THE DEFENCE.
From the preceding sketch of the inquisitorial process it may readily be
inferred that scant opportunities for defence were allowed by the Holy
Office. It was in the very nature of the process that all the
preliminary proceedings were taken in secrecy and without the knowledge
of the accused. The case against him was made up before his arrest, and
he was examined, urged to confess, and perhaps imprisoned for years and
tortured, before he was allowed to know what were the charges against
him. It was only after a confession had been extorted from him, or the
inquisitor despaired of extorting one, that he was furnished with the
evidence against him, and even then the names of the witnesses were
habitually suppressed. All this is in cruel contrast with the righteous
care to avoid injustice prescribed for the ordinary episcopal courts. In
them the Council of Lateran orders that the accused shall be present at
the inquisition against him, unless he contumaciously absents himself;
the charges are to be explained to him, that he may have the opportunity
of defending himself; the witnesses' names, with their respective
evidence, are to be made public, and all legitimate exceptions and
answers be admitted, for suppression of names would invite slander, and
rejection of exceptions would admit false testimony.[398] The suspected
heretic, however, was prejudged. The effort of the inquisitor was not to
avoid injustice, but to force him to admit his guilt and seek
reconciliation with the Church. To accomplish this effectually the
facilities for defence were systematically reduced to a minimum.
It is true that, in 1246, the Council of Béziers lays down the rule that
the accused shall have proper opportunities for defence, including
necessary delays and the admission of exceptions and legitimate replies;
but if this were intended as a check on the arbitrary operations which
already characterized the Inquisition, it was wholly disregarded. In the
first place, the secrecy of the tribunal enabled the judge to do as he
might think best. In the second place, the only possible remaining check
to arbitrary action was removed by denying to the accused the advantage
of counsel. Then, as now, the intricacy of legal forms rendered the
trained advocate a necessity to every man on trial; the layman, ignorant
of his rights, and of the method of enforcing them, was utterly
helpless. So thoroughly was this understood that in the ecclesiastical
courts it was frequently a custom to furnish advocates gratuitously to
poor men unable to employ them, and in the charter granted by Simon de
Montfort, in 1212, to his newly-acquired territories, it was provided
that justice should always be gratuitous, and that counsel should be
provided by the court for pleaders too poor to retain them. When this
right thus was recognized in the most trifling cases, to refuse it to
those who were battling for their lives before a tribunal in which the
judge was also prosecutor, was more than the Church at first dared
openly to do, but it practically reached the result by indirection.
Innocent III., in a decretal embodied in the canon law, had ordered
advocates and scriveners to lend no aid or counsel to heretics and their
defenders, or to undertake their causes in litigation. This, which was
presumably intended as one of the disabilities inflicted on defiant and
acknowledged heretics, was readily applied to the suspect who were not
yet convicted, and who were struggling to prove their innocence, for
their guilt was always assumed in advance. The councils of Valence and
Albi, in 1248 and 1254, while ordering inquisitors not to embarrass
themselves with the vain jangling of lawyers in the conduct of the
prosecution, significantly make reference to this provision of the canon
law as applicable to counsel who might be so hardy as to aid the
defence. That this became a settled and recognized principle is shown by
Bernard Gui's assertion that advocates who excuse and defend heretics
are to be held guilty of fautorship of heresy--a crime which became
heresy itself if satisfaction at the discretion of the inquisitor was
not rendered within a twelvemonth. When to this we add the perpetually
reiterated commands to the inquisitors to proceed without regard to
legal forms or the wrangling of advocates, and the notice to notaries
that he who drew up the revocation of a confession was excommunicated as
an impeder of the Inquisition, it will readily be seen that there was no
need of formally refusing counsel to the accused, and that there was no
practical benefit permitted from the admission of the barren generality
that one who believed a heretic to be innocent and endeavored to prove
him so was not on that account liable to punishment. Eymerich is careful
to specify that the accused has the right to employ counsel, and that a
denial of this justifies an appeal, but then he likewise states that the
inquisitor can prosecute any advocate or notary who undertakes the cause
of heretics; and a century earlier a manuscript manual for inquisitors
directs them to prosecute as defenders of heresy any advocates who take
such cases, with the addition that if they are clerks they are to be
perpetually deprived of their benefices. It is no wonder, therefore,
that finally inquisitors adopted the rule that advocates were not to be
allowed in inquisitorial trials. This injustice had its compensation,
however, for the employment of counsel, in fact, was likely to prove as
dangerous to the defendant as to his advocate, for the Inquisition was
entitled to all accessible information, and could summon the latter as a
witness, force him to surrender any papers in his hands, and reveal what
had passed between him and his client. Such considerations, however, are
rather theoretical than practical, for it may well be doubted whether,
in the ordinary course of the Inquisition, counsel for the defence ever
appeared before it. The terror that it inspired is well illustrated by
the circumstance that when, in 1300, Friar Bernard Délicieux was
commissioned by his Franciscan provincial to defend the memory of Castel
Fabri, and Nicholas d'Abbeville, the Inquisitor of Carcassonne, rudely
refused him even an audience, he could find no notary in the city who
dared to assist him in drawing up a legal protest; every one feared
arrest and prosecution if he took the least part in an opposition to the
dreaded inquisitor, and Bernard had to wait ten or twelve days until he
could bring a notary from a distance to perform the simplest formality.
The local officials might well hesitate to incur the wrath of Nicholas,
for a few years before he had cast in jail a notary who had ventured to
draw up an appeal of the inhabitants of Carcassonne to the king.[399]
All this is interesting as an illustration of the spirit which pervaded
every act of the Inquisition, but in reality no advocate could be of
material service to the accused, save in the most exceptional cases. The
men who organized the Holy Office knew too well what they wanted to
leave open any possibilities of which even the shrewdest advocate could
take advantage, and it was admitted on all hands as a recognized fact
that there was no method of defence save disabling the witnesses for the
prosecution. It has been seen that enmity was the only source of
disability in a witness, and this had to be mortal--there must have been
bloodshed between the parties, or other cause sufficient to induce one
to seek the life of the other. If, therefore, the case rested on
witnesses of this kind, their testimony had to be rejected and the
prosecution fell. As this was the only possible mode of escape, the
cruelty of withholding from the prisoner the names of the adverse
witnesses becomes doubly conspicuous. He was forced to grope around in
the dark and blindly name such persons as he imagined might have a hand
in his misfortunes. If he failed to hit upon any who appeared in the
case, the evidence against him was conclusive, as far as it went. If he
chanced to name some of the witnesses, he was interrogated as to the
causes of enmity; the inquisitor examined into the facts of the alleged
quarrel, and decided as he saw fit as to the retention or the rejection
of their testimony. Conscientious jurists like Gui Foucoix and
inquisitors like Eymerich warned their brethren that as the accused had
so slender a chance of guessing the sources of evidence, the judge ought
to investigate for himself and discard any that seemed to be the product
of malice; but there were others who sought rather to deprive the poor
wretch of every straw that might postpone his sinking. One device was to
ask him, as though casually, at the end of his examination, whether he
had any enemies who would so disregard the fear of God as to accuse him
falsely, and if, thus taken unawares, he replied in the negative, he
debarred himself from any subsequent defence; or the most damaging
witness would be selected and the prisoner be asked if he knew him, when
a denial would estop him from claiming enmity. It is easy to imagine
other tricks by which shrewd and experienced inquisitors could save
themselves the trouble of admitting the accused to even the nugatory
form of defence to which alone he was entitled. As to allowing him to
call witnesses in his favor, except to prove enmity of the accusers, it
was never thought of in ordinary cases. By a legal fiction, the
inquisitor was supposed to look at both sides of the case, and to take
care of the defence as well as of the prosecution. If the accused failed
to guess the names of enemies among the witnesses and to disable their
testimony, he was condemned.[400]
In England, under the barbarous custom of the _peine forte et dure_, a
prisoner who refused to plead either guilty or not guilty was pressed to
death, because the trial could not go on without either confession or
defence. Cruel as was this expedient, it was the outcome of a manly
sense of justice, which based its procedure on the rule that the worst
felon should have a fair opportunity to prove his innocence. Far worse
was the system of the Inquisition, which was equally resolved that its
culprits should have no such easy method of escape as a refusal to
plead. It had no scruples as to proceeding in such cases, and the
obstinacy of the accused only simplified matters. The refusal was an act
of contumacy, equivalent to disobeying a summons to appear, or it was
held to be tantamount to a confession, and the obdurate prisoner was
forthwith handed over to the secular arm as an impenitent heretic, fit
only for the stake. The use of torture, however, rendered such cases
rare.[401]
The enviable simplicity which the inquisitorial process thus assumed in
the absence of counsel and of all practical opportunities for defence
can perhaps best be illustrated by one or two cases. Thus in the
Inquisition of Carcassonne, June 19, 1252, P. Morret is called up and
asked if he wishes to defend himself against the matters found in the
_instructio_ or indictment against him. He has nothing to allege except
that he has enemies, of whom he names five. Apparently he did not happen
to guess any of the witnesses, for the case proceeded by reading the
evidence to him, after which he is again asked thrice if he has anything
further to say. To this he replies in the negative, and the case ends by
assigning January 29 for the rendering of sentence. Two years later, in
1254, at Carcassonne, a certain Bernard Pons was more lucky, for he
happened to guess aright in naming his wife as an inimical witness, and
we have the proceedings of the inquest held to determine whether the
enmity was mortal. Three witnesses are examined, all of whom swear that
she is a woman of loose character; one deposes that she had been taken
in adultery by her husband; another that he had beaten her for it, and
the third that he had recently heard her say that she wished her husband
dead that she might marry a certain Pug Oler, and that she would
willingly become a leper if that would bring it about. This would
certainly seem sufficient, but Pons appears nevertheless not to have
escaped. So thoroughly hopeless, indeed, was the prospect of any effort
at defence, that it frequently was not even attempted, and the accused,
like Arnaud Fabri at Carcassonne, August 20, 1252, when asked if he
wished a copy of the evidence against him, would despairingly decline
it. It was a customary formula in a sentence to state that the convict
had been offered opportunity for defence and had not availed himself of
it, showing how frequently this was the case.[402]
In the case of prosecution of the dead, the children or the heirs were
scrupulously cited to appear and defend his memory, as they were
necessarily parties to the case through the disabilities and
confiscation following upon condemnation. Proclamation was also made
publicly in the churches inviting any one else who chose to appear or
who had any interest in the matter by reason of holding property of the
deceased; and then a third public notice was given that if no one came
forward on the day named, definitive sentence would be rendered. Thus in
a case occurring in 1327, Jean Duprat, Inquisitor of Carcassonne, orders
the priests of all the churches in the dioceses of Carcassonne,
Narbonne, and Alet to publish the notice during divine service on every
Sunday and feast-day till the day of hearing, and to send him a notarial
attestation of their action. The sentences in these cases are careful to
recite these notices so sedulously served on all concerned; but
notwithstanding this display of a desire to do exact justice, the
proceedings were quite as hollow a mockery as those against the living.
That it was so recognized is seen at the _auto_ of 1309 at Toulouse,
where there were four dead persons sentenced, and it is stated that in
one case no one appeared, and in the other three the heirs obeyed the
citation but renounced all defence. In the case of Castel Fabri, before
alluded to, at Carcassonne, in 1300, where the estate was very large,
the heirs appeared, but were denied all opportunity of defence by
Nicholas d'Abbeville, the inquisitor; and in that of Pierre de
Tornamire, though the heirs, as we have seen, succeeded in reversing the
judgment through the gross informality of the proceedings, it was not
until after a struggle which lasted for thirty-two years, during which
time the estate must have been sequestrated. Sometimes, when death-bed
heretications had occurred, the children put in the plea of _non
compos_, which was admitted to be good, but as none of the family were
allowed to testify, and only disinterested witnesses of approved
orthodoxy were received, instances of success must have been rare
indeed.[403]
Practically every avenue of escape was closed to those who fell into the
hands of the inquisitor. Technically the accused had a right, as in
other cases, to recuse his judge, but this was a dangerous experiment,
and we hardly need the assurance of Bernardo di Como that it was
virtually unknown. Ignorance was no defence, and its mere assertion,
according to Bernard Gui, only rendered a man worthy of condemnation
along with his master, the father of lies. Persistent denial of the
offence charged, even when accompanied with profession of faith and
readiness to submit to the mandates of the Church, was obstinacy and
impenitence which precluded all hope of mercy. Even suicide in prison
was equivalent to confession of guilt without repentance. It is true
that insanity or drunkenness might be urged in extenuation of the
utterance of heretical words, and this might mitigate the sentence, if
there were due contrition and seeking for reconciliation, but admission
of the conclusion at which the inquisitor had arrived from his _ex
parte_ inquest was the predetermined result, and the only alternative to
this was abandonment to the secular arm.[404]
That plain-spoken friar, Bernard Délicieux, uttered the literal truth
when he declared, in the presence of Philippe le Bel and all his court,
that if St. Peter and St. Paul were accused of "adoring" heretics and
were prosecuted after the fashion of the Inquisition, there would be no
defence open for them. Questioned as to their faith, they would answer
like masters in theology and doctors of the Church, but when told that
they had adored heretics, and they asked what heretics, some names,
common in those parts, would be mentioned, but no particulars would be
given. When they would ask for statements as to time and place, no facts
would be furnished, and when they would demand the names of the
witnesses these would be withheld. How, then, asked Bernard, could the
holy apostles defend themselves, especially when any one who wished to
aid them would himself be attacked as a fautor of heresy. It was so. The
victim was enveloped in a net from which there was no escape, and his
frantic struggles only twisted it more tightly around him.[405]
Theoretically, indeed, an appeal lay to the pope from the Holy Office,
and to the metropolitan from the bishop, for denial of justice or
irregularity of procedure, but it had to be made before sentence was
rendered, as condemnation was final. Possibly this may have held out
some prospect of benefit in the case of bishops exercising their
inquisitorial jurisdiction. In that of inquisitors, when "_apostoli_,"
or letters remanding the case to the Holy See, were demanded, it rested
with them to grant affirmative ("reverential") ones, or negative ones.
The former admitted the transfer of the case; the latter kept it in the
inquisitor's hands unless it was formally taken from him by the pope.
This, it is safe to say, could rarely happen, and, as the proceeding was
an intricate one, it could only be resorted to by experts. A man like
Master Eckart, supported by the whole Dominican Order, could undertake
it, even though in the end he fared no better at the hands of John XXII.
than he would have done at those of the Archbishop of Cologne. So when,
in 1323, the Sire de Partenay, one of the most powerful nobles of
Poitou, was cited for heresy by Friar Maurice, the Inquisitor of Paris,
and was thrown into the Temple by Charles le Bel, he appealed from
Maurice as a judge prejudiced by personal hatred. Charles sent him under
guard to John XXII. at Avignon, who at first refused to entertain the
appeal, but at length, by the influential intercession of Partenay's
friends, was induced to appoint several bishops as assessors to the
inquisitor, and after long-protracted proceedings the interest of
Partenay was sufficient to obtain his liberation. Cases like these,
however, are wholly exceptional and have no bearing upon the thousands
of humble folk and "_petite noblesse_" who filled the prisons of the
Inquisition and figured in its _autos de fé_. The manuals for
inquisitors, indeed, make no scruple in instructing them as to the
devices and deceits by which they can elude all attempts to appeal when
through disregard of rules they have exposed themselves to it.[406]
There was another class of cases, however, in which the interference of
the pope occasionally gave relief, for the Holy See was autocratic and
could set aside all rules. The curia was always greedy for money, and,
outside of Italy, had no share in the confiscations. It can, therefore,
readily be imagined that men of wealth whose whole property was at
stake might well consent to divide it with the papal court, whose
all-powerful intervention would thereby be secured. As early as 1245 the
bishops of Languedoc are found complaining to Innocent IV. of the number
of heretics who thus obtain exemption. Not only those undergoing trial,
but those fearing to be cited, those excommunicated for contumacy, or
legitimately sentenced, escape the jurisdiction of the Inquisition and
enjoy immunity on the strength of letters granted by the papal
penitentiaries. I have met with a number of special cases of this
interference of the Holy See with the Holy Office, one at least of which
indicates the means of persuasion employed. In letters of December 28,
1248, the papal penitentiary Algisius orders the release, without
confiscation, of six prisoners of the Inquisition who had confessed to
heresy, one of the reasons assigned being the liberal contributions
which they had made to the cause of the Holy Land. It is no wonder that
the inquisitors sometimes grew mutinous under this aggravating
interference, of which they could so readily guess the motive, and, on
one occasion at least, they gave the curia a lesson. Some inhabitants of
Limoux, in 1249, condemned to wear crosses and perform heavy penances,
obtained from Innocent IV. an order for their mitigation, whereupon the
inquisitors, in their irritation, went a step further and absolved the
penitents without reserve. Accepting this rebuke, Innocent commanded the
original sentence to be reimposed, and the unlucky culprits gained
nothing by their effort. Less questionable was the interference, in
1255, of Alexander IV. in the case of Aimeric de Bressols of
Castel-Sarrazin, who had been condemned for heretical acts committed
thirty years before. He represented that he had performed most of the
penance enjoined on him and that he was unable, through old age and
poverty, to accomplish the rest, whereupon the pope mercifully
authorized the Inquisitors to commute it into other pious works. A
somewhat remarkable case occurred in 1371, when Gregory XI. authorized
the Inquisitor of Carcassonne to release Bidon de Puy-Guillem, condemned
to perpetual imprisonment, and repentant, the reason given for papal
intervention being that there existed no other power to commute the
sentence.[407]
This kind of papal intervention, however, was in contravention of the
law and not in its fulfilment, and need not be weighed in considering
the results of the inquisitorial process. That result, as might be
expected, was condemnation in some form or other so uniformly that it
may be regarded as inevitable. In the register of Carcassonne from 1249
to 1258, comprising about two hundred cases, there does not occur a
single instance of a prisoner discharged as innocent. It is true that
the interrogatory of Alizaïs Debax, March 27, 1249, is followed by the
note "she was not heard a second time because she was considered
innocent," but this apparent exception is nullified by a second
memorandum "_crucesignata est_"--she was condemned to the public infamy
of wearing crosses, probably to confirm the popular impression that the
Inquisition never missed its mark. A man against whom there was no
evidence to justify conviction and who yet would not confess himself
guilty, was kept in prison indefinitely at the discretion of the
inquisitor; at length, if the proof against him was only incidental and
not direct, and the suspicion was light, he might be mercifully
discharged under bail, with orders to stand at the door of the
Inquisition from breakfast-time until dinner, and from dinner until
supper, until some further testimony should turn up against him, and the
inquisitor be able to prove the guilt so confidently assumed. On this
side of the Alps it was a recognized rule that no one should be
acquitted. The utmost stretch of justice, when the accusation failed
entirely, was a sentence of not proven. The charges were simply declared
not to be substantiated, and the inquisitors were carefully warned never
to pronounce a man innocent, so that there might be no bar to subsequent
proceedings in case of further evidence. Possibly in Italy, in the
fourteenth century, this rule may have been neglected, for Zanghino
gives a formula of acquittal, based, significantly enough, on the
evidence being proved to be malicious.[408]
Clement V. recognized the injustice wrought under this system when he
embodied in the canon law a declaration that inquisitors abused to the
injury of the faithful the wise provisions made for the defence of the
faith; when he forbade them from falsely convicting any one, or acting
either for or against the accused through love, hate, or the hopes of
gain, under penalty of _ipso facto_ excommunication, removable only by
the Holy See. Bernard Gui hotly denied these assertions, which he
declared to be precisely those with which the heretics defamed the Holy
Office to its great damage. To impute heresy to the innocent, he said,
is worthy of damnation, but none the less so is it to slander the
Inquisition. In spite, he adds, of the refutation of the accusations
brought against it, this canon assumes their truth and the heretics
exult over its disgrace. If the heretics exulted, their rejoicings were
premature. The Inquisition went its way in the accustomed paths, and
Clement's well-meant effort at reform proved wholly unavailing.[409]
* * * * *
The erection of suspicion into a crime gave ample opportunity for the
habitual avoidance of acquittal. This took its origin in the customs of
the barbarian and mediæval codes, which required the accused, against
whom a probable case was made out, to demonstrate his innocence either
by the ordeal, or by the form of purgation known in England as the Wager
of Law, in which he produced a prescribed number of his friends to share
with him the oath of denial. In the coronation-edict of Frederic II.
those who were suspected of heresy were required to purge themselves in
this manner, as the Church might demand, under pain of being outlawed,
and, if they remained so for a year, of being condemned as heretics.
This gave a peculiar and sinister significance to suspicion of heresy
which was carefully elaborated and turned to account. Suspicion might
arise from many causes, the chief of which was popular rumor and belief.
Omission to take the oath abjuring heresy imposed on all the inhabitants
of Languedoc, within the term prescribed, was sufficient, or neglect to
reveal heretics, or the possession of heretical books. The intricate
questions to which this extension of criminality gave rise are fairly
illustrated in the discussion of an inquisitor whether those who
listened to the instructions of the Waldenses, "Do not lie, nor swear,
nor commit fornication, but give to every man his due; go to church, pay
your tithes, and the perquisites of the priests," and, knowing this to
be good advice, conclude the utterers to be good men--whether such are
to be considered suspect of heresy; and he tells us that after diligent
consideration he must decide in the affirmative, and order them to
purgation. The difficulty of reducing to practice these intangible
speculations was realized by Chancellor Gerson, who admits that due
allowance should be made for variations of habits and manners in
different places and times, but the ordinary inquisitor was troubled
with few such scruples. It was easier to treat the suspect as criminals;
to classify suspicion into its three grades of light, vehement, and
violent; to prescribe punishment for it, and to inflict the disabilities
of heresy on the suspect and their descendants. Even the definition of
the three grades of suspicion was abandoned as impossible, and it was
left to the arbitrary discretion of the inquisitor to classify each
individual case which came before him. Nothing more condemnatory of the
whole system can well be imagined than the explanation of Eymerich that
suspects are not heretics; that they are not to be condemned for heresy,
and that therefore their punishment should be lighter, except in the
case of violent suspicion. Against this there was no defence possible,
and no evidence to be admitted. The culprit might not be a heretic or
entertain any error of belief, but if he would not abjure and give
satisfaction (and abjuration included confession), he was to be handed
over to the secular arm; if he confessed and sought reconciliation, he
was to be imprisoned for life.[410]
For light and vehement suspicion the accused was ordered to furnish
conjurators in his oath of denial. These were to be men of his own rank
in life, who knew him personally and who swore to their belief in his
orthodoxy and in the truth of his exculpatory oath. Their number varied,
at the discretion of the inquisitor, with the degree of suspicion to be
purged away, from three to twenty or thirty, and even more. In the case
of strangers, however, who had no acquaintances, the inquisitor was
advised to be moderate. It was no mere idle ceremony, and, as usual, all
the chances were thrown against the defendant. If he was unable to
procure the required number of compurgators, or neglected to do so
within a year, the law of Frederic II. was enforced, and he was usually
condemned as a heretic to burning alive; although some inquisitors
argued that this was only presumptive, not absolute, proof, and that he
could escape the stake by confessing and abjuring--of course being
subject to the penance of perpetual prison. If he succeeded and
performed his purgation duly, he was by no means acquitted. If the
suspicion against him was vehement he could still be punished; even if
it was light the fact that he had been suspected was an ineradicable
blot. With the curious logical inconsequence characteristic of
inquisitorial procedure, in addition to the purgation, he was obliged to
abjure the heresy of which he had cleared himself; this abjuration
remained of record against him, and in case of a second accusation his
escape from the previous one was not reckoned as having proved his
innocence, but as an evidence of guilt. If the purgation had been for
light suspicion, his punishment now was increased; and if it had been
for vehement suspicion, he was now regarded as a relapsed, to whom no
mercy could be shown, but who was handed over to the secular arm without
a hearing. Practically, however, this injustice is important chiefly as
a manifestation of the spirit of the Inquisition; its methods were too
thorough to render frequent a recourse to purgation, and Zanghino, when
he treats of it, feels obliged to explain it as a custom little known.
One case, however, at least, is on record at Angermünde, where the
inquisitor Friar Jordan, in 1336, tried by this method a number of
persons accused of the mysterious Luciferan heresy, when fourteen men
and women who were unable to procure the requisite number of
compurgators were duly burned.[411]
An indispensable formality in all cases in which the culprit was
admitted to reconciliation with the Church was abjuration of heresy. Of
this there were various forms adapted to the different occasions of its
use--whether for suspicion, light, vehement, or violent, or after
confession and repentance. It was performed in public, at the _autos de
fé_, except in rare cases, such as those of ecclesiastics likely to
cause scandal, and it frequently embodied a pecuniary penalty for
infraction of its promises, and security for their performance. The
principal point to be observed in all was to see that the penitent
abjured heresy in general as well as the special heresy with which he
had been charged. If this were duly attended to, he could always be
handed over to the secular arm without a hearing in case of relapse,
except when the abjuration had been for light suspicion. If it were
neglected, and he had, for instance, abjured Catharism only, he might
subsequently indulge in some other form of heresy, such as Waldensianism
or usury, and have the benefit of another chance. The case was one not
likely to occur, but the point is interesting as showing how the
Inquisition could manifest the most scrupulous attention to form, while
discarding in its practice all that entitles the administration of
justice to respect. The importance attached to the abjuration is
illustrated by a case in the Inquisition of Toulouse in 1310. Sibylla,
wife of Bernard Borell, had been forced to confession and abjuration in
1305. Continuing her heretical practices, she was arrested in 1309 and
again obliged to confess. As a relapsed heretic she was doomed
irrevocably to the stake, but, luckily for her, the abjuration could not
be found among the papers of the Holy Office, and though the rest of the
record seems to have been accessible, she could only be prosecuted as
though for a first offence, and she escaped with imprisonment for
life.[412]
In the case of suspects of heresy who cleared themselves by
compurgation, abjuration, of course, did not include confession. In
accusations of heresy, supported by evidence, however, no one could be
admitted to abjuration who did not confess that of which he was accused.
Denial, as we have seen, was obduracy, punished by the stake, and
confession was a condition precedent to admission to abjuration. In
ordinary cases, where torture was freely used, confession was almost a
matter of course. There were extraordinary cases, however, like that of
Huss at Constance, where torture was spared and where the accused denied
the doctrines attributed to him. In such cases the necessity of
confession prior to abjuration must be borne in mind if we are to
understand the inevitable consequences.