The next siege of Toulouse is connected with one of the blackest
pages in human history, the horrid war, or crusade as it is termed,
against the Albigeois. The licentiousness of the clergy and the
barefaced venality and ambition of the hierarchy led people to look
with jealousy at the doctrines by which these men supported their
influence; and the consequence necessarily was, that many seceded from
the Church, and formed sects, or shades of belief, according to their
intelligence, or perhaps passions. This, in fact, was the commencement
of the Reformation, which, though kept under by the power of the
Church, silently but unceasingly worked its way, till the ostentatious
extravagance of Leo X. and the exasperated genius of Luther, nearly
three hundred years after, brought it to a head. The rich provinces
of the south of France were the first melancholy scenes of the series
of persecutions, under the name of a religion of peace, which have
since, in wars, assassinations, and _autos-da-fè_, in dungeons and
inquisitions, tortures and the stake, disgraced humanity.
Raymond, count of Toulouse, was the richest prince in Europe when
Innocent III. set on the dogs of rapine, by preaching a crusade against
him and his beautiful country. In the crusades to the Holy Land many
more had been attracted by the fabulous accounts of the riches of the
East, than by any care about the redemption of the holy places, so,
in this European crusade, the wealth of Toulouse was the principal
incentive to the adventurers who flocked to the plunder. At that
period, individual enterprise was perhaps stronger than at any other:
a prince of Lorraine had become king of Jerusalem; a high-sounding
title, though barren of everything but care: a few Norman knights had
made themselves masters of Sicily and of part of the south of Italy:
William of Normandy, and his wonderful success, were not forgotten; so
that, directly there was a chance of territorial plunder, particularly
under the sanction of the Church, the unscrupulous, restless, needy
spirits of the age were all roused to action, and eager to obtain the
first prize. One of the worst of this class, Simon de Montfort, was
the leader of this infamous league. A French author describing him,
says, “he would have been the hero of his age, if he had not been
_ambitious_, _barbarous_, _perfidious_, and _revengeful_.” Plutarch
would never have introduced the word _hero_, as in any way compatible
with such a character. And here we take leave to warn our young readers
against the partiality they may conceive for Simon de Montfort, earl of
Leicester, who figured in the reign of our Henry III., from reading a
pleasing tale by Mr. James. His De Montfort is a fiction, the real man
was of the same character as his father; he was an adventurer, and his
quarry was England, as Toulouse had been that of his predecessor.
In vain Count Raymond, the sovereign of the unfortunate Albigeois,
endeavoured to defend them; he was crushed beneath the same anathema,
and was obliged to fly before De Montfort. Subdued, a wanderer, and
a proscribed heretic, the count was reduced to the most deplorable
condition, and abandoned Toulouse to the conqueror. The Toulousians
gave up their city very unwillingly. Suffering under the odious
yoke, they recalled their ancient master. Montfort, informed of this
revolution, hastened to the scene of action, came to the walls, and
endeavoured to enter by the Nalbonnais Castle. But he there found
intrepid warriors and impregnable fortifications. Finding his first
attack, from which he had expected much, fail, he commenced the siege
in form; he fought several bloody battles, made many terrible assaults,
and spared neither fatigue nor stratagem for more than four months.
But he made himself master of the place by means of a horrible piece
of treachery, devised and executed by Bishop Foulquet. The latter
proposed to all the inhabitants, in the name of the God of peace, to go
forth and meet De Montfort, for the purpose of coming to terms. That
atrocious commander received them at the head of his knights, and made
prisoners of most of them. The war, however, continued with various
success, and Toulouse was again in the hands of the inhabitants. Whilst
besieging it, this scourge was removed by a death he merited. An
enormous stone, cast from a mangonel, and aimed by a woman, struck him
senseless to the earth. He was borne to his tent, and expired almost
immediately. Thus, like Pyrrhus, perished the ever infamous Simon de
Montfort, by an ignoble missile, launched by a woman.
Count Raymond, who was very aged, shortly after died, _and the priests
refused his body sepulture_: his coffin remained for many years outside
the door of a church. His toleration was his principal crime in the
eyes of his clerical persecutors; a great part of his misfortunes may
be attributed to the weakness of his character, but far more to the
attractions held out to unscrupulous adventurers by his wealth. When
we come to the siege of Béziers, we shall again have to turn to this
horrible page of history.