instructed when citing the
absent to summon them, not only to appear, but to purge themselves
within a given time, and then as soon as it had elapsed the accused was
held to be convicted. Yet the extreme penalty of relaxation was rarely
enforced in such cases, and the Inquisition contented itself generally
with imprisoning for life those against whom no offence was proved save
contumacy, unless, indeed, when caught they refused to submit and
abjure.[362]
As little was there any escape by death. It mattered not that the sinner
had been called to the judgment-seat of God, the faith must be
vindicated by his condemnation and the faithful be edified by his
punishment. If he had incurred only imprisonment or the lighter
penalties, his bones were simply dug up and cast out. If his heresy had
deserved the stake, they were solemnly burned. A simulacrum of defence
was allowed to heirs and descendants, on whom were visited the heavy
penalties of confiscation and personal disabilities. How unflagging was
the zeal with which these mortuary prosecutions were sometimes carried
on is visible in the case of Armanno Pongilupo of Ferrara, over whose
remains war was waged between the Bishop and the Inquisitor of Ferrara
for thirty-two years after his death, in 1269, ending with the triumph
of the Inquisition in 1301. No prescription of time barred the Church in
these matters, as the heirs and descendants of Gherardo of Florence
found when, in 1313, Frà Grimaldo the inquisitor commenced a successful
prosecution against their ancestor who had died prior to 1250.[363]
* * * * *
At best the inquisitorial process was a dangerous one in its conjunction
of prosecutor with judge, and when it was first introduced in
ecclesiastical jurisprudence careful limitations to prevent abuse were
felt to be absolutely essential. The danger was doubled when the
prosecuting judge was an earnest zealot bent on upholding the faith and
predetermined on seeing in every prisoner before him a heretic to be
convicted at any cost; nor was the danger lessened when he was merely
rapacious and eager for fines and confiscations. Yet the theory of the
Church was that the inquisitor was an impartial spiritual father whose
functions in the salvation of souls should be fettered by no rules. All
the safeguards which human experience had shown to be necessary in
judicial proceedings of the most trivial character were deliberately
cast aside in these cases, where life and reputation and property
through three generations were involved. Every doubtful point was
decided "in favor of the faith." The inquisitor, with endless iteration,
was empowered and instructed to proceed summarily, to disregard forms,
to permit no impediments arising from judicial rules or the wrangling of
advocates, to shorten the proceedings as much as possible by depriving
the accused of the ordinary facilities of defence, and by rejecting all
appeals and dilatory exceptions. The validity of the result was not to
be vitiated by the omission at any stage of the trial of the forms which
had been devised to prevent injustice and subject the judge to
responsibility.[364]
Had the proceedings been public, there might have been some check upon
this hideous system, but the Inquisition shrouded itself in the awful
mystery of secrecy until after sentence had been awarded and it was
ready to impress the multitude with the fearful solemnities of the _auto
de fé_. Unless proclamation were to be made for an absentee, the
citation of a suspected heretic was made in secret. All knowledge of
what took place after he presented himself was confined to the few
discreet men selected by his judge, who were sworn to inviolable
silence, and even the experts assembled to consult over his fate were
subjected to similar oaths. The secrets of that dismal tribunal were
guarded with the same caution, and we are told by Bernard Gui that
extracts from the records were to be furnished rarely and only with the
most careful discretion. Paramo, in the quaint pedantry with which he
ingeniously proves that God was the first inquisitor and the
condemnation of Adam and Eve the first model of the inquisitorial
process, triumphantly points out that he judged them in secret, thus
setting the example which the Inquisition is bound to follow, and
avoiding the subtleties which the criminals would have raised in their
defence, especially at the suggestion of the crafty serpent. That he
called no witnesses is explained by the confession of the accused, and
ample legal authority is cited to show that these confessions were
sufficient to justify the conviction and punishment. If this blasphemous
absurdity raises a smile, it has also its melancholy side, for it
reveals to us the view which the inquisitors themselves took of their
functions, assimilating themselves to God and wielding an irresponsible
power which nothing short of divine wisdom could prevent from being
turned by human passions into an engine of the most deadly injustice.
Released from all the restraint of publicity and unrestricted by the
formalities of law, the procedure of the Inquisition, as Zanghino tells
us, was purely arbitrary. How the inquisitors construed their powers and
what use they made of their discretion we shall have abundant
opportunity of seeing hereafter.[365]
The ordinary course of a trial by the Inquisition was this. A man would
be reported to the inquisitor as of ill-repute for heresy, or his name
would occur in the confessions of other prisoners. A secret inquisition
would be made and all accessible evidence against him would be
collected. He would then be secretly cited to appear at a given time,
and bail taken to secure his obedience, or if he were suspected of
flight, he would be suddenly arrested and confined until the tribunal
was ready to give him a hearing. Legally there required to be three
citations, but this was eluded by making the summons "one for three;"
when the prosecution was based on common report the witnesses were
called apparently at random, making a sort of drag-net, and when the
mass of surmises and gossip, exaggerated and distorted by the natural
fear of the witnesses, eager to save themselves from suspicion of
favoring heretics, grew sufficient for action, the blow would fall. The
accused was thus prejudged. He was assumed to be guilty, or he would not
have been put on trial, and virtually his only mode of escape was by
confessing the charges made against him, abjuring heresy, and accepting
whatever punishment might be imposed on him in the shape of penance.
Persistent denial of guilt and assertion of orthodoxy, when there was
evidence against him, rendered him an impenitent, obstinate heretic, to
be abandoned to the secular arm and consigned to the stake. The process
thus was an exceedingly simple one, and is aptly summarized by an
inquisitor of the fifteenth century in an argument against admitting the
accused to bail. If one is caught in heresy, by his own confession, and
is impenitent, he is to be delivered to the secular arm to be put to
death; if penitent, he is to be thrust in prison for life, and therefore
is not to be let loose on bail; if he denies, and is legitimately
convicted by witnesses, he is, as an impenitent, to be delivered to the
secular court to be executed.[366]
Yet many reasons led the inquisitor earnestly to desire to secure
confession. In numerous cases--indeed, no doubt in a majority--the
evidence, while possibly justifying suspicion, was of too loose and
undefined a character to justify condemnation, for every idle rumor was
taken up, and any flimsy pretext which led to prosecution assumed
importance when the inquisitor found himself bound to show that he had
not acted unadvisedly, or when he had in prospect fines and
confiscations for the benefit of the faith. Even when the evidence was
sufficient, there were motives equally strong to induce the inquisitor
to labor with his prisoner in the hope of leading him to withdraw his
denial and throw himself upon the mercy of the tribunal. Except in the
somewhat rare cases of defiant heretics, confession was always
accompanied with professions of conversion and repentance. Not only thus
was a soul snatched from Satan, but the new convert was bound to prove
his sincerity by denouncing all whom he knew or might suspect to be
heretic, thus opening fresh avenues for the extirpation of heresy.
Bernard Gui, copying an earlier inquisitor, tells us eloquently that
when the external evidence was insufficient for conviction, the mind of
the inquisitor was torn with anxious cares. On the one side, his
conscience pained him if he punished one who was neither confessed nor
convicted; but he suffered still more, knowing by constant experience
the falsity and cunning and malice of these men, if he allowed them to
escape through their vulpine astuteness, to the damage of the faith. In
such case they were strengthened and multiplied, and rendered keener
than ever, while the laity were scandalized at seeing the inefficiency
of the Inquisition, baffled in its undertakings, and its most learned
men played with and defied by rude and illiterate persons, for they
believed the inquisitors to have all the proofs and arguments of the
faith so ready at hand that no heretic could elude them or prevent their
converting him. From this it is easy to see how the self-conceit of the
inquisitor led him inevitably to conviction. In another passage he
points out how greatly profitable to the faith was the conversion of
such persons, because not only were they obliged to betray their fellows
and the hiding-places and conventicles of darkness, but those whom they
had influenced were more ready to acknowledge their errors and seek in
turn to be converted. As early as 1246 the Council of Béziers had
pointed out the utility of such conversions, and had instructed the
inquisitors to spare no pains in procuring them, and all subsequent
authorities evidently regarded this as the first of their duties. They
all agree, moreover, in holding delation of accomplices as the
indispensable evidence of true conversion. Without this the repentant
heretic in vain might ask for reconciliation and mercy; his refusal to
betray his friends and kindred was proof that he was unrepentant, and he
was forthwith handed over to the secular arm, exactly as in the Roman
law a converted Manichæan who consorted with Manichæans without
denouncing them to the authorities was punishable with death. How useful
this was is seen in the case of Saurine Rigaud, whose confession is
recorded at Toulouse in 1254, where it is followed by a list of one
hundred and sixty-nine persons incriminated by her, their names being
carefully tabulated with their places of residence for immediate action.
How strictly, moreover, the duty of the reconciled heretic was construed
is seen in the fate of Guillem Sicrède at Toulouse in 1312. He had
abjured and been reconciled in 1262. Fifty years afterwards, in 1311, he
had been present at the death-bed of his brother, where heretication had
been performed, and he had failed to betray it, though he had vainly
objected to it. When asked for his reasons, he simply said that he had
not wished to injure his nephews, and for this, in 1312, he was
imprisoned for life. Delation was so indispensable to the Inquisition
that it was to be secured by rewards as well as by punishments. Bernard
Gui tells us that those who voluntarily come forward and prove their
zeal by confession and by betraying all their associates are not only to
be pardoned, but their livelihood must be secured at the hands of
princes and prelates; while betraying a single "perfected" heretic
insured immunity and perhaps additional reward.[367]
The inquisitor's anxiety to secure confession was well grounded, not
only through the advantages thus secured, but to satisfy his own
conscience. In ordinary crimes, a judge was usually certain that an
offence had been committed before he undertook to prosecute a prisoner
accused of murder or theft. In many cases, however, the inquisitor could
have no assurance that there had been any crime. A man might be
reasonably suspected, he might have been seen conversing with those
subsequently proved to be heretics, he might have given them alms or
other assistance, he might even have attended a meeting of heretics, and
yet be thoroughly orthodox at heart; or he might be a bitter heretic and
yet have given no outward sign. His own assertion of orthodoxy, his
willingness to subscribe to the faith of Rome, went for nothing, for
experience had proved that most heretics were willing to subscribe to
anything, and that they had been trained by persecution to conceal their
beliefs under the mask of rigid orthodoxy. Confession of heresy thus
became a matter of vital importance, and no effort was deemed too great,
no means too repulsive, to secure it. This became the centre of the
inquisitorial process, and it is deserving of detailed consideration,
not only because it formed the basis of procedure in the Holy Office,
but also because of the vast and deplorable influence which it exercised
for five centuries on the whole judicial system of Continental Europe.
The first and readiest means was, of course, the examination of the
accused. For this the inquisitor prepared himself by collecting and
studying all the adverse evidence that could be procured, while the
prisoner was kept in sedulous ignorance of the charges against him.
Skill in interrogation was the one pre-eminent requisite of the
inquisitor, and manuals prepared by experienced brethren for the benefit
of the younger officials are full of details with regard to it and of
carefully prepared forms of interrogations suited for every heretical
sect. Constant training developed a class of acute and subtle minds,
practised to read the thoughts of the accused, skilled to lay pitfalls
for the incautious, versed in every art to confuse, prompt to detect
ambiguities, and quick to take advantage of hesitation or
contradiction. Even in the infancy of the institution the consuls of
Narbonne complained to those of Nimes that the inquisitors, in their
efforts to entrap the unwary, did not hesitate to make use of dialectics
as sophistical as those with which students encountered each other in
scholastic diversion. Nothing more ludicrous can well be imagined than
the complaints of these veteran examiners, restricted by no rules, of
the shrewd duplicity of their victims, who struggled, occasionally with
success, to avoid criminating themselves, and they sought to explain it
by asserting that wicked and shameless priests instructed them how to
equivocate on points of faith.[368]
An experienced inquisitor drew up for the guidance of his successors a
specimen examination of a heretic, to show them the quibbles and
tergiversations for which they must be prepared when dealing with those
who shrank from boldly denying their faith. Its fidelity is attested by
Bernard Gui reproducing it fifty years later in his "Practica," and it
is too characteristic an illustration of the encounter between the
trained intellect of the inquisitor and the untutored shrewdness of the
peasant struggling to save his life and his conscience, to be omitted.
"When a heretic is first brought up for examination, he assumes a
confident air, as though secure in his innocence. I ask him why he has
been brought before me. He replies, smiling and courteous, 'Sir, I would
be glad to learn the cause from you.'
"I. 'You are accused as a heretic, and that you believe and teach
otherwise than Holy Church believes.'
"A. (Raising his eyes to heaven, with an air of the greatest faith)
'Lord, thou knowest that I am innocent of this, and that I never held
any faith other than that of true Christianity.'
"I. 'You call your faith Christian, for you consider ours as false and
heretical. But I ask whether you have ever believed as true another
faith than that which the Roman Church holds to be true.
"A. 'I believe the true faith which the Roman Church believes, and which
you openly preach to us.'
"I. 'Perhaps you have some of your sect at Rome whom you call the Roman
Church. I, when I preach, say many things, some of which are common to
us both, as that God liveth, and you believe some of what I preach.
Nevertheless you may be a heretic in not believing other matters which
are to be believed.'
"A. 'I believe all things that a Christian should believe.'
"I. 'I know your tricks. What the members of your sect believe you hold
to be that which a Christian should believe. But we waste time in this
fencing. Say simply, Do you believe in one God the Father, and the Son,
and the Holy Ghost?'
"A. 'I believe.'
"I. 'Do you believe in Christ born of the Virgin, suffered, risen, and
ascended to heaven?'
"A. (Briskly) 'I believe.'
"I. 'Do you believe the bread and wine in the mass performed by the
priests to be changed into the body and blood of Christ by divine
virtue?'
"A. 'Ought I not to believe this?'
"I. 'I don't ask if you ought to believe, but if you do believe.'
"A. 'I believe whatever you and other good doctors order me to believe.'
"I. 'Those good doctors are the masters of your sect; if I accord with
them you believe with me; if not, not.'
"A. 'I willingly believe with you if you teach what is good to me.'
"I. 'You consider it good to you if I teach what your other masters
teach. Say, then, do you believe the body of our Lord Jesus Christ to be
in the altar?'
"A. (Promptly) 'I believe.'
"I. 'You know that a body is there, and that all bodies are of our Lord.
I ask whether the body there is of the Lord who was born of the Virgin,
hung on the cross, arose from the dead, ascended, etc.?'
"A. 'And you, sir, do you not believe it?'
"I. 'I believe it wholly.'
"A. 'I believe likewise.'
"I. 'You believe that I believe it, which is not what I ask, but whether
you believe it.'
"A. 'If you wish to interpret all that I say otherwise than simply and
plainly, then I don't know what to say. I am a simple and ignorant man.
Pray don't catch me in my words.'
"I. 'If you are simple, answer simply, without evasions.'
"A. 'Willingly.'
"I. 'Will you then swear that you have never learned anything contrary
to the faith which we hold to be true?'
"A. (Growing pale) 'If I ought to swear, I will willingly swear.'
"I. 'I don't ask whether you ought, but whether you will swear.'
"A. 'If you order me to swear, I will swear.'
"I. 'I don't force you to swear, because as you believe oaths to be
unlawful, you will transfer the sin to me who forced you; but if you
will swear, I will hear it.'
"A. 'Why should I swear if you do not order me to?'
"I. 'So that you may remove the suspicion of being a heretic.'
"A. 'Sir, I do not know how unless you teach me.'
"I. 'If I had to swear, I would raise my hand and spread my fingers and
say, "So help me God, I have never learned heresy or believed what is
contrary to the true faith."'
"Then trembling as if he cannot repeat the form, he will stumble along
as though speaking for himself or for another, so that there is not an
absolute form of oath and yet he may be thought to have sworn. If the
words are there, they are so turned around that he does not swear and
yet appears to have sworn. Or he converts the oath into a form of
prayer, as 'God help me that I am not a heretic or the like;' and when
asked whether he had sworn, he will say: 'Did you not hear me swear?'
And when further hard pressed he will appeal, saying 'Sir, if I have
done amiss in aught, I will willingly bear the penance, only help me to
avoid the infamy of which I am accused through malice and without fault
of mine.' But a vigorous inquisitor must not allow himself to be worked
upon in this way, but proceed firmly till he makes these people confess
their error, or at least publicly abjure heresy, so that if they are
subsequently found to have sworn falsely, he can, without further
hearing, abandon them to the secular arm. If one consents to swear that
he is not a heretic, I say to him, 'If you wish to swear so as to escape
the stake, one oath will not suffice for me, nor ten, nor a hundred, nor
a thousand, because you dispense each other for a certain number of
oaths taken under necessity, but I will require a countless number.
Moreover, if I have, as I presume, adverse witnesses against you, your
oaths will not save you from being burned. You will only stain your
conscience without escaping death. But if you will simply confess your
error, you may find mercy.' Under this anxiety, I have seen some
confess."[369]
The same inquisitor illustrates the ease with which the cunning of these
simple folk fenced and played with the best-trained men of the Holy
Office by a case in which he saw a serving-wench elude the questions of
picked examiners for several days together, and she would have escaped
had there not by chance been found in her chest the fragment of a bone
of a heretic recently burned, which she had preserved as a relic,
according to one of her companions who had collected the bones with her.
But the inquisitor does not tell us how many thousand good Catholics,
confused by the awful game which they were playing, mystified with the
intricacies of scholastic theology, ignorant how to answer the dangerous
questions put to them so searchingly, and terrified with the threats of
burning for persistent denial, despairingly confessed the crime of which
they were so confidently assumed to be guilty, and ratified their
conversion by inventing tales about their neighbors, while expiating the
wrong by suffering confiscation and lifelong imprisonment.
Yet the inquisitor was frequently baffled in this intellectual
digladiation by the innocence or astuteness of the accused. His
resources, however, were by no means exhausted, and here we approach one
of the darkest and most repulsive aspects of our theme. Human
inconsistency, in its manifold development, has never exhibited itself
in more deplorable fashion than in the instructions on this subject
transmitted to their younger brethren by the veterans of the Holy
Office--instructions intended for none but official eyes, and therefore
framed with the utmost unreserve. Trained through long experience in an
accurate knowledge of all that can move the human breast; skilled not
only to detect the subtle evasions of the intellect, but to seek and
find the tenderest point through which to assail the conscience and the
heart; relentless in inflicting agony on body and brain, whether through
the mouldering wretchedness of the hopeless dungeon protracted through
uncounted years, the sharper pain of the torture-chamber, or by coldly
playing on the affections; using without scruple the most violent
alternatives of hope and fear; employing with cynical openness every
resource of guile and fraud on wretches purposely starved to render them
incapable of self-defence, the counsels which these men utter might well
seem the promptings of fiends exulting in the unlimited power to wreak
their evil passions on helpless mortals. Yet through all this there
shines the evident conviction that they are doing the work of God. No
labor is too great if they can win a soul from perdition; no toil too
repulsive if they can bring a fellow-creature to an acknowledgment of
his wrong-doing and a genuine repentance that will wipe out his sins; no
patience too prolonged if it will avoid the unjust conviction of the
innocent. All the cunning fence between judge and culprit, all the
fraud, all the torture of body and mind so ruthlessly employed to extort
unwilling confessions, were not necessarily used for the mere purpose of
securing a victim, for the inquisitor was taught to be as earnest with
the recalcitrants against whom he had sufficient testimony as with the
cases in which evidence was deficient. With the former he was seeking to
save a soul from immolating itself in the pride of obstinacy; with the
latter he was laboring to preserve the sheep by not liberating an
infected one to spread pestilence among the flock. It mattered little to
the victim what were the motives actuating his persecutor, for
conscientious cruelty is apt to be more cold-blooded and calculating,
more relentless and effective, than passionate wrath, but the impartial
student must needs recognize that while many inquisitors were doubtless
dullards who followed unthinkingly a prescribed routine as a vocation,
and others were covetous or sanguinary tyrants actuated only by
self-interest or ambition, yet among them were not a few who believed
themselves to be discharging a high and holy duty, whether they
abandoned the impenitent to the flames, or by methods of unspeakable
baseness rescued from Satan a soul which he had reckoned as his own.
They were instructed that it was better to let the guilty escape than
to condemn the innocent, and, therefore, that they must have either
clear proofs or confession. In the absence of absolute evidence,
therefore, the very conscientiousness of the judge, under such a system,
led him to resort to any means to satisfy himself by wringing an
acknowledgment from his victim.[370]
The resources for procuring unwilling confession, at command of the
inquisitor, may be roughly divided into two classes--deceit and torture,
the latter comprehending both mental and physical pain, however
administered. Both classes were resorted to freely and without scruple,
and there was ample variety to suit the idiosyncrasies of all judges and
prisoners.
Perhaps the mildest form of the devices to entrap an unwary prisoner was
the recommendation that the examiner should always assume the fact of
which he was in quest and ask about the details, as, for instance, "How
often have you confessed as a heretic?" "In what chamber of yours did
they lie?" Going a step further, the inquisitor is advised during the
examination to turn over the pages of evidence as though referring to
it, and then boldly inform the prisoner that he is not telling the
truth, for it is thus and thus; or to pick up a paper and pretend to
read from it whatever is necessary to deceive him; or he can be told
circumstantially that some of the masters of the sect have incriminated
him in their revelations. To render these devices more effective, the
jailer was instructed to worm himself into the confidence of the
prisoners, with feigned interest and compassion, and urge them to
confess at once, because the inquisitor is a merciful man who will take
pity on them. Then the inquisitor was to pretend that he had conclusive
evidence, and that if the accused would confess and point out those who
had led him astray, he should be allowed to go home forthwith, with any
other blandishments likely to prove effective. A more elaborate trap was
that of treating the prisoner with kindness in place of rigor; sending
trusty agents to his cell to gain his confidence, and then urge him to
confess, with promises of mercy and that they would intercede for him.
When everything was ripe, the inquisitor himself would appear and
confirm these promises, with the mental reservation that all which is
done for the conversion of heretics is merciful, that penances are
mercies and spiritual remedies, so that when the unlucky wretch was
prevailed upon to ask for mercy in return for his revelations, he was to
be led on with the general expression that more would be done for him
than he asked.[371]
That spies should play a prominent part in such a system was inevitable.
The trusty agents who were admitted to the prisoner's cell were
instructed to lead him graduallv on from one confession to another until
they should gain sufficient evidence to incriminate him, without his
realizing it. Converted heretics, we are told, were very useful in this
business. One would be sent to visit him and say that he had only
pretended conversion through fear, and after repeated visits overstay
his time and be locked up. Confidential talk would follow in the
darkness, while witnesses with a notary were crouching within earshot to
take down all that might fall from the lips of the unconscious victim.
Fellow-prisoners were utilized whenever possible, and were duly rewarded
for treachery. In the sentence of a Carmelite monk, January 17, 1329,
guilty of the most infamous sorceries, it is recorded in extenuation of
his black catalogue of guilt, that while in prison with sundry heretics
he had aided greatly in making them confess and had revealed many
important matters which they had confided to him, from which the
Inquisition had derived great advantage and hoped to gain more.[372]
These artifices were diversified with appeals to force. The heretic,
whether acknowledged or suspected, had no rights. His body was at the
mercy of the Church, and if through tribulation of the flesh he could be
led to see the error of his ways, there was no hesitation in employing
whatever means were readiest to save his soul and advance the faith.
Among the miracles for which St. Francis was canonized it is related
that a certain Pietro of Assisi was captured in Rome on an accusation of
heresy, and confided for conversion to the Bishop of Todi, who loaded
him with chains and fed him on measured quantities of bread and water in
a dark dungeon. Thus brought through suffering to repentance, on the
vigil of St. Francis he invoked the saint for help with passionate
tears. Moved by his zeal, St. Francis appeared to him and ordered him
forth. His chains fell off and the doors flew open, but the poor wretch
was so crazed by the sudden answer to his prayer that he clung to the
doorpost with cries which brought the jailers running to him. The pious
bishop hastened to the prison, and reverently acknowledging the power of
God, sent the shivered fetters to the pope in token of the miracle. Even
more illustrative and better authenticated is a case related with much
gratulation by Nider as occurring when he was teaching in the University
of Vienna. A heretic priest, thrown into prison by his bishop, proved
obstinate, and the most eminent theologians who labored for his
conversion found him their match in disputation. Believing that vexation
brings understanding, they at length ordered him to be bound tightly to
a pillar. The cords eating into the swelling flesh caused such exquisite
torture that when they visited him the next day he begged piteously to
be taken out and burned. Coldly refusing, they left him for another
twenty-four hours, by which time physical pain and exhaustion had broken
his spirit. He humbly recanted, retired to a Paulite monastery, and
lived an exemplary life.[373]
It will readily be believed that there was scant hesitation in employing
any methods likely to crush the obduracy of the prisoner who refused the
confession and recantation demanded of him. If he were likely to be
reached through the affections, his wife and children were admitted to
his cell in hopes that their tears and pleadings might work on his
feelings and overcome his convictions. Alternate threats and
blandishments were tried; he would be removed from his foul and dismal
dungeon to commodious quarters, with liberal diet and a show of
kindness, to see if his resolution would be weakened by alternations of
hope and despair. Master of the art of playing upon the human heart, the
trained inquisitor left no method untried which promised victory in the
struggle between him and the helpless wretch abandoned to his
experiments. Among these, one of the most efficient was the slow torture
of delay. The prisoner who refused to confess, or whose confession was
deemed imperfect, was remanded to his cell, and left to ponder in
solitude and darkness. Except in rare cases time was no object with the
Inquisition, and it could afford to wait. Perhaps in a few weeks his
resolution might break down, and he might ask to be heard. If not, six
months might elapse before he was again called up for hearing. If still
obstinate he would be again sent back. Months would lengthen into years,
perhaps years into decades, and find him still unconvicted and still a
prisoner, hopeless and despairing. Should friendly death not intervene,
the terrible patience of the Inquisition was nearly certain to triumph
in the end, and the authorities all agree upon the effectiveness of
delay. This explains what otherwise would be hard to understand--the
immense protraction of so many of the inquisitorial trials whose records
have reached us. Three, five, or ten years are common enough as
intervals between the first audience of a prisoner and his final
conviction, nor are instances wanting of even greater delays. Bernalde,
wife of Guillem de Montaigu, was imprisoned at Toulouse in 1297, and
made a confession the same year, yet she was not formally sentenced to
imprisonment until the _auto_ of 1310. I have already alluded to the
case of Guillem Garric, brought to confess at Carcassonne in 1321 after
a detention of nearly thirty years. In the _auto de fé_ of 1319, at
Toulouse, Guillem Salavert was sentenced, who had made an unsatisfactory
confession in 1299 and another in 1316; to the latter he had
unwaveringly adhered, and at last Bernard Gui, overcome by his
obstinacy, let him off with the penance of wearing crosses, in
consideration of his twenty years' imprisonment without conviction. At
the same _auto_ were sentenced six wretches who had recently died in
prison, two of whom had made their first confession in 1305, one in
1306, two in 1311, and one in 1315. Nor was this hideous torture of
suspense peculiar to any special tribunal. Guillem Salavert was one of
those implicated in the troubles of Albi in 1299, when many of the
accused were speedily tried and sentenced by the bishop, Bernard de
Castenet, and Nicholas d'Abbeville, inquisitor of Carcassonne, but some
were reserved for the harder fate of detention without trial. The
intervention of the pope was sought, and in 1310 Clement V. wrote to the
bishop and the inquisitor, giving the names of ten of them, including
some of the most respectable citizens of Albi, who had lain for eight
years or more in jail awaiting judgment, many of them in chains and all
in narrow, dark cells. His order for their immediate trial was
disobeyed, and in a subsequent letter he speaks of several of them
having died before his previous epistle, and reiterated his command for
the prompt disposal of the survivors. The Inquisition was a law unto
itself, however, and again his mandate was disregarded. In 1319, besides
Guillem Salavert, two others, Guillem Calverie and Isarn Colli, were
brought from their dungeon and retracted their confessions which had
been extorted from them by torture. Calverie figured with Salavert in
the _auto_ of Toulouse in the same year. When Colli was sentenced we do
not know, but in the accounts of Arnaud Assalit, royal steward of
confiscations, for 1322-3, there appears the property of "Isarnus Colli
condemnatus," showing his ultimate fate. In the _auto_ of 1319,
moreover, occur the names of two citizens of Cordes, Durand Boissa and
Bernard Ouvrier (then deceased), whose confessions date respectively
from 1301 and 1300, doubtless belonging to the same unfortunate group,
who had eaten their hearts in despair and misery for a score of
years.[374]
When it was desired to hasten this slow torture, the object was easily
accomplished by rendering the imprisonment unendurably harsh. As we
shall see hereafter, the dungeons of the Inquisition at best were abodes
of fearful misery, but when there was reason for increasing their
terrors there was no difficulty in increasing the hardships. The "_durus
career et arcta vita_"--chains and starvation in a stifling hole--was a
favorite device for extracting confession from unwilling lips. We shall
meet hereafter an atrocious instance of this inflicted on a witness, as
early as 1263, when the ruin of the great house of Foix was sought. It
was pointed out that judicious restriction of diet not only reduced the
body but weakened the will, and rendered the prisoner less able to
resist alternate threats of death and promises of mercy. Starvation, in
fact, was reckoned as one of the regular and most efficient methods to
subdue unwilling witnesses and defendants. In 1306 Clement V. declared,
after an official investigation, that at Carcassonne prisoners were
habitually constrained to confession by the harshness of the prison, the
lack of beds, and the deficiency of food, as well as by torture.[375]
With all these resources at their command, it might seem superfluous for
inquisitors to have recourse to the vulgar and ruder implements of the
torture-chamber. The rack and strappado, in fact, were in such violent
antagonism, not only with the principles of Christianity, but with the
practices of the Church, that their use by the Inquisition, as a means
of furthering the faith, is one of the saddest anomalies of that dismal
period. I have elsewhere shown how consistently the Church opposed the
use of torture, so that, in the barbarism of the twelfth century,
Gratian lays it down as an accepted rule of the canon law that no
confession is to be extorted by torment. Torture, moreover, except among
the Wisigoths, had been unknown among the barbarians who founded the
commonwealths of Europe, and their system of jurisprudence had grown up
free from its contamination. It was not until the study of the revived
Roman law, and the prohibition of ordeals by the Lateran Council of
1215, which was gradually enforced during the first half of the
thirteenth century, that jurists began to feel the need of torture and
accustom themselves to the idea of its introduction. The earliest
instances with which I have met occur in the Veronese Code of 1228 and
the Sicilian Constitutions of Frederic II. in 1231, and in both of these
the references to it show how sparingly and hesitatingly it was
employed. Even Frederic, in his ruthless edicts, from 1220 to 1239,
makes no allusion to it, but, in accordance with the Verona decree of
Lucius III., prescribes the recognized form of canonical purgation for
the trial of all suspected heretics. Yet it rapidly won its way in
Italy, and when Innocent IV., in 1252, published his bull _Ad
extirpanda_, he adopted it, and authorized its use for the discovery of
heresy. A decent respect for the old-time prejudices of the Church,
however, forbade him to allow its administration by the inquisitors
themselves or their servitors. It was the secular authorities who were
ordered to force all captured heretics to confess and accuse their
accomplices, by torture which should not imperil life or injure limb,
"just as thieves and robbers are forced to confess their crimes and
accuse their accomplices." The unrepealed canons of the Church, in fact,
prohibited all ecclesiastics from being concerned in such acts, and even
from being present where torture was administered, so that the
inquisitor whose zeal should lead him to take part in it was thereby
rendered "irregular" and unfit for sacred functions until he could be
"dispensed" or purified. This did not suit the policy of the
institution. Possibly outside of Italy, where torture was as yet
virtually unknown, it found difficulty in securing the co-operation of
the public officials; everywhere it complained that this cumbrous mode
of administration interfered with the profound secrecy which was an
essential characteristic of its operations. But four years after the
bull of Innocent IV., Alexander IV., in 1256, removed the difficulty
with characteristic indirection by authorizing inquisitors and their
associates to absolve each other, and mutually grant dispensations for
irregularities--a permission which was repeatedly reiterated, and which
was held to remove all impediment to the use of torture under the direct
supervision of the inquisitor and his ministers. In Naples, where the
Inquisition was but slenderly organized, we find the public officials
used by it as torturers until the end of the century, but elsewhere it
speedily arrogated the administration of torment to its own officials.
Even in Naples, however, Frà Tomaso d'Aversa is seen, in 1305,
personalty inflicting the most brutal tortures on the Spiritual
Franciscans; and when he found it impossible in this manner to make them
convict themselves, he employed the ingenious expedient of starving for
a few days one of the younger brethren, and then giving him strong wine
to drink; when the poor wretch was fuddled there was no difficulty in
getting him to admit that he and his twoscore comrades were all
heretics.[376]
Torture saved the trouble and expense of prolonged imprisonment; it was
a speedy and effective method of obtaining what revelations might be
desired, and it grew rapidly in favor with the Inquisition, while its
extension throughout secular jurisprudence was remarkably slow. In 1260
the charter granted by Alphonse of Poitiers to the town of Auzon
specially exempts the accused from torture, no matter what the crime
involved. This shows that its use was gradually spreading, and already,
in 1291, Philippe le Bel felt himself called upon to restrain its
abuses; in letters to the seneschal of Carcassonne he alludes to the
newly-introduced methods of torture in the Inquisition, whereby the
innocent were convicted and scandal and desolation pervaded the land. He
could not interfere with the internal management of the Holy Office, but
he sought a corrective in forbidding indiscriminate arrests at the sole
bidding of the inquisitors. As might be expected, this was only a
palliative; callous indifference to human suffering grows by habit, and
the misuse of this terrible method of coercion continued to increase.
When the despairing cry of the population induced Clement V. to order an
investigation into the iniquities of the Inquisition of Carcassonne, the
commission issued to the cardinals sent thither in 1306 recites that
confessions were extorted by torture so severe that the unfortunates
subjected to it had only the alternative of death; and in the
proceedings before the commissioners the use of torture is so frequently
alluded to as to leave no doubt of its habitual employment. It is a
noteworthy fact, however, that in the fragmentary documents of
inquisitorial proceedings which have reached us the references to
torture are singularly few. Apparently it was felt that to record its
use would in some sort invalidate the force of the testimony. Thus, in
the cases of Isarn Colli and Guillem Calverie, mentioned above, it
happens to be stated that they retracted their confessions made under
torture, but in the confessions themselves there is nothing to indicate
that it had been used. In the six hundred and thirty-six sentences borne
upon the register of Toulouse from 1309 to 1323 the only allusion to
torture is in the recital of the case of Calverie, but there are
numerous instances in which the information wrung from the convicts who
had no hope of escape could scarce have been procured in any other
manner. Bernard Gui, who conducted the Inquisition of Toulouse during
this period, has too emphatically expressed his sense of the utility of
torture on both principals and witnesses for us to doubt his readiness
in its employment.[377]
The result of Clement's investigation in 1306 led to an effort at reform
which was agreed to in the Council of Vienne in 1311, but with customary
indecision Clement delayed the publication of the considerable body of
legislation adopted by the council until his death, and it was not
issued till October, 1317, by his successor John XXII. Among the abuses
which he sought to limit was that of torture, and to this end he ordered
that it should not be administered without the concurrent action of
bishop and inquisitor if this could be had within the space of eight
days. Bernard Gui emphatically remonstrated against this as seriously
crippling the efficiency of the Inquisition, and he proposed to
substitute for it the meaningless phrase that torture should only be
used with mature and careful deliberation, but his suggestion was
unheeded, and the Clementine regulation remained the law of the
Church.[378]
The inquisitors, however, were too little accustomed to restraint in any
form to submit long to this infringement on their privileges. It is true
that disobedience rendered the proceedings void, and the unhappy wretch
who was unlawfully tortured without episcopal consultation could appeal
to the pope, but this did not undo the work; Rome was distant, and the
victims of the Inquisition for the most part were too friendless and too
helpless to protect themselves in such illusory fashion. In Bernard
Gui's "Practica," written probably about 1328 or 1330, he only speaks of
consultation with experts, making no allusions to bishops; Eymerich
adheres to the Clementines, but his instructions as to what is to be
done in case of their disregard shows how frequent was such action;
while Zanghino boldly affirms that the canon is to be construed as
permitting torture by either bishop or inquisitor. In some proceedings
against the Waldenses of Piedmont in 1387, if the accused did not
confess freely on a first examination an entry was made that the
inquisitor was not content, and twenty-four hours were given the
prisoner to amend his statements; he would be tortured and brought back
next morning in a more complying frame of mind, when a careful record
would be made that his confession was without torture and aloof from the
torture-chamber. Cunning casuists, moreover, discovered that Clement had
only spoken of torture in general and had not specifically alluded to
witnesses, whence they concluded that one of the most shocking abuses of
the system, the torture of witnesses, was left to the sole discretion of
the inquisitor, and this became the accepted rule. It only required an
additional step to show that after the accused had been convicted by
evidence or had confessed as to himself, he became a witness as to the
guilt of his friends and thus could be arbitrarily tortured to betray
them. Even when the Clementines were observed, the limit of eight days
enabled the inquisitor to proceed independently after waiting for that
length of time.[379]
While witnesses who were supposed to be concealing the truth could be
tortured as a matter of course, there was some discussion among jurists
as to the amount of adverse evidence that would justify placing the
accused on the rack. Unless there was some colorable reason to believe
that the crime of heresy had been committed, evidently there was no
excuse for the employment of such means of investigation. Eymerich tells
us that when there are two incriminating witnesses, a man of good
reputation can be tortured to ascertain the truth, while if he is of
evil repute he can be condemned without it or can be tortured on the
evidence of a single witness. Zanghino, on the other hand, asserts that
the evidence of a single witness of good character is sufficient for the
authorization of torture, without distinction of persons, while Bernardo
di Como says that common report is enough. In time elaborate
instructions were drawn up for the guidance of inquisitors in this
matter, but their uselessness was confessed in the admission that, after
all, the decision was to be left to the discretion of the judge. How
little sufficed to justify the exercise of this discretion is seen when
jurists held it to be sufficient if the accused, on examination, was
frightened and stammered and varied in his answers, without any external
evidence against him.[380]
In the administration of torture the rules adopted by the Inquisition
became those of the secular courts of Christendom at large, and
therefore are worth brief attention. Eymerich, whose instructions on the
subject are the fullest we have, admits the grave difficulties which
surrounded the question, and the notorious uncertainty of the result.
Torture should be moderate, and effusion of blood be scrupulously
avoided, but then, what was moderation? Some prisoners were so weak that
at the first turn of the pulleys they would concede anything asked them;
others so obstinate that they would endure all things rather than
confess the truth. Those who had previously undergone the experience
might be either the stronger or the weaker for it, for with some the
arms were hardened, while with others they were permanently weakened. In
short, the discretion of the judge was the only rule.
Both bishop and inquisitor ought rightfully to be present. The prisoner
was shown the implements of torment and urged to confess. On his
refusal he was stripped and bound by the executioners and again
entreated to speak, with promises of mercy in all cases in which mercy
could be shown. This frequently produced the desired result, and we may
be assured that the efficacy of torture lay not so much in what was
extracted by its use as in the innumerable cases in which its dread,
near or remote, paralyzed the resolution with agonizing expectations. If
this proved ineffectual, the torture was applied with gradually
increased severity. In the case of continued obstinacy additional
implements of torment were exhibited and the sufferer was told that he
would be subjected to them all in turn. If still undaunted, he was
unbound, and the next or third day was appointed for renewal of the
infliction. According to rule, torture could be applied but once, but
this, like all other rules for the protection of the accused, was easily
eluded. It was only necessary to order, not a repetition, but a
"continuance" of the torture, and no matter how long the interval, the
holy casuists were able to continue it indefinitely; or a further excuse
would be found in alleging that additional evidence had been discovered,
which required a second torturing to purge it away. During the interval
fresh solicitations were made to elicit confession, and these being
unavailing, the accused was again subjected to torment either of the
same kind as before or to others likely to prove more efficacious. If he
remained silent after torture, deemed sufficient by his judges, some
authorities say that he should be discharged and that a declaration was
to be given him that nothing had been proved against him; others,
however, order that he should be remanded to prison and be kept there.
The trial of Bernard Délicieux, in 1319, reveals another device to elude
the prohibition of repeated torture, for the examiners could at any
moment order the torture to satisfy their curiosity about a single
point, and thus could go on indefinitely with others.
Any confession made under torture required to be confirmed after removal
from the torture-chamber. Usually the procedure appears to be that the
torture was continued until the accused signified his readiness to
confess, when he was unbound and carried into another room where his
confession was made. If, however, the confession was extracted during
the torture, it was read over subsequently to the prisoner and he was
asked if it were true: there was, indeed, a rule that there should be an
interval of twenty-four hours between the torture and the confession,
or its confirmation, but this was commonly disregarded. Silence
indicated assent, and the length of silence to be allowed for was, as
usual, left to the discretion of the judge, with warning to consider the
condition of the prisoner, whether young or old, male or female, simple
or learned. In any case the record was carefully made that the
confession was free and spontaneous, without the pressure of force or
fear. If the confession was retracted, the accused could be taken back
for a continuance of the torture--not, as we are carefully told, for a
repetition--provided always that he had not been "sufficiently" tortured
before.[381]
The question as to the retraction of confession was one which exercised
to no small degree the inquisitorial jurists, and practice was not
wholly uniform. It placed the inquisitor in a disagreeable position,
and, in view of the methods adopted to secure confession, it was so
likely to occur that naturally stringent measures were adopted to
prevent it. Some authorities draw a distinction between confessions made
"spontaneously" and those extorted by torture or its threat, but in
practice the difference was disregarded. The most merciful view taken of
revocation is that of Eymerich, who says that if the torture had been
sufficient, the accused who persistently revokes is entitled to a
discharge. In this Eymerich is alone. Some authorities recommend that
the accused be forced to withdraw his revocation by repetition of
torture. Others content themselves with regarding it as impeding the
Inquisition, and as such including it in the excommunication regularly
published by parish priests and at the opening of every _auto de fé_,
and this excommunication included notaries who might wickedly aid in
drawing up such revocations. The general presumption of law, however,
was that the confession was true and the retraction a perjury, and the
view taken of such cases was that the retraction proved the accused to
be an impenitent heretic, who had relapsed after confession and asking
for penance. As such there was nothing to be done with him but to hand
him over to the secular arm for punishment without a hearing. It is
true, that in the case of Guillem Calverie, thus condemned in 1319 by
Bernard Gui for withdrawing his confession, the culprit was mercifully
allowed fifteen days in which to revoke his revocation, but this was a
mere exercise of the discretion customarily lodged with the inquisitor.
How strictly the rule was construed which regarded revocation as relapse
is seen in the remark of Zanghino, that if a man had confessed and
abjured and been set free under penance, and if he subsequently remarked
in public that he had confessed under fear of expense or to avoid
heavier punishment, he was to be regarded as an impenitent heretic,
liable to be burned as a relapsed. We shall see hereafter the full
significance of this point in its application to the Templars. There was
an additional question of some nicety which arose when the retracted
confession incriminated others besides the accused; in this case the
most merciful view taken was that, if it was not to be held good against
them, the one who confessed was liable to punishment for false-witness.
As no confession was sufficient which did not reveal the names of
partners in guilt, those inquisitors who did not regard revocation as
relapse could at least imprison the accused for life as a false
witness.[382]
* * * * *
The inquisitorial process as thus perfected was sure of its victim. No
one whom a judge wished to condemn could escape. The form in which it
became naturalized in secular jurisprudence was less arbitrary and
effective, yet Sir John Fortescue, the chancellor of Henry VI., who in
his exile had ample opportunity to observe its working, declares that it
placed every man's life or limb at the mercy of any enemy who could
suborn two unknown witnesses to swear against him.[383]