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Title: A History of the Inquisition of Spain; vol. 3

Author: Henry Charles Lea

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THE INQUISITION OF SPAIN

A HISTORY
OF THE
INQUISITION OF SPAIN

BY
HENRY CHARLES LEA. LL.D.

———
IN FOUR VOLUMES
———

VOLUME III.


———

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd.
1907
All rights reserved

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


Copyright, 1907,
By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
——
Set up and electrotyped. Published January, 1907.

CONTENTS OF VOL. III.

{1}

THE INQUISITION OF SPAIN.

BOOK VI. (Continued).

CHAPTER VII.

TORTURE

TO the modern mind the judicial use of torture, as a means of ascertaining truth, is so repellant and illogical that we are apt to forget that it has, from the most ancient times, been practised by nearly all civilized nations. With us the device of the jury has relieved the judge of the responsibility resting upon him in other systems of jurisprudence. That responsibility had to be met; a decision had to be reached, even in the most doubtful cases and, where evidence was defective and conflicting, the use of torture as an expedient to obtain a confession, or, by its endurance, to indicate innocence, has seemed, until modern times, after the disuse of compurgation and the judgements of God, to be the only means of relieving the judicial conscience. It was admitted to be dangerous and fallacious, to be employed only with circumspection, but there was nothing to take its place.[1]

That it should be used by the Inquisition was a matter of course, for the crime of heresy was often one peculiarly difficult to prove; confession was sought in all cases and, from the middle of the thirteenth century, the habitual employment of torture by the Holy Office had been the most efficient factor in spreading its use throughout Christendom, at the expense of the obsolescent Barbarian customs. It is true that Spain was loath to admit the innovation. In Castile, which rejected the Inquisition, Alfonso X, notwithstanding his admiration of the Roman law,{2} required that confession must be voluntary and insisted that, if obtained by torture, it must subsequently be freely ratified, without threats or pressure.[2] In the kingdoms of Aragon, which admitted the Inquisition, torture remained illegal, and it was only by the positive commands of Clement V that it was employed, in 1311, on the Templars.[3] By the time that the Spanish Inquisition was organized, however, torture in Castile was in daily use by the criminal courts, and there could be no question as to the propriety of its employment by the Holy Office. In Aragon, Peña tells us that, although it was forbidden in secular jurisprudence, it was freely permitted in matters of faith. Yet its use was jealously watched, for when the aid of torture was sought in the case of a prisoner accused of the murder of a familiar, the Córtes of 1646 complained of it as an unprecedented innovation, which was only prevented by the active intervention of the diputados and viceroy.[4] Valencia had been less rigid in excluding torture from its courts, but so limited its use that, in 1684, the tribunal reported that, in cases of unnatural crime (of which it had cognizance, subject to the condition of trial by secular process), it no longer used torture, because the methods permitted by the fueros were so light that the accused felt no fear of them, and they were useless in extracting confession.[5]

We shall see that occasionally tribunals abused the use of torture, but the popular impression that the inquisitorial torture-chamber was the scene of exceptional refinement in cruelty, of specially ingenious modes of inflicting agony, and of peculiar persistence in extorting confessions, is an error due to sensational writers who have exploited credulity. The system was evil in conception and in execution, but the Spanish Inquisition, at least, was not responsible for its introduction and, as a rule, was less cruel than the secular courts in its application, and confined itself more strictly to a few well-known methods. In fact, we may reasonably assume that its use of torture was less frequent, for its scientific system of breaking down resistance, in its long-drawn procedure, was more effective than the ruder and speedier practice of the secular courts where, as we are told by{3} Archbishop Pedro de Castro of Granada, it was notorious that no one confessed except when overcome by torture.[6]

In this respect, the comparison between the Spanish and the Roman Inquisition is also eminently in favor of the former. We shall have occasion presently to see the limitations which it placed on the use of torture, while in Rome it was the rule that all who confessed or were convicted in matters of faith were tortured for the further discovery of the truth and the revelation of accomplices. In addition to this there were many classes of cases in which torture was employed by Rome to extort confession and in which it was forbidden in Spain—those involving mere presumption of heresy, such as solicitation, sorcery, blasphemy etc. Moreover in Rome the in arbitrio judicum applied not only to the kind and duration of the torture but also to its repetition.[7] Spanish writers on practice, therefore, were justified in claiming for their own tribunals a sparing use of torture unknown in Italy, while, as regards its severity, the frequency with which in the trials we find that the accused overcame the torture would indicate that habitually it was not carried to extremity, as it so frequently was in the secular courts. No torture-chamber in the Inquisition possessed the resources of the corregidor who labored for three hours, in 1612, to obtain from Diego Duke of Estrada confession of a homicide—the water torture, the mancuerda, the potro, hot irons for the feet, hot bricks for the stomach and buttocks, garrotillos known as bone-breakers, the trampa to tear the legs and the bostezo to distend the mouth—and all this was an every-day matter of criminal justice.[8]

{4}

The indirect torture of especially harsh imprisonment was not unknown to the Inquisition, and was occasionally employed for the purpose of breaking down obstinacy. It was not, as in the medieval Inquisition, prescribed as an ordinary resource, but it was at the discretion of the tribunal and could at any time be brought into play, as in the case of a pertinacious heretic, in 1512, who was consigned to the most noisome part of the prison, and afflicted in various ways, in the hope of enlightening his understanding.[9] In the later period of leisurely action, protracted imprisonment was frequently resorted to, in the hope of inducing repentance and conversion, when wearing anxiety and despair weakened the will as effectually as the sharper agonies of the pulley and rack. There was also the ingenious device, frequently effective, by which the fiscal concluded his formal accusation with a demand that, if necessary, the accused should be tortured until he confessed. This was unknown in the earlier period, but the Instructions of 1561 recommend it, giving as a reason its good results, and also that torture requires a demand from the prosecutor and a notification to the defendant, who is unprepared for it at this stage of the trial.[10] After this it became the universal custom in all cases admitting of torture, and the profound impression produced on the unfortunate prisoner can be readily conceived.

Torture itself, however, was regarded as too serious to be left to the arbitrary temper of a baffled or angry inquisitor, and was preceded by formalities designed to prevent its abuse. It was the last resort when the result of a trial left doubts to be satisfied. After the prosecution and defence had closed, and the consulta de fe had assembled to consider the sentence, if the evidence was too weak for condemnation while the innocence of the accused was not clear, it could adopt a vote to torture and postpone the decision to await the outcome. Even in the ferocity of the early period this deliberateness was frequently observed, although in the reckless haste of procedure it was often omitted. Thus, in the case of Diego García, a priest accused of having said twenty years before, when a boy, that the sacrament was bread, the consulta held two meetings, January 18 and 19, 1490, and finally voted torture. There was no haste however and it was{5} not until February 11th that García was exposed to the very moderate water-torture of about a quart of water. No confession was obtained and he was untied, with the protest that he had not been sufficiently tortured, but it was not repeated and, on February 26th, he was acquitted and restored to his fame and honor, though, with the curiously perverse inquisitorial logic, he was made to abjure de vehementi and forbidden to celebrate mass for six months.[11] The vote of the consulta however was not universal and, in 1518, the Suprema ordered it to be always observed, but a clause in the Instructions of 1561, reminding inquisitors that they must not inflict torture until after hearing the defence shows how difficult it was to restrain their arbitrary action.[12] Even in the early eighteenth century, in reviewing a summary of cases of Valencia, from 1705 to 1726, the Suprema rebuked the tribunal for torturing Sebastian Antonio Rodríguez without previous consultation, but at this period the consulta de fe was becoming obsolete and everything was centering in the Suprema.[13]

The vote of the consulta was still only preliminary. After it, the accused was brought into the audience-chamber, where all the inquisitors and the episcopal Ordinary were required to be present. He was notified of the decision of the consulta; if he was a diminuto, the points in which his confession had failed to satisfy the evidence were pointed out; if a negativo, no explanations were necessary; if it was on intention or in caput alienum he was made to understand it. He was adjured, in the name of God and the Blessed Virgin, to confess fully, without false evidence as to himself or others and, if this failed to move him, a formal sentence of torture was signed by all the judges and read to him. It recited that, in view of the suspicions arising against him from the evidence, they condemned him to be tortured for such length of time as they should see fit, in order that he might tell the truth of what had been testified against him, protesting that, if in the torture he should die or suffer effusion of blood or mutilation, it should not be attributed to them, but to him for not telling the truth. If the torture was to discover accomplices, care was taken to make no allusion to him and to give him no{6} chance of clearing himself, for he was assumed to be already convicted.[14]

Even this sentence was not necessarily a finality for, if the accused offered a new defence, it had to be considered and acted upon before proceeding further.[15] Moreover he had theoretically a right to appeal to the inquisitor-general from this, as from all other interlocutory sentences. This right varied at different times. A ruling by the Suprema, in 1538, appears to indicate that it was granted as a matter of right, but the Instructions of 1561 tell inquisitors that, if they feel scruple, they should grant it, but if satisfied that the sentence is justified they should refuse the appeal as frivolous and dilatory.[16] Still the right to ask it was so fully recognized that, if the accused was not twenty-five years of age and thus a minor, his curador or guardian was required to be present, in order to interject an appeal if he saw fit, and I have met with an instance of this in the case of Angela Pérez, a Morisco slave, before the Toledo tribunal in 1575, where it was as usual unsuccessful, for the Suprema confirmed the sentence.[17] Tribunals seem not infrequently to have allowed appeals, but, with the growing centralization in the Suprema, they became superfluous and a formula, drawn up in 1690, directs that no attention be paid to them.[18]

When the indications of guilt were too slender to justify torture, the consulta de fe sometimes voted to threaten torture.[19] Then the sentence was formally drawn up and read to the accused, he was taken to the torture-chamber, stripped and perhaps tied on the potro or escalera, without proceeding further. A curious case of this was that of Leonor Pérez who, at the age of seventy, was sentenced, May 3, 1634, in Valladolid, to be placed in conspectu tormentorum. When stripped, on May 10th, the executioner reported marks of previous torture; the proceedings were suspended and, on May 13th, she admitted that, twenty years before, she had been tortured in Coimbra. On June 14th{7} the sentence was again executed, but, before being stripped, she confessed to some Jewish beliefs and then fainted. A postponement was necessary and two days later she revoked her confession. The case dragged on and it was not until August 1, 1637 that she was condemned to abjure de vehementi, to six years of exile, a fine of two hundred ducats, and to be paraded in vergüenza, but we still hear of her as in prison, early in 1639.[20] It required strong nerves to endure this threat of torture, with its terrifying formalities and adjurations, and it was frequently effective.

The conditions held to justify torture were that the offence charged was of sufficient gravity, and that the evidence, while not wholly decisive, was such that the accused should have the opportunity of “purging” it, by endurance proportionate to its strength. From the inquisitor’s point of view, it was a favor to the accused, as it gave him a chance which was denied to those whose condemnation was resolved upon. This is illustrated by a highly significant case in the Toledo tribunal in 1488. Juan del Rio had lived long in Rome, where he was present in the jubilee of 1475; by the arts of the courtier he won the favor of Sixtus IV and returned to Spain about 1483, loaded with benefices—among them a prebend in the Toledo cathedral—which excited cupidity and enmity. He was an Old Christian, of pure Biscayan descent, who could not be suspected of Judaism, but he was a loose and inconsiderate chatterer; in the Spain which he had left there was much licence, in the Rome where he had so long sojourned there was more; he could not, on his return, accommodate himself to the new order of things, and his reckless talk gave the opportunity of making vacancies of his numerous preferments. The evidence against him was of the flimsiest; the most serious charge was that, when a tenant had been unable to pay rent on account of the Inquisition, he had petulantly wished it at the devil. At a later period he would have had a chance to purge the evidence by the water-torture, but this was not permitted him; he was hurried to the stake as a pertinacious negativo, leaving his spoils to those who could grasp them.[21]

{8}

It was a well-accepted maxim of the civil law that torture should not be employed when the penalty of the crime charged was less severe than the infliction of torture—an equation of suffering which afforded to the doctors ample opportunity of defining the unknown quantity. This was fully accepted by the Inquisition and we are told that torture is not indicated for propositions merely offensive, rash, scandalous or blasphemous, or for the assertion that simple fornication is not a mortal sin, or for heretical blasphemy, or sorcery, or for propositions arising from ignorance, or for bigamy or solicitation in the confessional, or for lying under excommunication for a year, or for other matters which infer only light suspicion of heresy, even though for some of these offences the punishment was scourging and the galleys. Torture is freely alluded to as an irreparable injury the use of which would be unjustifiable in such matters.[22]

This, however, was, like everything else in this nebulous region, open to considerable laxity in application. When Francisco de Tornamira, a boy of eighteen and page of the Duke of Pastrana, was tried in 1592, on the charge of having said that Jews and Moors could be saved if they had faith in their respective beliefs, he denied and was tortured till he confessed, and then the triviality of his offence was admitted by subjecting him only to abjuration de levi, to hearing a mass as a penitent in the audience-chamber, and to a reprimand. The same tribunal in 1579, tried Stefano Grillen, an Italian, who, in a discussion with some chance fellow-travellers, maintained that the miracles at the shrines of Our Lady of Atocha and of la Caridad were wrought by the Virgin herself and not by her images. He freely confessed but was tortured—apparently on intention—and was dismissed with the same trivial punishment as Tornamira.[23] Even more suggestive is the case of Juan Pereira, a boy of fifteen, tried, in 1646, for Judaism at Valladolid. The proceedings were dilatory and he gradually became demented; nothing could be done with him and opinions were divided as to the reality of his insanity. The Suprema was applied to and sagely ordered torture to find out. It was administered, April 22, 1648, but the method of diagnosis was not as successful as its ingenuity deserved and, in August, he was sent to a hospital{9} for six months, with instructions to observe him carefully. As his name after this disappears from the records, he probably died in the hospital.[24] It is evident that the Inquisition did not take to heart the warning issued by the Suprema, in 1533, that torture was a very delicate matter.[25]

When we come to inquire as to the character of evidence requiring torture for its elucidation, we find how illusory were all the attempts of the legists to lay down absolute rules, and how it all ended in leaving the matter to the discretion of the tribunal. As confession, though desired, was not essential to conviction, the negativo who was convicted on sufficient evidence was not to be tortured, but was to be relaxed. Even this rule, however, could be set aside at the caprice of the judge, though he was warned, in such cases, to put on record a protest that he did not direct the torture against the matters that had been proved, for the very good reason that endurance of torture might purge them and nullify the proof.[26] It was impossible to reduce to a logical formula that which in its essence was illogical, or to frame an accurate definition of evidence that was insufficient for conviction yet sufficient for torture. It was easy to say that semiplena evidence suffices, but what was semiplena? One authority will tell us that a single witness, even an accomplice, justifies torture, another that three accomplice witnesses are requisite. One impartial and unexceptionable witness, again, is sometimes held to require public fame as an adjuvant, but the records are full of cases in which torture was employed on the unsupported testimony of a single witness. The weight of other more or less confirmatory evidence was also keenly debated, without reaching substantial agreement—whether flight before arrest, or breaking gaol, or vacillation and equivocation when examined, or even pallor, was sufficient justification.[27] It is not surprising, therefore, that, as a practical result, we are told that{10} all these questions must be left to the discretion of the judge, to be decided in each individual case.[28] Under such conditions it would be useless to expect consistency of practice in all tribunals and at all periods. We have seen above that cases were sometimes suspended because evidence had not been ratified, yet the Toledo tribunal, in 1584, tortured Lope el Gordo for that very reason, because the chief witness against him had not ratified his testimony, and it is satisfactory to add that Lope endured the torments and thus earned suspension of his case.[29]

The diminuto, whose confession did not cover all the adverse evidence, was, according to rule, to be tortured in order to account for the deficiency. If he endured without further admission, he was to be punished on the basis of what he had confessed, but if he did not thus purge the evidence, he was to be sent to the galleys. This was sometimes done in mere surplusage, apparently to gratify the curiosity of the tribunal, as in the Toledo case of Antonio de Andrada, in 1585, who confessed what was amply sufficient for his punishment, but, as there were some omissions, was tortured to elucidate them. In the seventeenth century, however, we are assured that there was much caution used in torturing diminutos, and that it was not done unless the omitted matters were such as to call for relaxation. If they concerned accomplices, however, whom the culprit was suspected of shielding, he was tortured in caput alienum. Retraction or vacillation of confession necessarily required torture to reconcile the contradiction; this occurred chiefly with timid persons, frightened by the demand of the fiscal for torture, and thus led to make admissions which they subsequently recalled, thus bringing upon themselves what they had sought to avoid.[30] The question of intention, in the performance of acts in themselves indifferent, was, as we have seen, the frequent occasion of torture, as there was no other means known to the jurisprudence of the period, which was bent on ascertaining the secrets of the offender’s mind.{11}

Yet it is possible that in some cases, when torture appears to be pure surplusage, there may have been the kindly intention of contributing to the salvation of the sufferer, by inducing or confirming his conversion; for habitual persecution for the greater glory of God induced a state of mind precluding all rational intellectual processes, where the faith was concerned. Thus Rojas tells us that there should be no hesitation in the use of torture, when the salvation of the culprit’s soul was involved, so that he might be reconciled to the Church and undergo penance through which he might be saved.[31] This reasoning was urged in the case of Réné Perrault, in 1624, by some of the consultores of the tribunal of Toledo. His crime of maltreating the Host was public and unquestionable, but he had varied in his statements as to his faith; the consulta de fe was unanimous in ordering torture to discover possible accomplices, but some of the members desired a special additional torture in order to confirm him in the faith and save his soul.[32]

That witnesses should be tortured, in order to obtain or confirm their testimony, is an abuse which, repulsive as it may seem to us, has been, with more or less disguise, a practice wherever torture has been used. It is true that the Roman law prohibited that one who had admitted his own guilt should be examined as to that of another, and this principle, adopted in the False Decretals, became a part of the early canon law.[33] The Inquisition, however, regarded the conviction of a heretic as only the preliminary to forcing him to denounce his associates; the earliest papal utterance, in 1252, authorizing its use of torture, prescribed the employment of this means to discover accomplices and finally Paul IV and Pius V decreed that all who were convicted and confessed should, at the discretion of the inquisitors, be tortured for this purpose.[34] The question préalable or définitive, in which the convict was tortured to make him reveal his associates, became, through the influence of the Inquisition, a part of the criminal jurisprudence of all lands in which torture was{12} employed. It was, in reality, the torture of witnesses, for the criminal’s fate had been decided, and he was thus used only to give testimony against others.

The Spanish Inquisition was, therefore, only following a general practice when it tortured, in caput alienum, those who had confessed their guilt. No confession was accepted as complete unless it revealed the names of those whom the penitent knew to be guilty of heretical acts, if there was reason to suspect that he was not fully discharging his conscience in this respect, torture was the natural resort. Even the impenitent or the relapsed, who was doomed to relaxation, was thus to be tortured and was to be given clearly to understand that it was as a witness and not as a party, and that his endurance of torture would not save him from the stake. The Instructions of 1561, however, warn inquisitors that in these cases much consideration should be exercised and torture in caput alienum was rather the exception in Spain, than the rule as in Rome.[35] In the case of the negativo, against whom conclusive evidence was had, and who thus was to be condemned without torture, the device of torturing him against his presumable accomplices afforded an opportunity of endeavoring to secure his own confession and conversion. We have seen this fail, in 1596, in the Mexican case of Manuel Diaz, nor was it more successful in Lima, in 1639, with Enrique de Paz y Mello, although the final outcome was different. He persistently denied through five successive publications of evidence, as testimony against him accumulated in the trials of his associates. He was sentenced to relaxation and torture in caput alienum; it was administered with great severity without overcoming his fortitude, and he persisted through five other publications as fresh evidence was gathered. Yet at midnight before the auto de fe, in which he was to be burnt, he weakened. He confessed as to himself and others and his sentence was modified to reconciliation and the galleys, while good use was made of his revelations against thirty of his accomplices.[36]

The torture of witnesses who were not themselves under trial was permitted when they varied or retracted, or so contradicted other witnesses that it was deemed necessary thus to ascertain{13} the truth; but whether clerical witnesses could be so treated was a subject of debate. As a rule torture in such cases was directed to be moderate, neither light nor excessive, but when testimony was revoked it could be repeated up to three inflictions.[37] As we have seen above (Vol. II, p. 537) slaves testifying in the cases of their masters could always be tortured if necessary to confirm their evidence. In the prosecution of Juan de la Caballería, in 1488, as accessory to the murder of San Pedro Arbués, his slave-girl Lucía gave compromising evidence which she was persuaded to retract, with the result that she was twice tortured and confirmed it.[38]

Like majestas, in heresy there were no privileged classes exempt from torture. Nobles were subject to it and so were ecclesiastics of all ranks, but the latter were to be tortured less severely than laymen, unless the case was very grave, and they were entitled to a clerical torturer if one could be found to perform the office. As in their arrest, so in torture the sentence, by a carta acordada of 1633, had to be submitted to the Suprema for confirmation.[39]

As regards age, there seems to have been none that conferred exemption. Llorente, indeed, in describing a case in which a woman of ninety was tortured at Cuenca, says that this was contrary to the orders of the Suprema which prescribed that the aged should only be placed in conspectu tormentorum,[40] but I have never met with such a rule. In 1540 the Suprema ordered that consideration should be given to the quality and age of the accused and, if advisable, the torture should be very moderate, while the Instructions of 1561, which are very full, impose no limit of age and leave everything to the discretion of the tribunal.[41] Cases are by no means infrequent in which age combined with infirmity is given as a reason for omitting torture or inflicting it with moderation, but age alone offered no exemption. At a Toledo auto de fe we find Isabel Canese, aged seventy-eight,{14} who promptly confessed before the torture had proceeded very far, and Isabel de Jaen, aged eighty who, at the fifth turn of the cords fainted and was revived with difficulty.[42] In 1607, at Valencia, Jaime Chuleyla, aged seventy-six, after confessing certain matters, was accused by a new witness of being an alfaquí; this he denied and was duly tortured.[43]

Not much more respect was paid to youth. In 1607, at Valencia, Isabel Madalena, a girl of thirteen, who was vaguely accused of Moorish practices, was tortured, overcame the torture and was penanced with a hundred lashes. In the same year that tribunal showed more consideration for Joan de Heredia, a boy of ten or eleven, whom a lying witness accused of going to a house where Moorish doctrines were taught. On his steadfast denial, he was sentenced to be placed in conspectu tormentorum, which was carried out in spite of an appeal by his procurator, but he persisted in asserting his innocence and the case was suspended.[44] Mental incapacity, short of insanity, was not often allowed exemption and it is creditable to the Valencia tribunal that when, about 1710, the Suprema ordered the torture of Joseph Felix, for intention with regard to certain propositions, it remonstrated and represented that he was too ignorant to comprehend the object of the torture.[45]

It was a universal law that torture should not endanger life or limb and, although this was often disregarded when the work was under way, it called for a certain amount of preliminary caution to see that the patient was in condition promising endurance—caution admitted in theory but not always observed in practice. When there was doubt, the physician of the Inquisition was sometimes called in, as in the case of Rodrigo Pérez, at Toledo, in 1600, who was sick and weak, and the medical certificate that torture would endanger health and life sufficed to save him, but the Suprema was not so considerate when, in 1636, it ordered the Valencia tribunal to torture Joseph Pujal before transferring him to the hospital, as was done afterwards on account{15} of his illness.[46] Pregnancy has always been deemed a sufficient reason for at least postponing the infliction, but the Madrid tribunal, in instructions of 1690, only makes the concession of placing pregnant women on a seat, in place of binding them on the rack, while applying the exceedingly severe torture of the garrote—sharp cords, two on each arm and two on each leg, bound around the limb and twisted with a short lever.[47] Hernia was regarded, at least in the earlier time, as precluding torture, and I have met with several cases in which it served to exempt the patient but, in 1662, the official instructions of the Suprema order that no exceptions be made on that account, save the omission of the trampazo vigoroso, which causes downward strain; in the other tortures a good strong truss suffices to avert danger and it should always be kept on hand in readiness for such subjects.[48] In accordance with this the Madrid tribunal in 1690, orders for hernia cases the use of the seat provided for pregnant women. As regards women who were suckling, there seems to have been no established rule. In 1575, when the Valencia tribunal proposed to torture María Gilo, the physician who was called in reported that it would expose the child to imminent risk and the purpose was abandoned. In 1608, however, at Toledo, when the same question arose in the case of Luisa de Narvaez, the consulta voted in discordia and the Suprema ordered her to be tortured.[49]

Besides these generalities, there were occasional special cases in which torture was abandoned in consequence of the condition of the patient—heart disease, excessive debility, repeated faintings during the administration and other causes. The physician and the surgeon were always called in, when the prisoner was stripped, to examine him and they were kept at hand to be summoned in case of accident. The tribunals seem to have been more tender-hearted than the Suprema which, in its instructions of 1662, reproved inquisitors who avoid sentencing to torture on account of weakness or of a broken arm. This, it says, is not proper, because it forfeits the opportunity of obtaining confession{16} in the various preliminaries of reading the sentence, carrying to the torture-chamber, stripping him and tying him to the trestle; besides, after commencing, the torture is always to be stopped when the physician so orders.[50] There was another salutary precaution—that there should be a proper interval between the last meal and the torture. About 1560, Inquisitor Cervantes says that the patient is not to have food or drink on the evening before or on the morning of the infliction and, in 1722, a writer specifies eight hours for the preliminary fasting.[51]

In the administration of torture, all the inquisitors and the episcopal representative were required to be present, with a notary or secretary to record the proceedings. No one else save the executioner was allowed to be present, except when the physician or surgeon was called in. In the earlier period, there was some trouble in providing an official to perform the repulsive work. An effort seems to have been made to compel the minor employees to do it but with doubtful success. Ferdinand, in a letter of July 22, 1486, to Torquemada, complains that the inquisitors of Saragossa had employed a torturer because the messengers had refused to do the work, and he suggests that a messenger be discharged and the torturer serve in his place without increase of salary; if this cannot be done the salary should be reduced. No salaried torturer appears in the pay-rolls; the duties were not constant and doubtless when wanted proper functionaries were called in and paid—but there is suggestiveness in a letter of Ferdinand, in 1498, ordering the restoration of a certain Pedro de Moros, who had been dropped, to serve as messenger and “for such other duties as the inquisitors might order” at five hundred sueldos a year.[52] At one time the alcaide of the prison seems to have been the official torturer for, in 1536, the Suprema writes to the inquisitors of Navarre that, if their alcaide is not skilled in the business, they must find some one who is, and not work the implements themselves, as they seem to have done, for it is not befitting the dignity of their persons or office.[53] In{17} 1587, at Valencia, we hear that the messenger and portero served as assistants and the Suprema ordered the work to be entrusted to a confidential familiar.[54] Eventually however the tribunals employed the public executioner of the town, who was skilled in his vocation. When, in 1646, at Valladolid, Isabel López was ordered to be tortured on November 23d, the alcaide reported that the public functionary was absent and the time of his return was uncertain; the torture was necessarily postponed and, on the 27th, Isabel took it into her head to confess and thus escaped the infliction.[55] In Madrid, from March to August, 1681, Alonso de Alcalá, the city executioner, was paid by the tribunal forty-four ducats, for eleven torturings, at four ducats apiece.[56] It seems strange that objection should be made to the torturer being disguised but, in 1524, the Suprema forbade him to wear a mask or to be wrapped in a sheet; subsequently he was permitted to wear a hood and to change his garments and, in the seventeenth century, a mask and other disguise were permissible, if it were thought best that he should not be recognized.[57]

At every stage in the preliminaries, after reading the sentence, taking the prisoner down to the torture-chamber, calling in the executioner, stripping the prisoner and tying him to the trestle, there was a pause in which he was solemnly adjured to tell the truth for the love of God, as the inquisitors did not desire to see him suffer.[58] The exposure of stripping was not a mere wanton aggravation but was necessary, for the cords around the thighs and arms, the belt at the waist with cords passing from it over the shoulders from front to back, required access to every portion of the body and, at the end of the torture, there was little of the surface that had not had its due share of agony. Women as well as men were subjected to this, the slight concession to decency being the zaragüelles or paños de la vergüenza, a kind of abbreviated bathing-trunks, but the denudation seems to have been complete before these were put on.[59] The patient{18} was admonished not to tell falsehoods about himself or others and, during the torture, the only words to be addressed to him were “Tell the truth.” No questions were to be put and no names mentioned to him, for the reason, as we are told, that the sufferers in their agonies were ready to say anything that was in any way suggested, and to bear false-witness against themselves and others. The executioner was not to speak to the patient, or make faces at him, or threaten him, and the inquisitors should see that he so arranged the cords and other devices as not to cause permanent crippling or breaking of the bones. The work was to proceed slowly with due intervals between each turn of the garrotes or hoist in the garrucha, or otherwise the effect was lost, and the patient was apt to overcome the torture.

It was a universal rule that torture could be applied only once, unless new evidence supervened which required purging, but this restriction was easily evaded. Though torture could not be repeated, it could be continued and, when it was over, the patient was told that the inquisitors were not satisfied, but were obliged to suspend it for the present, and that it would be resumed at another time, if he did not tell the whole truth. Thus it could be repeated from time to time as often as the consulta de fe might deem expedient.[60] The secretary faithfully recorded all that passed, even to the shrieks of the victim, his despairing ejaculations and his piteous appeals for mercy or to be put to death, nor would it be easy to conceive anything more fitted to excite the deepest compassion than these cold-blooded, matter-of-fact reports.

As for the varieties of torture currently employed, it must be borne in mind that the Inquisition largely depended on the public executioners, and its methods thus were necessarily identical with those of the secular courts; while even when its own officials performed the duty, they would naturally follow the customary routine. The Inquisition thus had no special refinements of torture and indeed, so far as I have had opportunity of investigation, it confined itself to a few methods out of the abundant repertory of the public functionaries.

In the earlier period only two tortures were generally in vogue—the garrucha or pulleys and the water-torture. These are the{19} only ones alluded to by Pablo García and both of them were old and well-established forms.[61] The former, known in Italy as the strappado, consisted in tying the patient’s hands behind his back and then, with a cord around his wrists, hoisting him from the floor, with or without weights to his feet, keeping him suspended as long as was desired and perhaps occasionally letting him fall a short distance with a jerk. About 1620 a writer prescribes that the elevating movement should be slow, for if it is rapid the pain is not lasting; for a time the patient should be kept at tiptoe, so that his feet scarce touch the floor; when hoisted he should be held there while the psalm Miserere is thrice repeated slowly in silence, and he is to be repeatedly admonished to tell the truth. If this fail he is to be lowered, one of the weights is to be attached to his feet and he is to be hoisted for the space of two Misereres, the process being repeated with increasing weights as often and as long as may be judged expedient.[62]

The water-torture was more complicated. The patient was placed on an escalera or potro—a kind of trestle, with sharp-edged rungs across it like a ladder. It slanted so that the head was lower than the feet and, at the lower end was a depression in which the head sank, while an iron band around the forehead or throat kept it immovable. Sharp cords, called cordeles, which cut into the flesh, attached the arms and legs to the side of the trestle and others, known as garrotes, from sticks thrust in them and twisted around like a tourniquet till the cords cut more or less deeply into the flesh, were twined around the upper and lower arms, the thighs and the calves; a bostezo, or iron prong, distended the mouth, a toca, or strip of linen, was thrust down the throat to conduct water trickling slowly from a jarra or jar, holding usually a little more than a quart. The patient strangled and gasped and suffocated and, at intervals, the toca was withdrawn and he was adjured to tell the truth. The severity of the infliction was measured by the number of jars consumed, sometimes reaching to six or eight. In 1490, in the case of the priest Diego García, a single quart satisfied the inquisitors and he was acquitted.[63] In the Mexican case of Manuel Díaz, in 1596,{20} the cordeles were applied; then seven garrotes were twisted around arms and legs, the toca was thrust down his throat and twelve jarras of a pint each were allowed to drip through it, the toca being drawn up four times during the operation. In the Toledo case of Marí Rodríguez, in 1592, the operation was divided, the cordeles being applied while she was seated on the banquillo, and were given eight turns; she was then transferred to the trestle, and the garrotes were used, followed by the water; at the second jarra she vomited profusely; she was untied and fell to the floor. The executioner lifted her up and put on her chemise; she was told that if she would not tell the truth the torture would be continued; she protested that she had told the truth and it was suspended. For nine months she was left in her cell, then the consulta de fe voted to suspend the case and she was told to be gone in God’s name.[64]

It was probably not long after this that these forms of torture gradually fell into disuse and were replaced by others which apparently were regarded as more merciful. In 1646 the Suprema applied to the tribunal of Córdova for information concerning the garrucha and silla and for a description of the trampa and trampazo which it used, with an estimate of their severity. The tribunal replied that the silla had been abandoned because it could scarce be called a torture and the garrucha on account of the danger of causing dislocations. For more than thirty years the tribunal, as well as the secular courts, had discontinued its use as also the brazier of coals, heated plates of metal, hot bricks, the toca with seven pints of water, the depiñoncillo, escarabajo, tablillas, sueño and others. The methods in use were the cordeles and garrotes, of which there were three kinds, the vuelta de trampa, the mancuerda and stretching the accused in the potro or rack.

The letter proceeds to describe at great length and in much detail these somewhat complicated processes. In abandoning the pulleys and the water-jar, the patient gained little. He was adjusted for torment by a belt or girdle with which he was swung from the ground; his arms were tied together across his breast and were attached by cords to rings in the wall. For the trampa or trampazo the ladder in the potro had one of its rungs removed{21} so as to enable the legs to pass through; another bar with a sharp edge was set below it and through this narrow opening the legs were forcibly pulled by means of a cord fastened around the toes with a turn around the ankle. Each vuelta, or turn given to the cord, gained about three inches; five vueltas were reckoned a most rigorous torture, and three were the ordinary practice, even with the most robust. Leaving him stretched in this position, the next step was the mancuerda, in which a cord was passed around the arms, which the executioner wound around himself and threw himself backward, casting his whole weight and pushing with his foot against the potro. The cord, we are told, would cut through skin and muscle to the bone, while the body of the patient was stretched as in a rack, between it and the cords at the feet. The belt or girdle at the waist, subjected to these alternate forces was forced back and forth and contributed further to the suffering. This was repeated six or eight times with the mancuerda, on different parts of the arms, and the patients usually fainted, especially if they were women.

After this the potro came in play. The patient was released from the trampa and mancuerda and placed on the eleven sharp rungs of the potro, his ankles rigidly tied to the sides and his head sinking into a depression where it was held immovable by a cord across the forehead. The belt was loosened so that it would slip around. Three cords were passed around each upper arm, the ends being carried into rings on the sides of the potro and furnished with garrotes or sticks to twist them tight; two similar ones were put on each thigh and one on each calf, making twelve in all. The ends were carried to a maestra garrote by which the executioner could control all at once. These worked not only by compression but by travelling around the limbs, carrying away skin and flesh. Each half round was reckoned a vuelta or turn, six or seven of which was the maximum, but it was usual not to exceed five, even with strong men. Formerly the same was done with the cord around the forehead, but this was abandoned as it was apt to start the eyes from their sockets. All this, the Cordova tribunal concludes, is very violent, but it is less so and less dangerous than the abandoned methods.

These remained practically the tortures in use. In 1662 the Suprema, in ordering the tribunal of Galicia to “continue” the torture of Antonio Méndez, called upon it to report as to its manner of administering torture. Its answer of May 13th shows{22} that it was using the mancuerda and potro, though after a somewhat primitive fashion. To this, by order of the Suprema, Gonzalo Bravo replied, May 22d with elaborate instructions, especially as to the trampazo, indicating that substantially the methods described by Córdova were recognized officially. Galicia appears to have puzzled over this until September 19th, when it apologized for its lack of experience and asked for detailed plans and drawings of the form of potro required. It is fairly presumable from all this that thenceforward these new methods were adopted in all the tribunals.[65]

There was and could be no absolute limitation on the severity of torture. The Instructions of 1561 say that the law recognizes it as uncertain and dangerous in view of the difference in bodily and mental strength among men, wherefore no certain rule can be given, but it must be left to the discretion of judges, to be governed by law, reason and conscience.[66] All that Gonzalo Bravo can say, in the Instructions of 1662, is that its proper regulation determines the just decision of cases, and the verification of truth; the discretion and prudence of the judges must look to this, tempered by the customary compassion of the Holy Office, in such way that it shall neither exceed nor fall short. How this discretion was exercised depended wholly on the temper of the tribunal. One authority tells us that torture should never be prolonged more than half an hour, but the cases are numerous in which it lasted for two and even three hours. In that of Antonio López, at Valladolid, in 1648, it commenced at eight o’clock and continued until eleven, leaving him with a crippled arm; in a fortnight he endeavored to strangle himself, and he died within a month.[67] Such cases were by no means rare. Gabriel Rodríguez, at Valencia, about 1710, was tortured{23} thrice and condemned to the galleys, but this was commuted on finding that he was crippled “por la violencia de la tortura.”[68] Nor was death by any means unknown. In 1623, Diego Enríquez, at Valladolid, was tortured December 13th. In the process an “accident” occurred and he was carried to his cell. On the 15th the physician reported that he should be removed to a hospital, which was done with the greatest secrecy and he died there. There is something hideously suggestive in such a matter of fact record as that of Blanca Rodríguez Matos, at Valladolid, which simply says that she was voted to torture, May 21, 1655, and it having been executed she died the same day; the case was continued against her fame and memory and, in due course, was suspended, November 19th.[69]

The very large number of cases recorded in which the accused overcame the torture without confession would argue that it was frequently light. This is doubtless true to a great extent, but the surprising endurance sometimes displayed shows that this was not always the case. Thus Tomás de Leon, at Valladolid, November 5, 1638, was subjected to all the successive varieties and overcame them, although at the end it was found that his left arm was broken. So, in 1643, in the same tribunal, Engracia Rodríguez, a woman sixty years of age, had a toe wrenched off while in the balestilla. Nevertheless the torture proceeded until, in the first turn of the mancuerda, an arm was broken. It then was stopped without having extorted a confession, but her fortitude availed her little, for fresh evidence supervened against her and, some ten months later, she confessed to Jewish practices. Another of the same group, Florencia de Leon, endured the balestilla, three turns of the mancuerda and the potro without confessing, but she did not escape without reconciliation and prison.[70]

The process and its effects on the patient can best be understood from the passionless business-like reports of the secretary, in which the incidents are recorded to enable the consulta de fe to vote intelligently. They are of various degrees of horror and I select one which omits the screams and cries of the victim that are usually set forth. It is a very moderate case of water-torture,{24} carried only to a single jarra, administered in 1568 by the tribunal of Toledo to Elvira del Campo, accused of not eating pork and of putting on clean linen on Saturdays. She admitted the acts but denied heretical intent and was tortured on intention. On April 6th she was brought before the inquisitors and episcopal vicar and, after some preliminaries, was told that it was determined to torture her, and in view of this peril she should tell the truth, to which she replied that she had done so. The sentence of torture was then read, when she fell on her knees and begged to know what they wanted her to say. The report proceeds:

It is scarce worth while to continue this pitiful detail. Four days were allowed to elapse, for experience showed that an interval, by stiffening the limbs, rendered repetition more painful. She was again brought to the torture-chamber but she broke down when stripped and piteously begged to have her nakedness covered. The interrogatory went on, when her replies under torture were more rambling and incoherent than before, but her limit of endurance was reached and the inquisitors finally had the satisfaction of eliciting a confession of Judaism and a prayer for mercy and penance.[71]

It is impossible to read these melancholy records without amazement that the incoherent and contradictory admissions{27} through which the victim, in his increasing agonies, sought to devise some statement in satisfaction of the monotonous command to tell the truth, should have been regarded by statesmen and lawgivers as possessed of intrinsic value. The result was a test of endurance and not of veracity. In one case we find a man of such fibres and nerves that all the efforts of the torturer fail to elicit aught but denial—the cords may rasp through the flesh to the bone and limbs be wrenched to the breaking without affecting his constancy. In another, when a few turns of the garrote have twisted a single cord into his arm—or even at the mere aspect of the torture-chamber, with its grimly suggestive machinery—he will yield and confess all that is wanted as to himself and all the comrades whose names he can recall in the dizziness of his suffering. Yet, with full knowledge of this, for centuries the secular and ecclesiastical courts of the greater part of Christendom persisted in the use of a system which, in the name of justice, perpetrated an infinite series of atrocities.

Yet, as though still more effectually to deprive the system of all excuse, the confession obtained at such cost was practically admitted to be in itself worthless. To legalize it, a ratification was required, after an interval of at least twenty-four hours, to be freely made, without threats and apart from the torture-chamber. This was essential in all jurisdictions, and the formula in the Inquisition was to bring the prisoner into the audience-chamber, where his confession was read to him as it had been written down. He was asked whether it was true or whether he had anything to add or to omit and, under his oath, he was expected to declare that it was properly recorded, that he had no change to make and that he ratified it, not through fear of torture, or from any other cause, but solely because it was the truth. Such ratification was required even when the confession was made on hearing the sentence of torture read or when placed in conspectu tormentorum.[72] This was customarily done on the afternoon of the next day, to allow the full twenty-four hours to expire, but there was sometimes a longer interval. Thus, in the case of Catalina Hernández, at Toledo, who confessed on being stripped, July 13, 1541, it was not until the 27th that her{28} ratification was taken, the inquisitors explaining that press of business had prevented it earlier.[73]

The declaration in the ratification, that it was not made through fear of torture was a falsehood, for, in all jurisdictions, a retraction of the confession called for a repetition of torment, and in fact we sometimes find that when the confession was made the prisoner was warned not to retract for, if he did so, the torture would be “continued.”[74] This was possibly to evade a singularly humane provision in the Instructions of 1484, to the effect that, if the confession is ratified, the accused is to be duly punished, but if he retracts, in view of the infamy resulting from the trial, he is to abjure publicly the heresy of which he is suspect and be subjected to such penance as the inquisitors may compassionately assign. The mercy of this, however, is considerably modified by a succeeding clause that it is not to deprive them of the right to repeat the torture in cases where by law they can and ought to do so.[75] Still, it was probably the first portion of the provision that guided the Toledo tribunal, in 1528, in the case of Diego de Uceda, on trial for Lutheranism. At the sight of the torture-chamber he broke down and admitted all that the witnesses had testified, but could not remember what it was. As this was evidently inspired by fear, the torture went on when, at the first turn of the garrote, he inculpated himself so eagerly that he was warned not to bear false-witness against himself. He declared it to be the truth and was untied. Before he was called upon to ratify, he asked for an audience in which he ascribed his confession to fear and declared himself ready to die for the faith of the Church, and a week later he ratified this revocation, saying that he was out of his senses under the torture. He was not tortured again and his sentence, some months later, was in accordance with the Instructions of 1484—to appear in an auto de fe, to abjure de vehementi and to be fined at the discretion of the inquisitors.[76]

Such cases, however, were exceptional and the regular practice was to repeat the torture, when a confession followed by another{29} revocation, subjected the victim to a third torture.[77] Whether the process could be carried on indefinitely was a doubtful question which some legists answered in the negative on the general philosophic assumption that nature and justice abhorred infinity, but this reasoning, however, academically conclusive, was not respected in practice when a conviction was desired. There was one dissuasive from revocation, which was brought to bear when culprits gave unreasonable trouble, which was the penalty incurred by revocantes. This is illustrated, as also the troublesome questions which sometimes perplexed the tribunals, by the case of Miguel de Castro, tried for Judaism, at Valladolid, in 1644. As a negativo, he was tortured and confessed, after which he ratified, revoked and ratified again. A process was commenced against him for revoking; he was tortured again, until an arm was dislocated and he lost two fingers, during which he confessed and then revoked the confession. He would have been tortured a third time had not the physician and surgeon declared him to be unable to endure it. The Suprema ordered him to be relaxed to the secular arm, if he could not be induced to repent and return to the Church, when, under the persuasion of two calificadores, he begged for mercy and confessed as to himself and others. Finally he was sentenced to reconciliation and irremissible prison and sanbenito, with a hundred lashes as a special punishment for revocation, which was executed January 21, 1646.[78]

Some culprits, we are told, cunningly took advantage of the opportunity of retraction, by confessing at once, as soon as subjected to torture, then recanting and repeating this process indefinitely, to the no small disgust of the inquisitors. A writer of the close of the seventeenth century, who mentions this, shows that the subject was then in an indeterminate condition, by suggesting as a remedy that they should be subjected to extraordinary penalties.[79] A case at Cuenca, in 1725, in which these tactics were successful, indicates that by that time a third torture was not recognized as lawful. Dr. Diego Matheo López{30} Zapata, as soon as the torturer was ready to begin, exclaimed that he was ready to confess, and made a detailed confession of Judaic practices followed for nearly fifty years. The next day he revoked and, when the torture was resumed, he repeated his confession, only to revoke it as before. The tribunal appears to have been powerless and contented itself with making him appear in an auto de fe as a penitent, with a sanbenito to be immediately removed, abjuration de vehementi and twenty years’ exile from Cuenca, Murcia and Madrid.[80] At an earlier period he would scarce have escaped without scourging, galleys and irremissible prison.

When torture was administered, without eliciting a confession, the logical conclusion, if torture proved anything, was that the accused was innocent. In legal phrase, he had purged the evidence and was entitled to acquittal.[81] Such, indeed, was the law, but there was a natural repugnance to being baffled, or to admit that innocence had been so cruelly persecuted, and excuses were readily found to evade the law. On such a subject there could be no definite line of practice prescribed, and the situation is reflected by the Instructions of 1561, which tell the inquisitor that, in such cases, he must consider the nature of the evidence, the degree of torture employed, and the age and disposition of the accused; if it appears that he has fully purged the evidence, he should be fully acquitted, but if it seems that he has not been sufficiently tortured he can be required to abjure either for light or vehement suspicion, or some pecuniary penalty can be imposed, although this should be done only with great consideration.[82] Thus the matter was practically left to the discretion of the tribunal, with the implied admission that, when torture proved unsuccessful, it was merely surplusage.

The authorities naturally are not wholly at one with regard to the practical applications of these principles—except that acquittal should rarely be granted and, in fact, while the records are full of cases in which torture was overcome, it is somewhat unusual to find the parties acquitted, or their cases even suspended.{31} About 1600 a writer tells us that these cases are to be treated with some extraordinary penalty or with acquittal or suspension, according to the degree of suspicion that remains, but that Moriscos, however light the suspicion, must appear in an auto de fe and abjure de vehementi and, if there has been evidence by single witnesses, they must be sent to the galleys for three years or more; with other culprits, if the suspicion is light, there may be acquittal or suspension, but suspension is the more usual. It all depends upon the degree in which the evidence has been purged by the torture.[83] As this degree was a matter purely conjectural, inquisitorial discretion was unlimited.

The rule as to Moriscos is borne out by the Valencia auto de fe of 1607, in which there appeared sixteen who had overcome the torture, most of whom were visited with imprisonment, scourging or fines.[84] With their expulsion in 1609-10, there was no further call for discrimination, and the general practice is expressed about 1640, by an experienced inquisitor, who tells us that, when there have been several single witnesses, the accused who overcomes the torture should be subjected to some severe extraordinary punishment, such as abjuring de vehementi, with confiscation of half his property, or a heavy fine—the latter being preferable as it is more easily collected and the culprit endures it better in order to preserve his credit.[85] That this reflects the current practice would appear from a Cuenca auto de fe, June 29, 1654. Don Andrés de Fonseca had been required to abjure de vehementi, at Valladolid in 1628; the evidence of his relapse was strong, but insufficient for conviction; he endured torture without confessing; then further evidence supervened and he was again tortured with the same ill-success; he appeared in the auto as a penitent, abjured de levi, with ten years’ exile and a fine of five hundred ducats. Doña Theodora Paula had overcome the torture and had abjuration de lev, six years’ exile and a fine of three hundred ducats. Doña Isabel de Miranda had been unsuccessfully tortured and was sentenced to two years’ exile and three hundred ducats. So, after fruitless torture, Doña Isabel Henríquez had the same punishment, and Manuel Lorenzo Madureyra was sentenced to abjuration de vehementi,{32} ten years’ exile and five hundred ducats fine.[86] It is to the credit of the Valladolid tribunal that, in 1624, it showed itself more lenient and suspended six cases in which torture proved fruitless, inflicting no punishment except six years of exile on María Pérez, who was charged with false-witness.[87]

Perhaps the frequency with which torture was overcome may be partially explained by bribery of the executioner. This was rendered difficult by the secrecy surrounding all the operations of the tribunals, yet it was possible, and the kindred of one who was arrested would naturally seek to propitiate the minister of justice in case the prisoner should fall into his hands. At a Valencia auto de fe, in 1594, there appeared ninety-six Morisco penitents of whom fifty-three had been tortured without extracting confessions.[88] It may possibly be only a coincidence that, in 1604, Luis de Jesus, the torturer of the tribunal was prosecuted for receiving money from Moriscos, but we may readily imagine that communities, living in perpetual dread of the Inquisition, might tax themselves to subsidize the executioner regularly.[89] A similar case occurs in the Córdova auto of June 13, 1723, in which appeared the executioner, Carlos Felipe, whose offence is discreetly described as fautorship of heretics and unfaithfulness in their favor, in the discharge of his office.[90]

It is a little remarkable that, although the use of torture was so frequent and must have been generally known, there appears to have been a shrinking from admitting it in the sentences publicly read in the autos de fe, which habitually recited the details of the trials—possibly attributable, in part at least, to a desire to preserve secrecy, although it is particularly marked in the early period when secrecy had not become so rigid as it was subsequently. Indeed, in the sentence of Juan González Daza, who confessed under torture in 1484, at Ciudad Real, it is mendaciously asserted that he pertinaciously denied until he learned that his accomplice, Fernando de Theba, had confessed, when he did so freely.[91] This continued as a rule, though occasionally{33} there is less reticence. In one sentence I have found it alluded to—that of Mari Gómez, at Toledo, in 1551.[92] Sometimes there is a veiled allusion to it, as though the inquisitors could not conceal it wholly, but felt a certain shame in admitting it openly. Thus in the sentence of Elvira del Campo (see p. 24), which gives a very detailed account of the incidents of the trial, it is stated that, on using “mas diligencias,” with her she admitted the charges, and in the sentence of Doctor Zapata, in 1725, “cierta diligencia” is alluded to as having been employed.[93]

It would of course be impossible to compile statistics of the torture-chamber, or to form a reasonably accurate estimate of the number of cases in which it was employed during the career of the Inquisition. Some fragmentary data, however, can be had, as in the record of the Toledo tribunal between 1575 and 1610. During this period it tried four hundred and eleven persons for heretical offences admitting of the use of torture, and in these it was used once on one hundred and nine, and twice on eight, besides two cases in which it had to be stopped on account of the fainting of the patient, and seven in which confession was obtained before it commenced. There were also five cases in which the accused was placed in conspectu tormentorum.[94] In all, we may say that here its agency was invoked in about thirty-two per cent. of heretical prosecutions. This is probably less than the average. In a number of cases tried by the tribunal of Lima between 1635 and 1639, nearly all the accused appear to have been tortured, while the report of the tribunal of Valladolid for 1624 shows that of eleven cases of Judaism and one of Protestantism, eleven were tortured and, in 1655, every case of Judaism, nine in number, was subjected to torture.[95]

After all, numbers, however they may impress the imagination, are not supremely important. They are simply a measure of the greater or less activity of the tribunals and not of the principles involved. Whenever there was a doubt to solve, whether as{34} to the sufficiency of the evidence, the intention of the accused, the completeness with which he had denounced his associates, or other inscrutable matter, recourse to torture was a thing of course. In not a few cases, indeed, there seems to have been an almost infantile confidence in its power as a universal solvent. About 1710, Fernando Castellon, on trial at Valencia for Judaism, claimed not to be baptized and was promptly tortured to find out, but without success.[96] In 1579 the Toledo tribunal had to deal with Anton Moreno, an aged peasant, accused of entertaining views too liberal as to salvation; torture seemed the only means of definition and, between the turns of the garrote, he was made to express his opinions as to the saving effects of death-bed repentance and the viaticum on a sinner who had been duly baptized with the water of the Holy Ghost. There was ghastly ludicrousness in the attempt, under such persuasion, to ascertain the beliefs of an untutored old man, on these subtle questions of scholastic theology, ending with the result that he was adjudged to be worthy only of abjuration de levi, with a reprimand and hearing of a mass in the audience-chamber.[97]

As the activity of the Inquisition diminished, in the latter half of the eighteenth century, the use of torture naturally decreased but, until, the suppression in 1813, the formal demand for it was preserved in the accusation presented by the fiscal. One of the early acts of Fernando VII, on his restoration in 1814, was the issue of a cédula, July 25th, addressed to all officers of justice, reciting that, in 1798, when the Royal Council learned that, in the courts of Madrid, the accused were subjected to the severest pressure to extort confessions, it investigated the matter and found that thumb-screws and other methods more or less rigorous were employed, and that this was without authority of law: consequently on February 5, 1803, the discontinuance of these was ordered, except fetters to the feet, and at the same time inquiries made of all courts in the kingdom showed that various kinds of compulsion were used whereby the innocent were sometimes compelled to convict themselves falsely. In view of all of this Fernando now ordered that in future no judge should use any kind of pressure or torment to obtain confession from the accused or testimony from witnesses, all usages to the contrary being abolished.{35}[98] This can scarce have applied to the Inquisition but, under the Restoration, it had little to do with actual heresy and, before it was thoroughly reorganized, all doubts were removed by Pius VII. Llorente tells us that the Gazette de France of April 14, 1816, contained a letter from Rome of March 31st, stating that the pope had forbidden the use of torture in all tribunals of the Inquisition, and had ordered that this be communicated to the ambassadors of France and Portugal.[99] I see no reason for doubting this, although no such brief appears in the Bullarium of Pius VII, and we may assume that at last the Spanish Holy Office closed its career relieved of this disgrace.

According to an arancel, or fee-list, of 1553, the executioner was entitled to one real for administering torture, or to half a real if the infliction was only threatened. In the lay courts the sufferer was obliged to pay his tormentor, for there is a provision that, if he is poor, the executioner is to receive nothing and is not allowed to take his garments in lieu of the money.[100] In the Inquisition where, for offences justifying torture, arrest was accompanied with sequestration, the tribunal necessarily took upon itself the payment and, as we have seen, in 1681, the fee had increased to four ducats. In cases which did not end with confiscation, the outlay was undoubtedly included among the costs of the trial charged against the sequestrated estate. In the Roman Inquisition, where torture was used so much more indiscriminately, a decision of the Congregation, in 1614, relieved the accused from payment of the fee.[101]

{36}

CHAPTER VIII.

THE TRIAL

THE procedure of the Inquisition was directed to procuring conviction rather than justice, and in some respects it bore a resemblance to that of the confessional. The guilt of the accused was assumed, and he was treated as a sinner who was expected to seek salvation by unburdening his conscience and contritely accepting whatever penance might in mercy be imposed on him. Pressure of all kinds, mental and bodily, was scientifically brought to bear upon him to induce confession, and his refusal to confess, in the face of what was considered sufficient evidence, was treated as hardened and pertinacious impenitence, aggravating his guilt and rendering him worthy of the severest penalty.

The arrest, as we have seen, was preceded by careful preliminaries. Evidence was accumulated, in some cases for years, and, when the accused was thrown into the secret prison, he was to a great extent prejudged. It was the business of the tribunal, while preserving outward forms of justice, to bring about either confession or conviction; the defence was limited and embarrassed in every way and, when the outcome of all this was doubt, it was settled in the torture-chamber, always with the reservation that, if suspicion remained, that in itself was a crime deserving due punishment.

In the earliest period there were few formalities and no absolute estilo, or recognized method of procedure. In the enormous work crowded upon the inexperienced tribunals, the main object was the despatch of business, and the success attained in this is seen in the frequent and enormous autos de fe. The records of the trials are hasty and imperfect, showing that little attention was paid to forms that might cause delay. The Instructions of 1484 are crude, merely meant to supplement the traditional system of inquisitorial procedure with such regulations as should adapt it to the needs of the situation and to the intentions of Ferdinand{37} and Isabella. They are largely devoted to the questions of confiscation and the fines accruing under the Edicts of Grace and, for the rest, they conclude by saying that, as all circumstances cannot be foreseen and provided for, everything is left to the discretion of the inquisitors who, in all that is not especially prescribed, must conform themselves to the law and act according to the dictates of their consciences for the service of God and the sovereigns.[102] The result of this discretion was that, in the assembly of the inquisitors in 1488, a long debate was required to reach the conclusion that there should be uniformity in the procedure and acts of all the tribunals, the existing diversity having led to many embarrassments.[103]

It is therefore scarce worth while to examine in detail the simple and varying forms of this period, except as we shall find them interesting in comparison with later practice. The desired uniformity was gradually attained by the Suprema which, under the independent organization of the Spanish Holy Office, developed an elaborate system of procedure, set forth in the Instructions of 1561 and furnished, in 1568, with all necessary formulas in the Orden de Processar of Pablo García. Subject to such changes as subsequent experience demanded, this remained the standard to the last and was followed, with more or less exactitude by the tribunals.

When the accused was thrown into the secret prison his case, in the hurry of the earlier period, was heard and despatched with promptitude, but subsequently it became the custom for the inquisitors to exercise their discretion as to when they would call him before them, and we shall see what exasperating and calculated delays they sometimes interposed. He could, however, ask for an audience at any time, and it was an invariable rule to grant such requests, for the reason that he might have an impulse to repent and confess which might be transitory. Such audiences, however, did not count in the progress of the case. When summoned to his first regular audience, he was sworn to tell the truth in this and all future hearings and to keep silence as to all that he might see or hear, and as to everything connected with his{38} own affair. He was made to declare his name, his age, his birthplace, his occupation and the length of time since his arrest. After these formalities, if the case was one of heresy, there came an investigation into his genealogy. This, which accumulated a mass of information as to all infected families, and facilitated greatly researches into limpieza, was not a feature of the early trials; in those of from 1530 to 1540, it was still very informal, but by the middle of the century it had become minute, extending back to two generations and including all uncles, aunts and cousins, describing of what race they were, whether any of them had been tried by the Inquisition and, if so, how punished. The punctilious observance of this takes a somewhat ludicrous aspect in the trial at Lima, in 1763, of a Mandingo negro slave for superstitious cures. He was seventy years of age and had been brought from Guinea when a child, but was interrogated minutely as to parents and grandparents, uncles and aunts, and was made to declare that they were all of the race and caste of negroes, and that none of them had been penanced, reconciled or punished by the Inquisition.[104] The accused was then interrogated as to his baptism, confirmation and observance of the rites of religion; he was made to sign and cross himself, repeat the creed and usual prayers, and finally to give an account of his past life.

After these preliminaries, of which the results were carefully recorded, he was asked whether he knew, presumed or suspected the cause of his arrest. With rare exceptions, the reply was in the negative and then followed what was known as the first of three monitions. There is no trace of these in the earliest trials, but toward 1490 an informal monition makes its appearance and the Instructions of 1498, in requiring the formal accusation to be presented within ten days after arrest, prescribed that within that time the necessary admonitions shall be given.[105] In 1525 a letter of Manrique shows that these monitions then were three, but they still were negligently observed, and in trials from that time until 1550 they vary from none to three.[106]

After the Instructions of 1561, the three monitions became the established rule in cases of heresy, while one sufficed in lighter{39} matters. The formula was formidable. The accused was told that, in the Holy Office, no one was arrested without sufficient evidence of his having done or witnessed something contrary to the faith or to the free exercise of the Inquisition, so that he must believe that he has been brought hither on such information. Therefore, by the reverence due to God and his glorious and blessed Mother, he was admonished and charged to search his memory and confess the whole truth as to what he feels himself inculpated, or knows of other persons, without concealment or false-witness, for in so doing he will discharge his conscience as a Catholic Christian, he will save his soul and his case will be despatched with all speed and befitting mercy, but otherwise justice will be done. At intervals a second and a third monition were given, the last one ending with the warning that the fiscal desired to present an accusation against him, and it would be for his benefit, both for the relief of his conscience and for the favorable and speedy despatch of his case, if he would tell the truth before its presentation, as thus he could be treated with the mercy which the Holy Office was wont to show to good confessors; otherwise he was warned that the fiscal would be heard and justice would be done.[107]

This brought an exceedingly effectual pressure to bear upon the anxious prisoner, especially when the system of delay, whether calculated or merely procrastinating, left him for months, and perhaps years, to lie in his cell, shut out from the world, brooding over his fate, and torturing himself with conjectures as to the evidence so confidently assumed to be conclusive against him. He was simply admonished to discharge his conscience, being kept in the dark as to the crimes of which he was accused, and left to search his heart and guess as to what he had done to bring him before the terrible tribunal. This had the further utility that in many cases it led to confession of derelictions unknown to the prosecution, his impassible judges coldly accepting his revelations and remanding him to his cell with fresh adjurations to search his memory and clear his conscience.

This cruel device of withholding all knowledge of the charge appears to have been introduced gradually. In some cases, of about 1530, slight intimations of the nature of the accusation are given, but by 1540 complete reticence seems to be general. There{40} was no formal instruction prescribing it, but it became the universal custom, based perhaps on the principle that the confession, like that to a priest, to be trustworthy must be spontaneous, showing the change of heart and conversion which alone could render the culprit worthy of mercy. Yet, towards the end of its career, under Carlos III and after the Restoration, the Inquisition occasionally granted an audiencia de cargos, in which the accused was apprized of the charges against him and, in trivial matters, this frequently took the shape of summoning him under some pretext that would save his reputation, informing him of the alleged offences and, after hearing his explanations, determining what course to pursue. Even in so serious a matter as the celebration of mass by a married layman, the Santiago tribunal, in 1816, after throwing Angel Sampayo into the secret prison, gave him an audiencia de cargos before proceeding further.[108]

How systematic reticence sometimes succeeded is indicated by the case of Angela Pérez, before the Toledo tribunal in 1680. After lying in prison for eleven months she asked an audience, May 19th, to inquire why she had been brought to Toledo. She was admonished that she had already been told that no one was arrested who had not said or done something contrary to the faith; if she wished to discharge her conscience she would be heard, and, on her asserting that she had nothing to confess, she was sent back to her cell with an admonition to think it over and discharge her conscience. On June 13th she sought another audience, for the same purpose and with the same result. Then, on June 22d she was transferred from the carceles medias to the secret prison and, on the 25th, she obtained another audience in which she entreated the inquisitors, in the name of the Virgin, to bring the charges, but all that she obtained was to have her genealogy taken and to receive the first monition. To this she replied that she had nothing to confess and wanted her case despatched as she had been thirteen months in prison. The implacable methods of the Inquisition triumphed, however, for the next day she sought an audience in which she confessed that for eight years she had observed the Law of Moses.[109]

Even more suggestive, though in a different way, is the Mexican case of the priest Joseph Brunon de Vertiz, who was one of the{41} dupes of some women pretending to have revelations. They were all arrested and he was thrown in prison September 9, 1649. In repeated audiences he vainly sought to learn the charges against him; he fairly grovelled at the feet of the inquisitors; he made profuse statements of everything concerning himself and his accomplices; he submitted himself humbly to the Church and was ready to confess whatever was required of him, but all to no purpose. The strain proved too great for a mind not overly well-balanced, and it began to give way. The first symptoms were complaints of demoniacal possession, followed, after an incarceration of two years and a half, by his writing a paper full of the wild imaginings of a disordered brain, in which he denounced the Inquisition as a congregation of demons and the Jesuits as the most detestable enemies of God. Then he lay in his cell for more than two years, until, July 23, 1654, he presented another incoherent paper. Finally he died, April 30, 1656, after more than six and a half years of imprisonment, without ever learning of what he was accused. His body was thrust into unconsecrated ground and the prosecution was continued against his fame and memory. On May 11, 1657, the fiscal at last presented an informal accusation for the purpose of summoning the kindred to defend the case; on October 22, 1659, more than ten years after the arrest, the formal accusation was presented and, as defence was impracticable, Brunon de Vertiz was condemned and his effigy was burnt in the auto de fe of November of the same year.[110]

When, in the third monition, the accused was warned that, if he did not confess, the fiscal would present an accusation, there was implied deceit for, whether he confessed or not, the trial went on in its inevitable course. It was usually in the same audience, after he had replied to the monition, that the fiscal was introduced with the accusation, to which he swore and then retired. This formidable document was framed so as to be as terrifying as possible. In cases of heresy it represented that the accused, being a Christian baptized and confirmed, disregarding the fear of the justice of God and of the Inquisition, with great contempt for religion, scandal of the people and condemnation of his own soul, had been and was a heretic, an impenitent, perjured negativo and{42} feigned confessor; that he had committed many and most grievous crimes against the divine majesty and the free exercise of the Inquisition, and was a fautor and receiver of heretics. Then followed the recital of the acts developed by the evidence, arranged in articles, reduplicated and exaggerated and presented in the most odious light. Besides this he was a perjurer, by refusing to confess in the audiences, after swearing to tell the truth, from which it was presumable that he was guilty of other and greater crimes, of which he was now accused generally and would be specifically in due time. Wherefore the fiscal prayed that the accused should be found guilty of the crimes recited, condemning him to confiscation and relaxing his person to the secular arm and declaring him to have incurred all the other penalties and disabilities provided by papal letters, instructions of the Holy Office, and pragmáticas of the kingdoms, executing them with all rigor so as to serve as a punishment for him and an example to others. After this followed the terrible clause, known as the Otrosi, demanding that he be tortured as long and as often as might be necessary to force him to confess the whole truth.

One thoroughly unjustifiable feature of the accusation was that, if there was evidence of other misdoings of the accused, wholly outside of the jurisdiction of the Inquisition, they were inserted because, as the Instructions of 1561 remark, they serve as an aggravation of his heresies and show his unchristian life, whence may be derived indications as to matters of faith.[111]

As soon as the accusation was read, it was gone over again, article by article, and the accused, while still confused by its menaces, taken at advantage, wholly unprepared and without assistance of any kind, was required to answer each on the spot, his replies or explanations being taken down by the secretary as part of the record of the case. After this he was told to choose an advocate to aid in his defence.

The custom of allowing counsel in criminal cases is so comparatively recent in English law that their admission by the Inquisition may be regarded as an evidence of desire to render justice. In Spain, however, it was customary, and defendants too poor to retain them were supplied at the public expense. In the royal{43} chancellería, as organized by Ferdinand and Isabella, there were two abogados de los pobres.[112] In the medieval Inquisition, during its earlier centuries, counsel were not allowed to the accused and it became a settled principle of the canon law that advocates who undertook the defence of heretics were suspended from their functions and were perpetually infamous.[113] Towards the close of the fifteenth century, however, in witchcraft trials, we find advocates admitted, but under the strict limitations that we shall see in Spain, and those who showed themselves too zealous in defence of their clients were subject to excommunication as fautors of heresy.[114]

When the Spanish Inquisition was founded, it was therefore a matter of course that the accused should be allowed the assistance of trained lawyers and not only this but of procurators, who attended to the business of the defence, performing the functions, in some sort, of the English solicitor, while the letrado represented the barrister and drew up the argument. In a number of trials at Ciudad Real, in 1483, there appears to have been considerable freedom of choice, the accused selecting both advocates and procurators. During the persecution at Guadalupe, in 1485, the defendants were mostly represented by Doctor de Villaescusa as advocate and by Juan de Texeda as procurator, and the arguments in defence were well and forcibly presented.[115] This was in accordance with the Instructions of 1484, which order that if the accused shall ask for an advocate and procurator, the inquisitors shall grant the request, receiving from the advocate an oath to assist him faithfully, without cavils or malicious delays, but that if, at any stage of the case, he finds that his client has not justice on his side, he will help him no longer and report to the inquisitors; if the accused has property, they shall be paid from it, but if he has none they shall be paid out of other confiscations, for such are the orders of the sovereigns.[116] Yet this liberality was nullified by the clause requiring advocates to{44} betray their clients, thus destroying all confidence between them and fatally crippling the defence. It was, however, in accordance with the ethics of the age, and we shall see how it developed in a manner to render illusory the services of the advocate.

It would seem that the tribunals sometimes chafed under these rules and asserted discretion to disregard them for, in the case of the priest, Diego García, in 1488, when he was told to select an advocate and a procurator, the fiscal refused consent, and he had to conduct his own defence, though, at a subsequent stage of the trial, Diego Tellez appeared for him.[117] It was possibly in consequence of such cases and of other impediments to the defence, that the Suprema issued a provision that all prisoners should be allowed to take a procurator and advocate, provided they were fitting persons. Also that the children and kindred of the accused should not be prohibited from consulting as freely as they pleased with the counsel, and that he should have copies of the accusation, the depositions of the witnesses and other papers in conformity with the Instructions.[118] All this, which was demanded by the simplest demands of justice, became, as we shall see, a dead letter.

That the danger awaiting a too zealous advocate was not purely hypothetical is seen in the case of Casafranca, deputy of Ferdinand’s treasurer-general of Catalonia, who was burnt in the auto de fe of January 17, 1505, and his wife in that of June 23d; his father-in-law had been reconciled and his mother, after condemnation, died in the secret prison. Francisco Franch, the royal advocate-fiscal, had defended Casafranca, and the Inquisition prosecuted him for his unsuccessful attempt to avert his client’s fate, although at that time he had risen to the position of Regent of the royal Chancellery. Ferdinand, who felt much interest in his behalf, made Inquisitor-general Deza write in his favor to Francisco Pays de Sotomayor, an inquisitor specially deputed to hear the case, but this did not save him from bitter humiliation and dishonor. February 28, 1505, Sotomayor pronounced sentence in which his offence was described as endeavoring to induce a witness to revoke his testimony, and as impeding the Inquisition by useless and procrastinating delays, by which he had incurred excommunication, and moreover he was guilty{45} of perjury by asserting a false and erroneous conclusion, for all of which he had humbly begged pardon and mercy. After obtaining absolution from a priest he was to stand the next day before the high altar of Santa María de Jesu during mass, with a lighted candle, in penitential guise, and forfeit all payment for his services—which would have come out of Casafranca’s confiscated estate. Both he and the fiscal accepted the sentence, but there was delay in his public penance, for he refused to utter certain words interlined in the sentence, which he asserted had been inserted since it was read to him. The fiscal threatened to appeal to the inquisitor-general and demanded that Franch be detained in prison until the appeal was decided, whereupon he yielded and the ceremony was performed on March 1st.[119]

When the efforts of counsel in behalf of their clients were thus effectually discouraged, nothing but the most perfunctory services could be expected from them, and the inquisitors need apprehend little trouble. Even this, however, was thought to give the accused too much chance, and all risk of inconvenient zeal was averted by depriving him of the right to select his defender and confining the function to one or two appointees of the tribunal, who could be relied upon to favor the faith. The first intimation of this policy comes in the memorials of Jaen and Llerena in 1506, which complain bitterly that the inquisitors refuse to allow the accused to select their advocates and procurators, forcing them to take such as they appoint who will do their bidding. The Jaen memorial describes them as enemies of the people, who desire arrests to be multiplied, as they charge three thousand maravedís in every case which, for the two hundred prisoners, amounts to six hundred thousand.[120] This abuse, probably originating with Lucero, was so conformable to the tendencies of the Holy Office that it gradually became the rule. In 1533, one of the petitions of the Córtes of Monzon was that prisoners should be allowed to select their advocates and procurators, and to this no direct answer was made.[121] In 1537 the abogados de los presos were already recognized as officials appointed by the tribunals. They were exclusively entitled to conduct the defence and, in{46} 1540, the Suprema, in reply to a petition, said that, if the party desired a different advocate, it could only be on condition that he should act in consultation with the official one. Even this poor privilege was withdrawn for, in 1562, Valdés decreed that the official counsel should communicate with no other advocate.[122] It is true that, in 1551, the Suprema had admitted that, if the tribunal had not been able to find a fitting lawyer for appointment, the accused could select one, but this was merely yielding to necessity.[123]

The chief qualification for an abogado de los presos was his limpieza and that of his wife; his subservience to the tribunal was assured by his dependent position, but, to render this more absolute, about 1580 the Suprema ordered the Lima tribunal—and probably all others—to make its advocates familiars, an office which bound them to the strictest obedience.[124] Allowing for natural exaggeration, there is probably truth in the description given, in 1559, by Antonio Nieto, a prisoner in Valencia, to his cell-mate Pedro Luis Verga, who, after his first audience, was felicitating himself on Inquisitor Arteaga’s promise to give him an advocate and a procurator. Nieto told him not to count upon it for, though the inquisitor might give him an advocate he would give him nothing good, but a fellow who would do only what the inquisitor wanted and, if by chance he asked for an advocate or a procurator not of the Inquisition, they would not serve for, if they went contrary to the inquisitor’s wishes, he would get up some charge of false belief or want of respect and cast them into prison.[125]

The advocate thus became one of the officials of the tribunal, duly salaried and working in full accord with the inquisitors. In 1584, we find him of Valencia petitioning to have a place assigned to him in the autos de fe, where he could be recognized as such and, at his ease, see his clients sentenced. The petition was granted and he was allotted the last place among the salaried and commissioned officers.[126] This became the established rule, but in time professional dignity was wounded at thus being relegated to a position inferior to the messengers and apparitors and gaolers.{47}

In Valladolid and Granada the advocates obtained promotion to outrank the physicians and surgeons and, in 1670, the Licentiate Juan Márquez, advocate in the Seville tribunal, addressed to the Suprema a formidable memorial of seventy-five quarto pages of text and fifteen of index, representing the slight thus put upon them, and setting forth the dignity of the legal profession, the respect due to its learning and, as regards the advocates of prisoners, the confidential position occupied and the fidelity with which they served the tribunals. It seems never to have occurred to him to put forward a claim based upon fidelity to their clients.[127]

In fact, the so-called advocate was simply an official instrument for securing confession and conviction, for which his ostensible position of friendly adviser gave him peculiar opportunity. No communication between him and his client was allowed, except in presence of the inquisitors and of the secretary, who made record of all that passed between them, thus keeping watch to see that he performed his duty. It is true that he was sworn to defend the prisoner with all care and diligence and fidelity, if there was ground for it, and if not to undeceive him, but his real duty is described as urging the prisoner to confess fully as to himself and others, and to throw himself upon the mercy of the tribunal, for by denial he would only prejudice his case and suffer in the end.[128] How any deviation from this was treated, appears in the case of Benito Ferrer, in 1621, before the Toledo tribunal. In the consultation, his advocate Argendona suggested some points of defence displeasing to the inquisitors, who promptly ordered him out of the audience-chamber and sent Benito back to his cell to refresh his memory and discharge his conscience, and two days later Argendona had to put in the written defence without further opportunity of conference. The Licentiate Egas had a more accurate conception of his duty, when serving as advocate for Isabel Reynier, tried, in 1571, for Protestantism in Toledo. The official record states that, after unavailing efforts to induce her to confess, he asked whether she had any enemies to disable, on which he could frame a defence, when she named several, but, as the Señores Inquisidores wanted to despatch the case, he told her that this would avail her nothing, for there was{48} no presumption that enmity had caused false-witness, and he went on to persuade her that she had already confessed enough to render her case hopeless. The impatience of the inquisitors was gratified, for the unfortunate woman was sent to the stake without Egas troubling them by putting in a written defence.[129]

The old rule remained in force forbidding the advocate to defend an impenitent heretic. It made no difference of course in the result, but still permission to do so would have saved appearances. Such cases occasionally occurred, like that of Benito Peñas at Toledo in 1641, a harmless lunatic with some vague speculative heresies. His advocate, Juan Díaz Suelto, after a conference in which his client obstinately rejected his advice to forsake his errors and beg for mercy, reported that his efforts had been in vain, so that it was necessary for him to abandon the defence, in order not to incur the censures and other penalties imposed by the papal briefs, and also for the speedier despatch of the case.[130] Even as late as 1753, at Valencia, the same occurred in the trial of a swindling German named Horstmann.[131]

If, even under these shackles, an advocate desired really to defend his client, he was deprived of the means to do so. Originally, as we have seen, the kindred and children were allowed freely to communicate with him, to furnish indispensable assistance and information, and to gather witnesses, and he was also supplied with copies of the depositions of the witnesses and other necessary papers. It seems to have been Lucero, the evil inquisitor of Córdova, who changed all this, for the memorials of Jaen and Llerena complain bitterly of such denial of justice, rendering nugatory all the means of defence, and depriving the kindred of all knowledge of the nature of the accusation.[132] It expedited business however and facilitated conviction, and its usefulness overcame all scruples. In 1522 Cardinal Adrian forbade all communication between the advocate and the children or kinsmen of the accused, and this prohibition was repeated until it became the invariable rule. In the same spirit, the only document, that he was allowed to have, was a copy of the publication of evidence, which was a very different thing from the original{49} depositions. To repress all initiative on his part he was prohibited from putting forward any defence save what the accused might suggest, in their open consultations in the audience-chamber, or to call for any witnesses whom the latter did not name, and the inquisitors were instructed to punish any infractions of this rule because they were troublesome and impeded the course of business.[133] If an advocate was suspected of undue zeal, the inquisitors had a right to interrogate him as to the measures taken for the defence, the sources of his information and other details; the defence in every way was obliged to play cartes sur table, while the fiscal’s hand was carefully guarded, and only such knowledge was permitted as served to confuse and mislead. It would seem scarce likely, under such regulations, that advocates would be guilty of really assisting their clients, but to guard against such possible derelictions of duty, inspectors were ordered, when visiting tribunals, to inquire whether they defend the accused “maliciously” and employ cavils for delay and finally, whether or not they are necessary.[134]

At the same time, in its affectation of fairness, the Inquisition insisted on the accused having counsel. When, in 1565, Pedro Hernández was tried at Toledo for Calvinism, he confessed at once, professed conversion and begged for mercy. When told to select an advocate he refused, until informed that it was imperative for him to have one to conduct his defence. Of course this was a mere formality for he was duly burnt in the auto de fe of June 17th.[135] Inquisitors, moreover, were required to admit all documents offered to them, and to listen to any one who might have the hardihood to appear in favor of a prisoner.[136]

Simultaneously with the development of restrictions on the advocate, the disappearance of the procurator completed the system of enabling the inquisitor to control the defence as well as the prosecution. One of the latest references to the procurator is a regulation of 1545, which infers that, if the accused made application, the tribunal would grant him one, with the reservation that this did not entitle the kindred to aid in the defence.[137]{50} This jealousy of outside assistance constantly increased and some tribunals, such as Seville and Córdova, commenced to refuse admission to procurators, except in prosecutions of the absent and dead; the kindred might suggest the names of witnesses to the inquisitor, who would summon and examine them. Finally Inquisitor Cervantes, when in 1560 he made a report on Barcelona, took the opportunity of pointing out the disadvantages of such representatives of the accused; through them, he argued, the case became known, they anticipate the witnesses before they give evidence, they are able to identify them and furnish to the accused reasons for disabling them. The Bishop of Avila, a member of the Suprema, promptly admitted the force of this, and declared that procurators ought no longer to be allowed. This opinion prevailed and, in the Instructions of 1561, their admission was forbidden, although in case of necessity, special powers might be given to the advocate.[138] They continued, however, to be appointed in trials of the absent and dead, where it was unavoidable. The Roman Inquisition did not follow this example of the Spanish and allowed the employment of procurators.[139]

Besides the advocate there appears in many trials a personage known as the curador, or guardian, a living evidence of the fatherly care of the Inquisition toward the helpless. Following the traditions of the Roman law, Spanish jurisprudence provided that, in suits and actions involving those who had not attained the full age of twenty-five years, the assent of a curador, either permanent or temporary ad hoc, was necessary to validate the legal acts of the minor.[140] This provision, intended for the protection of the youthful and incapable, was retained in the practice of the Inquisition, because it was necessary to render valid the various compulsory acts of the accused in the successive steps of his trial, but in order that it might not by any chance be of value to him, and to preserve the secrecy of the Holy Office, the custom was adopted of appointing the advocate or preferably the gaoler, or messenger, or some other underling of the tribunal to serve as curador. As it was thus wholly subversive of the object for which the function was created,{51} there is grotesque cynicism in the pompous formalities through which the curador was interjected into the proceedings. He took a solemn oath that he would diligently and faithfully defend his ward, alleging all that was to his advantage and preventing all that was injurious, advising with his advocate and doing all that a good guardian could do for a ward. And, if the latter, through his negligence, suffered injury, he pledged his person and property to make it good, giving as security another person (a fellow subordinate) who united with him in the liability, jointly and severally, renouncing all legal defence and placing themselves and all their possessions in the hands of the inquisitors.[141] Being thus a mere formality, or rather a deception, involving the perjury of those who took the formidable oath, it may be dismissed from further consideration, except to cite a case illustrative of the rigid formalism of procedure. In 1638, at Valladolid, Blanca Enríquez, on trial for Judaism, represented herself as twenty-two years of age and as usual was given a curador. She confessed to having been reconciled at Córdova, nine or ten years before; a vote in discordia carried the case to the Suprema, which discovered that her previous trial had occurred in 1623, when she was fifteen and consequently she was now thirty. The curador therefore had rendered the trial irregular, and the Suprema ordered it to be repeated from the beginning.[142]

There was another form of assistance allowed to the accused, when the questions at issue involved nice theological points, beyond the capacity of the ordinary advocates. Learned doctors were called in as patrones teólogos, to aid the accused, after he had been heard in defence of his incriminated propositions. In ordinary practice, the propositions and his answers were read to them; to each one they said whether he had satisfactorily explained{52} it or not; or whether he ought to retract, or whatever other conclusion they might reach; then the whole was submitted to the calificadores, who pronounced their final censure.[143] Nominally the patrones were selected by the accused but in this, as in everything else, the Inquisition sought to control the defence. When, in 1574, Fray Luis de Leon was told that he could have patrones, he named four from various places. The Valladolid tribunal referred the nominations to the Suprema, which replied by asking whom it was accustomed to give from among its calificadores and, on being informed, ordered that the routine custom should be followed. Fray Luis’s protest that he did not want calificadores, who had already pronounced against him, was set aside; patrones were not meant to defend the accused in his heresies, but to undeceive him and tell him what he should believe. It is true that the Suprema finally receded from this position but, by a juggle continued for months, Fray Luis was forced to take a man whom he did not want, and who was only a new and disguised calificador; conference between them was denied, and the opinion which the patron rendered was withheld from him.[144] The wisest course for a theologian, in the hands of the Inquisition, was that adopted by Fray Thomas de Nieba, in 1642, when on trial at Valladolid for certain conclusions defended by him in scholastic debate. He refused both advocate and patrones, saying that he was subject to correction by the Church and by learned theologians, and he did not propose to defend the inculpated propositions.[145]

We have seen that, after the accusation was read and answered, the prisoner was told to choose an advocate. Possibly two names were mentioned to him, both equally unknown; more often only a single name. He was not at liberty to refuse and, on his giving assent, the advocate, who had been kept in readiness in the antechamber, was called in. The proceedings up to that point were read to him, and he at once performed the duty of urging his client to confess. Whether successful or not in this, he stated that the next thing in order was to conclude; the fiscal was called in, who similarly announced that he concluded, and the inquisitors{53} notified both parties of the conclusion. These formalities being over, the case was formally received to proof. The fiscal asked that his witnesses be ratified and publication of evidence be made.

Ratification, as we have seen, frequently caused considerable delay, until the device was invented of ratifying at the time of deposition. When the evidence was thus in proper shape, the next move was its so-called publication. This might or might not be the final step of the prosecution, for it never was precluded from bringing in new evidence, and there might be half a dozen or more successive publications, especially when a group of Judaizers were on trial and they broke down one by one and told what they knew about their associates. The effectiveness of this is illustrated by the case of Engracia Rodríguez at Valladolid, in 1643. After her case had apparently reached its end, the consulta de fe voted her to torture, which was duly administered, without eliciting a confession. Then from time to time came new publications of evidence, until her resolution gave way and, at the seventh publication, eleven months after her torture, she confessed to Judaism. She probably recognized that her kindred and friends were yielding, one after another and incriminating her, and that it was useless to resist longer, with the certainty—of which her advocate doubtless informed her—that persistence would indubitably end in her burning alive as an impenitent negativa.[146]

As this publication of evidence was the only inkling afforded to the accused of what was the case against him, and as it was assumed to give him ample opportunity of defence, it is worth a little special consideration. We have seen that the pretext of protecting witnesses was held as justifying the suppression of their names and of all circumstances that might lead to their identification. Even under the most rigid construction, this crippled greatly the defence, but rigid construction of their powers was not common among the tribunals. When once it was admitted that portions of the evidence could lawfully be suppressed, the selection of what should be made known became largely discretional.

The endeavor to lay down rules for guidance as to this led to an infinity of instructions, more or less rigid or lax. In 1498, the Suprema called attention to the evils that had hitherto followed publication, wherefore in future care must be taken to omit all{54} circumstances giving a clue to the identity of the witnesses, and this was repeated in 1499.[147] Yet the glaring injustice of withholding from the accused a knowledge of details that might enable him to disprove the charges was recognized, but all instructions forbidding this were framed with an “if” that virtually authorized the wrong. For instance, the specification of time and place at which an act was said to have been performed was indispensable, if the accused were to have a chance of detecting false swearing, yet such details might possibly lead him to identify the witness, and these opposing reasons gave rise to a series of varying orders which indicate how the Suprema vacillated between the desire to secure the advantage and the consciousness of the wrong. In 1525 it condemned the practice of the Toledo tribunal in omitting time and place. It was difficult to make the inquisitors observe this and, in 1527, a general order was issued to state the evidence as the witnesses had given it, neither more nor less. In 1530 it made a concession by ordering that it should be consulted when there was “inconvenience” in stating the month or year. Then, in 1532, it laid down the positive rule that place and time and persons must be stated, for the principle that the witness must be protected was to be construed as preventing only direct recognition and not inferential. This was again modified, in 1537, when, while again ordering that all the evidence must be given, this was qualified by the old injunction to suppress all circumstances by which the witnesses could be identified. About 1560, some instructions to Barcelona order that the time should be stated, while place is to be indicated in such general terms as shall not betray the witness. Finally, in the definitive Instructions of 1561, time and place are ordered to be given, but at the same the omission is prescribed of all that may betray the witness. A caution that no evidence is to be used that is not in the publication gives a hint of other irregularities of even a more serious nature.[148]

The publication being a matter of supreme importance, it was the duty of the inquisitors personally to draw it up, and not entrust it to subordinates, least of all to the fiscal, who was technically the prosecutor. Orders to this effect were issued in 1529;{55} they were repeated in the Instructions of 1561 but, in 1568, the Suprema was obliged to take the Barcelona tribunal to task for allowing the fiscal to do it, and a later writer informs us that inquisitors continued to shirk the labor and threw it upon the secretaries.[149]

The labor was doubtless great, when the witnesses were numerous and loquacious, and the delicate duty was apt to be recklessly performed by subordinates, fearful of rebuke if they allowed too much to be known. The custom was to give the evidence of each witness separately, as deposed by “a certain person” and, when practicable, to divide it up into articles, each covering a separate charge or fact. In this process the elimination of all circumstances that might give a clue to the identity of the witnesses was easy, and there was little scruple in misleading the defendant or in omitting whatever might be thought to weaken the case. In the publication read to Marí Gómez la Sazeda, when on trial at Toledo in 1544, the evidence of one witness is divided and represented as given by two, with the object, as noted on the margin, of preventing her from identifying him.[150] In the case of Gaspar de Torralva, before the same tribunal in 1531, the publication bears such notes as “the evidence of the seventh witness omitted,” “the evidence of the eighth witness omitted.”[151] There was no possible supervision or control over this; the discretion of the inquisitors was absolute and the prisoner was at their mercy.

In many cases the publication was scarce more than a slovenly repetition of the fiscal’s accusation and afforded to the accused no possible aid in his defence, as in that given to Juan de la Barra, tried for Lutheranism at Toledo, in 1656.[152] When it was drawn up more elaborately, it became confusing in the highest degree. One reads the long array of the assertions, or the conjectures, or the gossip retailed by twenty-five or thirty witnesses, vaguely set forth as what a “certain person” said or thought about another certain person, with no specifications of time or place, and one wonders how the prisoner could even grasp it sufficiently to form any definite conception of the character and weight of the evidence{56} against him. And, with his life perhaps hanging in the balance, he was required to answer all this on the spot, article by article, and was closely cross-examined on his replies. That even an innocent man should compromise himself in the pitfalls thus cunningly laid for him was not unlikely, and yet this publication of evidence was represented as a special favor granted in view of the other restrictions imposed on the defence—a favor not always conceded in the secular courts.[153]

After this ordeal was passed the advocate was called in and furnished with the publication and the answers of the accused. The two conferred together, under the eye of the inquisitor and pen of the secretary; if the accused rejected the renewed advice of the advocate to confess and discharge his conscience, the plan of defence was concerted. What this was, as a rule, made little difference. When, in 1499, the inquisitors-general felt it necessary to instruct inquisitors that they must pay attention to the defences and exceptions alleged by the accused, it indicates how they were recognized as prosecutors rather than judges. Yet it was freely admitted that, in view of the limitations of the defence, they should be most zealous in considering whatever it presented.[154]

The defence was so perfunctory a routine that the systematic writers mostly dismiss it with the curt observation that its witnesses must be zealous Christians and in no way connected with the defendant. Simancas, however, treats it at greater length, and his enumeration of its possibilities shows how restricted they were. He admits at the start the legal maxim that it is impossible to{57} prove a negative, which was virtually, in most cases, the task imposed on the accused. Then he proceeds to define what the defendant can do. He can call on witnesses to prove his religious character or to disable for enmity the opposing witnesses, or to show that at a certain time or place he did not say what was attributed to him. Then there are general pleas in abatement, extreme youth, second childishness, insanity, drunkenness, thoughtless speech, ignorance, jocularity, the pressure of fear under threats, or intense grief. Or he may recuse the judge, which should be referred to the Suprema and not to arbiters, who cause much delay.[155]

Recusation of a judge was a right recognized in the traditional legislation of Spain.[156] It was admitted in the Inquisition and we have seen, in the cases of Carranza and Villanueva, how little the accused profited thereby, even when nominally successful. It was a recourse practically open only to the powerful or to the trained, at best but a dangerous expedient, and of necessity had to be done at the commencement of a trial. It evidently was not employed often enough for a definite form of procedure to have been provided. The Instructions of 1561 require that, if an inquisitor be recused, he must abandon the case to his colleague; if he has none, or if both are recused, the matter must await the decision of the Suprema.[157] This would indicate that the recused judge retired as a matter of course, but the Carranza and Villanueva cases prove that the objections of the prisoner had to be demonstrated as legitimate and this is further indicated when the troublesome Jesuit, Padre Juan Bautista Poza’s extravagant Mariolatry was condemned at Rome and approved in Spain. It took seven years after his Elucidarium Deiparæ had been placed on the Roman Index, in 1628, before the Spanish Inquisition could be compelled by the nuncio to prosecute him for his rebellious defiance. When on trial by the Toledo tribunal, he recused the Inquisitor Cienfuegos; his reasons were examined by the Suprema, which consulted the other inquisitors and the recusation was sustained. How unusual was this proceeding is indicated by the boast of his triumphant brethren that this was{58} one of the remarkable events that had occurred in Spain.[158] Yet an incident in the trial of Fray Luis de Leon shows the advantage taken of any obstacle to prevent recusation. After two and a half years of seclusion in prison from the world, he asked to know the names of the existing inquisitor-general and members of the Suprema, in order that he might recuse any whom he regarded as inimical, yet this elementary piece of information was denied, in spite of repeated applications, in which his counsel joined, showing that the latter was debarred from telling him what was of public notoriety.[159] Strictly speaking, recusation was not a defence but merely a preliminary to it, and its rarity renders it of minor importance.

Of the pleas in abatement enumerated by Simancas, that of youth amounted to little for, as we have seen, as soon as the age of responsibility was reached, the offender was liable to punishment, and there was little mercy shown. In fact, there was a device, when the culprit was below the age of fourteen, of postponing the sentence until he had attained that age.[160]

Insanity was of much greater moment. The insane were recognized as irresponsible and were sent to hospitals. It was not infrequently pleaded, and the tribunals were constantly on the watch to protect themselves against deception, yet it was long before definite rules were adopted with regard to the matter. In the enlightened view taken by the Inquisition regarding witchcraft, instructions of 1537 indicate a disposition to regard reputed witches as insane; whenever the inquisitors considered this to be the case, all acts and words leading to such conclusion were to be scrupulously detailed in the records. Barcelona at the time had on hand a witch named Juana Rosquells, whom the physician and consultors considered to be out of her mind; not knowing what to do they referred to the Suprema, which ordered her discharge and somewhat inconsistently required her to be put under bail.[161] Even more tentative was the case of Toledo, in 1541, of Juan García, a day-laborer, favored with revelations of the wildest kind. In his audiences he replied unintelligibly to the questions asked and, when the case came before the consulta de fe, it summoned him and asked whether he would take a{59} hundred lashes or confinement in a hospital. He very sensibly declined both, and the session terminated with a vote that his sanity be investigated. This was done in the most superficial way, the consulta de fe when reassembled voted to acquit him, with a warning that if he persisted in his wild talk he should have a hundred lashes, whether insane or not. He was accordingly told to be gone in God’s name.[162]

There evidently was as yet no method prescribed for dealing with such cases and it is somewhat remarkable that the Instructions of 1561 allude only to those, by no means infrequent, in which prisoners became demented during trial, and in these it is only ordered that they be provided with a curador, which infers that the trial was to be continued.[163] In conformity with this, at Granada, in 1665, a prisoner who had become insane after confessing, was furnished with a curador under whose auspices the case was carried to conclusion. He was condemned as a heretic and his property was confiscated; as he had confessed and begged for mercy while still in his senses, he was absolved from censures so that he might enjoy the suffrages of the Church, while as to the penances requiring sanity for their performance, such as reconciliation, abjuration, exile, etc., their determination was postponed till he should regain his reason.[164] When madness occurred after conviction and sentence, Peña tells us that the execution should be postponed until the reason is restored, for perhaps the culprit may repent and he is sufficiently punished by the madness. Even when it is feigned this should be done, for it is a less evil that the crime should be unpunished than to destroy his soul by putting him to death impenitent. In any event confiscation is to be enforced.[165]

When the accused was decided to be insane the plan adopted was to transfer him to a hospital, but in 1570 the Suprema required to be consulted before this was done. Hospitals were not always willing to receive such patients, but they were constrained to do so, as appears by an order of the Suprema in 1574, in such a case.[166]

The diagnosis of insanity is sufficiently obscure to modern{60} science, and it is not surprising that the Inquisition experienced difficulty in protecting itself against attempts at imposition, which were regarded as frequent. Peña informs us that insanity was always looked upon with suspicion, as probably fictitious, but he can only suggest that the gaolers should keep careful watch, and the inquisitors threaten or employ torture, to which there was no objection, unless there was risk of death, and which was an effective means of detecting imposture.[167] There was, in fact, as we have seen, no hesitation in having recourse to it when other means failed, but it is to the credit of the Inquisition that it was ready to exhaust all its resources in doubtful cases, to determine the question of sanity, however much its ultimate conclusions might be warped by prejudice or preconceptions.

An exceedingly illustrative case was that of Benito Ferrer, a wandering beggar, wearing priestly garments, arrested in Madrid, August 24, 1621, by the archiepiscopal police and confined in the spiritual prison. He was about to be discharged when, on September 20th, while mass was being celebrated in the oratory, he sprang forward at the elevation of the Host, snatched it from the hands of the celebrant, crushed it and cast part of it on the floor, exclaiming “O traitor God, now you shall pay me!” The sacrilege of course caused the greatest excitement and indignation. The archiepiscopal court took cognizance of the matter and was about to discharge Benito as crazy, when the Inquisition claimed him and sent him to Toledo for trial, with orders to push the case. Before leaving Madrid he was examined by the commissioner, when he asserted his entire sanity and explained his act by asserting that the Host was not consecrated, for the priest and everyone else whom he saw were enchanted demons.

Benito was undoubtedly a monomaniac for, in his subsequent audiences, he stated that, in 1609, he had been bewitched, since when everyone he met was a demon, with much other wild talk. His advocate asked for an investigation into his sanity, which was performed somewhat perfunctorily with the result that his extravagance was pronounced to be feigned. Still the consulta de fe, on November 23d, voted in discordia and the Suprema ordered further examination into his record and antecedents. Twenty years before, in his native Catalonia, he had endeavored to enter religion; two convents had refused to receive him and two{61} others had expelled him after a few months. The tribunals of Valencia and Barcelona were set to work on these faint traces; the friars of that time were dead or scattered, but, after six months of search, two or three were found who vaguely remembered him as a melancholy person of little sense, who seemed to be possessed. Then followed further examinations of fellow-prisoners and physicians, concurring in the belief that his insanity was a fiction, and fruitless efforts were made to induce him to admit it. Another consulta de fe, held September 10, 1622, voted unanimously for relaxation, but the Suprema was not yet satisfied and ordered torture as a last resort. When the sentence was read to him he simply said that he was ready for what the Divine Majesty might be pleased to do with him. Then for three hours he was exposed to the extremity of torment, the blood dripping to the floor from his lacerated flesh, but, amid his shrieks and groans, nothing more could be extracted from him than “God suffered more; I am here to serve his pleasure” and an offer that, if they would give him a Bible, he would prove them all to be demons. If torture meant anything as a test, this proved his insanity to be real, but two days later a consulta de fe unanimously voted his relaxation as an impenitente negativo. Still the Suprema was not satisfied; it thought that the torture had been insufficient and it ordered him to be confined with persons of confidence, who should keep strict watch over him. Accordingly, on November 23d, his cell was changed and he was given as companions two friars and a physician awaiting trial, duly sworn and instructed. February 8, 1623, they were examined and pronounced him sane, but Dr. Antonio Gómez, who examined him, thought him liable to delusions; many persons, he said were sane in everything but one topic, on which they were insane. Still the Suprema hesitated and ordered continued observations, which were prolonged until November 4th, with the same result, when another consulta de fe unanimously voted for relaxation. The Suprema could hold out no longer against these repeated convictions; it confirmed the sentence and he was burnt alive as an impenitent, January 21, 1624.[168] Erroneous as the conclusion may seem to us, it was not reached without a prolonged and conscientious investigation, such as no other tribunal of the period would have given to such a case, though the{62} archiepiscopal authorities were wiser, when they promptly recognized Benito’s madness.

A nymphomaniac, in 1688, caused the Valencia tribunal an even longer term of perplexity. Francisca García was arrested, March 28th, as an alumbrada—one of the mystics against whom the Inquisition waged unrelenting warfare. She frankly admitted her sexual excesses, which she said were in obedience to the voice of God. During audiences at long intervals her talk was so irrational that insanity was suspected. Physicians were called in, who reported that she seemed to suffer from some mental weakness, and the alcaide said that he could not determine whether it was weakness or malice. Calificadores were consulted, who postponed for further decision the question whether she was hallucinated, crazy, or possessed. So it went on for two years and a half until, on September 19, 1690, it was resolved to keep her in prison but that, before presenting the accusation, another consultation with calificadores should be had. They examined her and reported that she cried aloud and wept and ejaculated and answered no questions directly, but still asserted that carnal indulgence was embracing God, so they reserved their opinions till another time. Eighteen months passed away and, in March, 1692, she sought an audience in which she threw herself on the ground and with tears begged to be taught; she knew that she ought to be content with her husband and, with screams and cries she declared that she could not resist temptation save with the aid of God. A consulta de fe was promptly held, and another in January, 1693, which could only recommend her detention, in view of the evils to be apprehended if she were allowed to communicate with others. Then two years and a half more elapsed, with occasional reports from the alcaide and secretary, to the effect that latterly the poor creature no longer talked lasciviously, in view of which it was voted, July 1, 1695, that the accusation should be presented and that calificadores should again examine her. To the report of this the Suprema replied in vigorous language, pointing out that this was only recommencing the eternal round, and that the case promised to be immortal; it ordered that the prosecution should be promptly carried on in the usual way and the sentence be submitted for its approbation. Here the record before us breaks off and the final action is unknown, but it is evident that the unfortunate woman was to be treated as responsible, the hesitation of the tribunal having only{63} resulted in her incarceration for more than seven years in a dungeon (calabozo) where, if not insane at first, she probably became so in the darkness and despair of interminable confinement.[169] However humane intentions might be, prejudice and ignorance misled them to cruelty.

It marks a progressive improvement when, in time, it became customary, on receiving a denunciation, to interrogate the informer whether he knew if the accused was a drunkard or suffered from any mental disturbance and, in instructions to commissioners in taking testimony, these inquiries were directed always to be made. This was a praiseworthy precaution, and the modern softening of temper produced a marked improvement in the treatment of the insane. This is well exhibited in 1818, in the case of Pedro Benito Lobariñas, in which the Suprema ordered the Santiago tribunal to treat him with especial kindness, and to give him every comfort compatible with his safe-keeping. Confidential persons, as well as the physicians, are to be admitted to him, who in friendly talk could form an estimate of his mental condition, while investigations were also to be made at his place of abode. Still, the outcome of the case shows the conflict between humanity and extreme dread of doctrinal error. His offence was simply some “propositions” and, in view of his sanity in all else, and his experience as a garden laborer, he was to be handed over to the gardener of some convent so walled as to prevent his escape, and to forbid his speaking with any one, so that he might have no chance to disseminate his heresies.[170]

As for the other pleas in abatement, such as intoxication, sudden anger, thoughtlessness, ignorance, jocularity and the like, they could only be advanced in minor cases, like blasphemy and propositions not involving formal heresy. In such matters they were often alleged in extenuation and were given more or less consideration, according to the temper of the tribunal, the penalties, not infrequently, being moderated in consequence.

Defence, when the accused denied the charge, was practically limited to tachas and abonos—the former being the disabling of witnesses by proving enmity or other disability, the latter{64} being the accumulation of evidence to prove good character and assiduous religious observance. The interrogatorio de indirectas, to secure testimony disproving or explaining away specific accusations, was occasionally employed, and sometimes flaws or contradictions in the incriminating evidence were exposed, or an alibi might be proved when time and place were specified in the publication, but these cases were exceptional. In the great mass of trials on serious charges, no attempt at defence was made except by tachas and abonos. To the latter little attention was usually vouchsafed, and the struggle, as a rule, was over the former.

In this the defence was heavily handicapped by the suppression of witnesses’ names and the garbling of evidence in the publication to protect them from recognition. While occasionally the accused could identify one or two, in general he could only grope blindly and indicate persons with whom he had quarrelled, in the desperate hope that they might chance to be those who had given damaging testimony. Slender as was the prospect of accomplishing this, it was rendered additionally difficult by the obstructions placed in the way of his obtaining and presenting his evidence. He was permitted only to furnish the names of those whom he suspected, with a list of the witnesses on whom he relied to prove enmity and a series of questions to be put to the latter who, during the years of his incarceration might have died or disappeared. We have seen how rigid were the qualifications exacted of witnesses for the defence, so that the inquisitor exercised his discretion as to whom he would admit, nor was he bound to put any interrogations which he deemed irrelevant, or of which he disapproved—indeed, it was held to be the duty of the inquisitor to expurgate the interrogatories and if, in those of tachas, there was anything affecting the reputation of a married woman, or the limpieza of a family, it was to be struck out.[171] The whole matter was absolutely in his hands and he could even refuse to admit the prisoner to any defence, as in the case of Martin de Jaen, a Morisco, burnt in the Toledo auto de fe of 1606, or Manuel de Mesones, penanced in that of 1610, on the ground that what they asked for was unnecessary or irrelevant.[172] When defence was permitted, neither the accused nor his advocate had the privilege{65} of examining such witnesses as were admitted, or of drawing forth all that they might have to tell. If they were residents of the city, the inquisitor would summon them; if at a distance, the interrogatories were sent to a commissioner; the witness, to each bald question, would answer yes or no, or perhaps might give some vague details or say that he knew nothing, and there the taking of testimony ended. If inquiries were directed against parties who had not testified, they were generally suppressed, although the instructions were to investigate them also, in order more perfectly to keep the accused in the dark, and it was also suggested that they be examined personally because, as enemies, they might have additional damaging testimony to give. When the witnesses for the defence, as frequently happened, were widely scattered, all this consumed considerable time, during which the prisoner in his cell was gnawing his heart in suspense, and when it was finished he was brought into the audience-chamber, curtly informed that what he had requested had been duly attended to, and asked if he had anything more to say. Under the Instructions of 1561, the results of the interrogations were carefully withheld from him as we have seen above (Vol. II, p. 543).

In this system, in which the burden of proof was thrown upon the accused, while he was crippled in every way as to the means of proving innocence, injustice could only be averted by judges acting virtually as counsel for the defence, in place of which they habitually served as parties to the prosecution. How it worked can best be understood by a few instances, with varying results.

In 1494, Diego Sánchez of Zamora was prosecuted for Judaism in the tribunal of Toledo. He had been trained, from his fourteenth year, in the cathedral, where he had risen, twenty years before, to the position of organist and beneficiary. There were but two witnesses against him—Pedro de Toledo, a chaplain of the archbishop, who testified to seeing him eat squabs on a Saturday and eggs in Lent and remove fat from meat. The other was María de Santa Cruz, a servant-girl, burnt for heresy, who on her way to the quemadero, being urged to clear her conscience by denouncing her accomplices, said that once when he was sick his father told him that he would not get well unless he sent some oil to the synagogue, whereupon he sent both oil and candles. She was beyond the reach of vengeance but, as usual, her name and the circumstances were suppressed. There is grim comedy in the efforts made by Sánchez and his advocate to unravel this{66} story. They repeatedly requested the dead witness to be recalled and re-examined and to have the date fixed, for Sánchez had once been delirious for some days and it might have occurred then; a formal series of interrogatories was drawn up to be put to her, and eight witnesses were to be examined to prove the truth of the delirium, all of which the inquisitors met with profound silence. Then, in hopes of discovering all possible enemies who might have testified, a long series of quarrels was detailed which he had had with members of his family and others. In this he chanced to stumble upon María de la Cruz, who had been his servant, but was a thief and, becoming pregnant, had accused a man-servant of his as the father. He dismissed them both, but took back the man; the girl fell into evil courses and was scourged through the streets, which she attributed to him and repeatedly threatened revenge. He failed to identify Pedro de Toledo, but he proved an irreproachable career in the cathedral for twenty-five years, and he escaped with abjuration de levi and suspension for a year from celebrating mass—enough to dishonor him.[173]

This hopeless floundering in the effort to rebut evidence of which the source was so carefully concealed appears still more strongly in the case of Diego de Uceda, in 1528, before the same tribunal, on a charge of Lutheranism, founded on a chance talk with a stranger at Cerezo, while travelling from Burgos to Córdova. The suppression of time and place and of details, in the publication, threw him on a false scent and he imagined the accusation to have arisen from a conversation some nights later at Guadarrama, with the Archpriest of Arjona, and all his energies were wasted on the attempt to prove that the latter talk was blameless, leaving the real testimony against him uncontroverted. It was a game at cross-purposes, in which the inquisitors allowed him to entangle himself hopelessly. Incidentally, the record affords a vivid picture of the agony of suspense endured by the prisoner in his cell during the inevitable delays arising from the method of procedure. He was chamberlain of Fernando de Córdova, clavero or treasurer of the Order of Calatrava; as such he had followed the court, and his witnesses in abono were necessarily scattered. Six months were consumed in finding them and securing their testimony, during which he sought repeated{67} audiences, imploring the inquisitors for the love of God to despatch his case. At one time a second messenger was sent at his expense, to Burgos and to Valladolid, with long instructions, and he counted the days that it would take at ten leagues a day, the customary allowance for foot-couriers. At last he was summoned to an audience and told that all his witnesses save four had been examined and he could name others in their place. This he declined; he had produced ample testimony as to character but of course had failed to rebut the evidence of the unknown witnesses who had denounced him. As we have already seen, he was tortured, confessed and revoked and was sentenced to appear in an auto de fe, to abjure de vehementi, with a fine of sixty ducats and some spiritual penances, leaving him a dishonored and ruined man for a few careless words to a stranger.[174]

It is to the credit of the tribunals that they seem generally ready to make all effort necessary to obtain the testimony of the witnesses whom they admitted. In 1573, the Suprema orders the Barcelona tribunal to advise a French prisoner so that he could procure from the King of France a safe-conduct for the persons whom he sends thither to procure evidence for him, and the receiver is instructed to pay sixty-four ducats for the expenses of the commission—of course out of the sequestrated property.[175] In 1682, in the trial at Barcelona of Margarita Altamira, a worthless woman, she named as a witness a day-laborer whom she knew only as Isidro. He was hunted for in the city without success and efforts were made to trace him. In Cardona an Isidro Giralt was found and examined but proved not to be the man. Then it was thought that he might be somewhere in the parish of Maya, and the commissioner of Solsona was ordered to find him and send him and his wife to Barcelona, but the search was vain and no one of the name could be found there. Margarita was then asked if she could give any further indications to aid in finding him: she thought that perhaps María Barranco might know something, but on investigation María was found to be dead. Then she mentioned other witnesses who could testify to her good character, and they were duly summoned and interrogated.{68}[176] All this was as it should be, but it depended on the temper of the tribunal and the prisoner had no power to help himself.

This customary defence of disabling the witnesses for enmity, although it was mostly blind groping to identify them, was sometimes successful. The most extensive use of the tacha that I have met occurs in the Toledo case of Gaspar Torralba, in 1531. His prosecution for Lutheranism was merely an effort to get rid of a troublesome and truculent neighbor, in the little village of Vayona, near Chinchon. There were thirty-five witnesses against him, for he was generally hated and feared. In his defence he enumerated no less than a hundred and fifty-two persons, including his wife and daughter, as his mortal enemies, and he gave the reason in each case which amply justified their enmity. In this comprehensive drag-net he succeeded in catching nearly all of the adverse witnesses and, in addition, he adduced abonos and indirectas to prove his orthodoxy and regular religious observance. The tribunal evidently recognized the nature of the accusation; he was admitted to bail, July 1, 1532, and finally escaped with a moderate penance.[177] Life must have been scarce worth living in Vayona when he was let loose.

At Valencia, in 1604, there was quite a group of cases showing successful disabling of witnesses among Moriscos. Gaspar Alcadi, accused by two women of saying that he did not believe in Christianity, identified them and proved enmity, so that his case was suspended. One woman accused two men, Vicente Sabdon and Fay Vicente and three women, Angela Bastant, Angela Barday and Gerónima Alamin, but they all succeeded in fastening it upon her and showing her hostility, with the result of a suspension of prosecutions. In 1607 there were several more cases of the same kind.[178] A still more striking instance occurred in 1658, at Valladolid, when a dissolute woman accused three men and thirteen women of Sanabria as Judaizers. They seem to have found little difficulty in identifying and disabling her and were all acquitted, February 1, 1659.[179] In general, however, the records show that the main recourse of the accused, in{69} seeking to identify and disable witnesses for enmity, was rarely successful.

After the wholesale forcible conversions of Jews and Moors a defence was sometimes advanced by the accused that he was not baptized and consequently not a Christian nor subject to the jurisdiction of the Inquisition. There were subtile questions involved in this, on which theologians were not wholly in accord, but in practice the main point turned on whether the fiscal was obliged to prove the baptism. Against this was urged a decree of Paul IV, in 1556, when some Portuguese in Italy defended themselves with this plea, and he ordered the prosecutions to proceed on the ground that, if they had not been baptized, they would not have been tolerated in Portugal. An old inquisitor, about 1640 says that in Saragossa he had a case of a Morisco who advanced such a plea and, on examination of his parish registers, no record of his baptism could be found, although there were those of his elder and younger brother. In spite of this, on the strength of the papal decision, the prosecution went on and his sentence of reconciliation was confirmed by the Suprema.[180]

In all this the function of the advocate was reduced to a minimum. He was to make no suggestions to his client except to confess; he was not to advise him to disable any of the witnesses or to name witnesses of his own. His sole duty, we are told, was to abandon a pertinacious heretic and to admonish a Christian to tell the truth. If he chanced to gain outside information, he was not to communicate it to the prisoner but to the inquisitors and, if any friend or kinsman spoke to him about the case, he was to say that he knew nothing of it. So, in the written defence which he was required to present, he could use no information of his own, for the accused alone could state facts, and the advocate could only set them forth. He could receive nothing from the prisoner or his friends, even after the case was ended; the tribunal fixed his fee, which was paid to him by the receiver.[181]

Under such circumstances the argument which he would frame was not likely to be of any benefit to his client. If he were young, bright and ambitious, he might endeavor to impress the tribunal{70} with his ability, although the strict secrecy imposed deprived him of the incentive which publicity would give. For the most part, however, he would discharge his nominal duties with as little waste of energy as possible; he had nothing to gain by zeal, and would be careful not to offend the inquisitors and fiscal on whom he was dependent. While, therefore, we occasionally meet with a careful and well-reasoned argument, presenting the case of the accused in the most favorable light, and pointing out the irregularities and illegality and weakness of the evidence, in general the defence is perfunctory, of no real service to the accused, while ostensibly giving him the benefit of defence by a trained lawyer and enabling the tribunal to overrule what might be alleged in his favor.

Meanwhile, at each stage of the case, the accused was subjected to searching examination. By rule, this had to be conducted by the inquisitors, and if there were two, both were required to be present; as the Suprema declared, about 1520, this was necessary to enable them to vote intelligently.[182] The fiscal, very properly, was not allowed to be present, and the notaries or secretaries were ordered to confine themselves to their duties in recording and not to interpose questions. The general instructions for these examinations are praiseworthy. In 1518 the Suprema ordered the avoidance of superfluous questioning, as it might lead the accused to contradict himself through ignorance and, in 1529, as the result of a visitation of Saragossa, it rebuked the inquisitors for asking irrelevant questions instead of confining themselves to the subject matter, as required by the Instructions. The questions were to be clearly and intelligibly put, and the accused was to answer them categorically, yes or no. He was not to be deceived or misled by being made to believe that there was evidence where none existed, nor was he to be questioned about accomplices, unless there were sufficient indications concerning them.[183] Unlike the medieval Inquisition, where every kind of deceit was allowed to entrap the accused into compromising himself, the final rules, formally expressed by Pablo García, were that the inquisitors must carefully abstain from interrogating the prisoner about matters not included or indicated{71} in the evidence, and from leading him to believe that mere suspicions were knowledge founded on proof.[184] Yet, with marked inconsistency, the monitions with which the trials opened, assumed, as we have seen, the guilt of the prisoner, that ample information existed of it, and that his confession was wanted for his own salvation.

As a rule, in these earlier audiences, no questions were put except to ask the accused what he had remembered, and he was left to spontaneous confession, without a guide as to what was expected of him. Sometimes, however, in the later periods a special audiencia de preguntas was ordered, which might last for several days, as in the case of Beatriz López, at Valladolid, in 1697.[185] Ordinarily the real examinations began when the accused answered to the accusation, and were continued after his replies to the publication. At any time, moreover, if he made admissions or a partial confession, the opportunity was taken, by skilful questioning, to bring him, step by step, to full acknowledgement of his offences. In this, leading questions were forbidden. All examinations were to be searching and thorough and, in 1654, the Suprema complained that many crimes remained unpunished because of the carelessness and looseness with which this duty was performed. Inquisitors in general were, therefore, instructed to repeat their questions again and again, until every detail of time, place and circumstance was ascertained.[186]

When the prosecution and defence had thus exhausted all their resources, the latter was required to conclude and the case was pronounced to be concluded, although the fiscal could open it again, if new evidence appeared, and the accused could appeal from this as from all other sentences. It was then ripe for judgement, but the inquisitors were not authorized to pronounce sentence alone. The necessity for episcopal concurrence required the intervention of a representative of the bishop of the prisoner’s diocese and, in addition, the rule of the Old Inquisition was preserved under which some graduates in law and theology were assembled to deliberate and vote with the others. These were called consultors and we have seen that they were a recognized{72} portion of the inquisitorial organization. The whole body formed what was known as the consulta de fe, in whose hands lay the fate of the accused. The number of consultors was uncertain. In 1488, at Barcelona, we hear of a consulta in which five masters of theology and five doctors of canon law were called in, and of another in which there were twelve of each, but such assemblies were unwieldy and, in 1596, the Suprema restricted the number to two theologians and three jurists. There was a scandalous practice allowed by the Instructions of 1561, of having the fiscal present without a vote, in order to give information—information which would be apt to expand into argument. Subsequently this seems to have been confined to some tribunals, but in all he could be called upon to elucidate any doubtful point, either orally or in writing.[187] No such privilege was allowed to the accused. Even lawyers who served as abogados de los presos were declared, in 1538, to be ineligible for service as consultors.[188]

In the imperfect records of the early trials, there is often no allusion to a consulta de fe, although the sentence generally contains the customary formula that it has been rendered with the advice of learned and God-fearing men. Even this is sometimes omitted, but it is probable that the formality was usually observed although, in the haste of those terrible days, it was, as a rule, little more than a formality. The ordinary custom was to assemble a consulta when a sufficient number of finished cases had accumulated to render an auto de fe desirable, and it could scarce find time for a conscientious scrutiny of the evidence. How business was sometimes despatched is seen in the preparations for the great auto de fe at Ciudad Real, February 23, 1484. Among the victims were Juan de Fez and his wife, on whom the consulta passed sentence, January 28th, although Juan had only confessed, under threat of torture, the day before, and it was not until February 6th that he ratified his confession, so that the condemnation was pronounced before the case was finished.[189] Yet discussion{73} was not wholly wanting. In the case of Diego García, at the consulta held January 18, 1490, eight voted for torture and three for perpetual prison, but at a meeting next day they were unanimous for torture, which Diego endured without confession and thus escaped with moderate penance.[190]

In those early days it was possible, as the records inform us was done, to read the whole case from beginning to end, for, in those hurried proceedings, the records were brief. In later times when the documents of a trial extended perhaps over hundreds—or it might be thousands—of folios, this was manifestly impossible, and there was submitted to the consulta only an abstract containing what was deemed important, when of course it would be within the power of the tribunal to present it in such fashion as it desired. There was a salutary limitation on this by the Suprema, in 1560, when it forbade the preparation of these abstracts by the fiscal, but the necessity for such prohibition is suggestive of existing abuses.[191] Occasionally the consulta exercised the power of summoning and examining the accused, as we have seen in the case of Juan García, in 1541, when there were doubts as to his sanity. It did the same with Juan Vázquez, at Toledo in 1605, which resulted in dismissing the case.[192]

Whether, in these assemblies, the consultors had a deliberative or merely a consultative vote, was a matter of some discussion. In 1515, Cardinal Adrian, and in 1518 the Suprema, instructed inquisitors that though they must not render judgement without consulting jurists, they need not follow their advice, but could consult others and state the reasons for rejecting the previous opinions.[193] Arnaldo Albertino, on the contrary, after debating the question at length, decides that, under the canon law, inquisitors are bound by the majority vote.[194] This ignored the self-dependent organization of the Spanish Inquisition, and Rojas asserts positively that the vote of the consultors is consultative and not decisive.[195] Simancas decides that the true rule is that the inquisitors are not bound by the opinion of the consultors, although{74} the question is debated; the Suprema instructed the tribunal of Córdova that, if the inquisitors and Ordinary are in accord, their opinion prevails over that of all the consultors, yet in Valladolid, unless there is a majority, even if the inquisitors and Ordinary agree, there is discordia and the case is referred to the Suprema.[196] All this was settled by the Instructions of 1561, which declared that, if the inquisitors and Ordinary were unanimous, their vote was decisive against consultors more numerous, but that, whenever there was discordia between the former, the matter was to be referred to the Suprema and, in important cases, even when there was unanimity, it was to be consulted before executing the vote.[197]

We have seen how the gradual centralization in the Suprema required all sentences, whether of torture or judgement, to receive its confirmation. Under this influence the consulta de fe declined in importance, and tribunals began to neglect the formality of summoning it or even of appointing consultors. The concurrence of the Ordinary was theoretically indispensable, but that sufficed, and the Suprema was quite content to overlook irregularities which marked the diminishing importance of the tribunals. Thus, in 1717, at Barcelona, in the case of Dr. Estevan Perpiñan for impeding the Inquisition, the Ordinary could not attend and the inquisitors voted on it alone; they could not agree on a sentence, and the Suprema sent the case back with orders to vote on it again, in conjunction with the Ordinary; they did so, but this time all three disagreed and the Suprema finally rendered the sentence.[198] It seems never to have thought of instructing them to call in experts and form a consulta de fe. Thus the time-honored institution, coeval with the establishment of the Inquisition in the thirteenth century, came to an end. In a series of votes of the tribunal of Madrid, extending through the eighteenth century, there is no indication of consultors being called in. Sometimes there are two inquisitors with the Ordinary and sometimes one; sometimes two inquisitors without the Ordinary, and occasionally, though rarely, a single inquisitor by himself.[199] In the enumeration of the personnel of all the tribunals, about the middle of the century, the insignificant one of Majorca had eight consultors, Granada had four, Córdova three, Valladolid, Cuenca and Santiago{75} one each and the others had none. The institution was rapidly dying out and men no longer aspired to the honor of belonging to it. So it was under the Restoration. In the sentences of the period which I have seen there is no reference to it save in some pronounced by the Canary tribunal, which have the clause “without a consultor because it is united in the Ordinary.”[200]

Before the Suprema had rendered the tribunals mere agencies for collecting evidence and attending to the formalities of trials, the consulta de fe may occasionally have been of service in preventing or diminishing injustice. Incidents related above show that the consultors formed opinions of their own, and that the votes were often far from unanimous. This was encouraged by the routine of voting, in which the consultors voted first and the senior inquisitor last, although doubtless, when there had been a preliminary discussion, the views of the inquisitors had been made known. Occasionally we meet with debates in which each member of the consults accompanies his vote with an exposition of his reasons, and sometimes even with elaborate written opinions, showing a conscientious expenditure of thought and labor. Unfortunately, doubts and disagreements generally were compromised by recourse to torture, after which the consulta would be reconvened to formulate the definitive sentence.

Not the least cruel feature of the inquisitorial trial was the interminable delay to which the victim was commonly exposed. In ordinary criminal practice, especially in capital cases, the accused may seek perhaps to postpone the evil day, but in the Inquisition, where he was denied all communication with the outside world, and was kept in ignorance as to the progress of his own case, the agony of suspense concerning himself and those dear to him during dreary months and years was, in itself, a most severe and protracted punishment. This was thoroughly understood, not only from the repeated despairing cries of prisoners to have their cases despatched, but from the habitual promise of such despatch held out as an inducement for confession. The slow torture of delay was a well-understood device of the Old Inquisition to procure confession, when five, ten, or twenty years’ interval between arrest and sentence was not infrequent,[201] but, except in special cases, this would not seem to be the motive in Spain. It is rather attributable to callous indifference and the{76} habit of procrastination. The prisoner was presumably guilty and no good Christian need waste sympathy on the sufferings, mental and bodily, of a heretic too pertinacious for confession and conversion.

In Spain, speedy justice was constantly urged on the tribunals as soon as the mad rush of the early years was over. While this lasted such urgency was superfluous, for haste was necessitated by the enormous amount of work to be done, and was stimulated by impatience for the fines and confiscations, though the formalities of procedure were cumbrous and there were multitudes of cases jostling each other as they wore through their several stages. In the great auto de fe at Ciudad Real, February 23, 1484, where there were seventy-six burnings in person or in effigy, besides the large number of reconciliations, there could have been no time wasted on each case. Among those relaxed was Juan González Daza, whose trial commenced December 1, 1483, when the inquisitors granted nine days for presenting proof. On December 10th, the fiscal asked an extension of time in view of his other occupations and the absence of witnesses, but he was obliged to take an oath that these were his reasons and not malice. On December 8th evidence for the defence was already being taken before two deputies of the inquisitors and, on the 12th, that for the prosecution before two other deputies. Considering that human life was at stake, the work was most expeditious.[202]

Possibly this speed soon slackened; whether it did so or not, the Suprema was dissatisfied, for the Instructions of 1488 ordered that prisoners should not be worn out in gaol with postponements, and proceedings must be so prompt as to afford no cause of complaint. This urgency was repeated in the Instructions of 1498, which fixed a limit of ten days between arrest and the presentation of the accusation, during which the three monitions were to be given; after this cases were to be pushed with all despatch and without awaiting further proof, for this had led to prolonged detention, causing injury to persons as well as to property. Again, in 1500, the tribunals were ordered to proceed summarily and not to permit delays—all these instructions showing that the procrastination was attributable to the prosecution and not to the defence.[203]

{77}

These instructions received scant obedience and the delays were felt as a serious grievance by the accused. In 1510 we have a petition to Ferdinand from five women appealing for a speedy decision of their cases, which had been “concluded,” to which he responded by ordering the inquisitors to expedite them in accordance with justice.[204] So among the Aragonese petitions at the Córtes of Monzon, in 1533, is a complaint that the prisoners of the Inquisition were vexed with the prolonged delays in giving them the accusation and postponing the publication of evidence, wherefore the inquisitor-general was prayed to prescribe briefer terms. To this the reply was merely that provision would be made for the good administration of justice and the speedy disposition of cases.[205]

If there were any intention of fulfilling this promise it was resultless. Procrastination was habitual in all Spanish tribunals, as we learn from the repeated remonstrances of the Castilian Córtes of the period, which vainly represented that pleaders were impoverished and exhausted in the vain attempt to obtain justice, and that the gaols throughout the land were crowded with prisoners.[206] The Inquisition shared in this indifference to the sufferings of those in its hands; there were causes of delay in ratifying evidence and looking up the witnesses for the defence, and it had besides a practice, in all cases serious enough to appear in an auto de fe, of allowing them to accumulate until there were enough to render the solemnity impressive. This abuse was forbidden by the Suprema in 1518, 1532, 1539 and 1540, but its commands were disregarded.[207] That it was a real grievance is shown by a summons addressed, in 1534, by the Toledo fiscal to the Vicar-general Blas Ortiz, reciting that it was four years since the tribunal had celebrated an auto de fe; its prisoners were suffering much thereby in person, honor, and property, and the Inquisition was defamed in consequence. On the part of the accused and their kindred there had been bitter complaints to the inquisitor-general and Suprema, to the emperor and royal council, and to persons of influence, and three or four months ago the Suprema and inquisitor-general had come to Toledo to see what was the matter and had ordered the cases to be despatched and an auto{78} de fe to be held. When, however, we learn that the concurrence of the vicar-general was needed only for the torture of nine persons and the sentencing of ten, we see how little occupation the tribunal had had during those four years, rendering the delay inexcusable, while moreover the effort to shift the blame on Blas Ortiz was transparent for, under the Clementines, inquisitors were required to wait only nine days for the Ordinary.[208] The custom of waiting for an auto de fe continued and if, in 1570, 1571 and 1577, there were repeated orders that the cases of poor prisoners should be despatched promptly, without holding them for an auto, this urgency savors more of thrift than of mercy, for it infers that the rich, who could defray their prison expenses, might linger.[209]

The provision that the accusation should be presented within ten days after arrest was repeated in 1518 and seems to have been considered as still in force in 1594, for its observance is included in interrogatories prepared for a visitation in that year, but the Instructions of 1561, while requiring the fiscal to present it within that limit, give discretion to the inquisitors as to the time of admitting the prisoner to an audience after his arrest, and prescribe no definite intervals between the monitions.[210] This discretion was abused to the utmost and the Suprema seems to have abandoned all effort to check procrastination, except in special cases which threatened to become immortal. The tribunals kept their unfortunate prisoners lying for months before granting the first audience and, as this required no preparation, its postponement was mere callous indifference without excuse. In a group of eight cases at Valladolid, in 1647, a year was allowed to elapse between the arrest and first audience, and subsequent intervals, varying from one month to eight, before the third monition which was synchronous with the accusation.[211] When there{79} was this heartless delay at the commencement of a case, it is not to be supposed that there would be any alacrity in speeding the subsequent stages of the cumbrous routine, or any conscientious awakening from the supine indifference of the tribunals, with their multitude of officials and diminishing work. I have already alluded to the Mexican case of Joseph Brunon de Vertiz, in which there was nothing to prevent a regular and speedy course of action; and a brief abstract of the successive steps of his trial will show how he was tortured through suspense and anxiety to death. Between January 25, 1650, and his end on April 30, 1656, he was but once summoned to an audience and then it was only to ask him whether he had anything more to say.[212] Similar examples can be cited in the Peninsula. Gabriel Escobar, a cleric in the lower Orders, was arrested by the Toledo tribunal in 1607, on a charge of Illuminism and, in 1622, he died in prison, leaving his trial unfinished.[213] On a similar charge, Vicente Hernan was{80} arrested in Valencia, September 23, 1592, and on August 25, 1695, the Suprema took the tribunal to task, because the accusation had not yet been presented, and pointed out that two years and a half had elapsed since his last audience, and the case was no nearer an end than before.[214]

This procrastination continued to the end. A writer, about 1750, attributes the endless prolongation of the trials to the inefficiency of the inquisitors, and this again to the meagreness of the salaries, which prevents the selection of capable men, but the Suprema itself was frequently to blame by its delay in acting when everything had to be submitted to its approval. Thus when the Logroño tribunal sent to it, September 9, 1818, a sumaria, on statement of the evidence, against Fernando de la Hoceja for irreverence to the sacrament, it was not until June 9, 1819, that it ordered prosecution and, when Valladolid proposed, November 12, 1818, to grant audiencias de cargos to Lazaro Matilla, this was not confirmed until June 15, 1819.[215]

Prosecution of the absent and of the dead formed, especially in the earlier period, a large part of the work of the Inquisition. The sudden development of systematized persecution naturally caused the exodus of thousands of Conversos, in spite of the arbitrary measures adopted to prevent their escape, while the details adduced in the trials furnished evidence against other thousands, who had died in external orthodoxy. It was no part of the policy of either Church or State to condone the offences of the fugitive or of the dead. If the faith could not be vindicated by burning their bodies, it could at least exhume the bones of the departed for cremation and could symbolically consume with fire the effigies of those of whom neither the bodies nor the bones could be had, while the fisc gathered in the confiscations which followed on condemnation, including the collection of debts and the forfeiting of alienations.

In this there was nothing repugnant to the spirit of the age, or of the Latin systems of jurisprudence. In the spiritual sphere the Church had long been accustomed to pass judgement on those who had passed to the judgement-seat of God, and to exhume{81} the remains of any heretic buried in consecrated ground.[216] The imperial jurisprudence was equally unforgiving in cases of majetas, or treason, in which the dead could be prosecuted and their estates be confiscated, and the Theodosian Code extended this to heresy.[217] As recently as 1600, in Scotland, the bodies of the Earl of Gowrie and his brother were brought into court to be present at their trial, and were duly sentenced to be hanged, quartered and gibbeted; in 1609, Robert Logan of Restalrig, three years after death, was accused of complicity in the Gowrie conspiracy, when his bones were exhumed to grace the trial in which he was convicted and his estate was confiscated.[218] As regards fugitives, in the Continental systems of criminal law it was regarded as absurd to allow contumacious absence to defeat justice. In Aragon the absentee was summoned at his domicile to appear within fifteen days, after which he was reputed contumacious and his trial proceeded, but he had the right, even after sentence, to return and appeal, on reimbursing to the accuser his expenses.[219]

The abundant harvest thus provided for the early Inquisition may be estimated from the statement by a contemporary that, at the Toledo auto de fe of July 25, 1485, there were burned the effigies of more than four hundred dead and as many in that of May 25, 1490. The ceremony was impressive. A great monument, covered with black, was erected in front of the staging occupied by the inquisitors. The sentence of each culprit was read and, as his name was called, the monument was opened and an effigy, arrayed in Jewish grave-clothes, was brought out and condemned as a heretic. Then a great fire was built in the centre of the plaza, and all the effigies were consumed, together with the disinterred bones. After this their names were announced in the cathedral, with a summons to the heirs to appear, within twenty days, and render an account of their inheritances which belonged to the king.[220] We might suspect these figures of exaggeration{82} were there not other evidences of the magnitude of the work in progress and of the informal haste with which it was conducted. In 1484, at Ciudad Real, a single proclamation to the children and heirs, to appear and defend the deceased, contains the names of sixty-one dead persons on trial and a single sentence condemns forty-two, with a common enumeration of the Judaizing practices asserted to be proved against them. In none of these cases did the children and heirs put in an appearance to defend the memory and fame of the dead.[221]

These reckless and indecent proceedings were based on the Instructions of 1484, which evidently reflect the current practice in ordering the prosecution of those who had been dead even for thirty or forty years, and their property with its fruits to be taken from whomsoever is found in possession, although a MS. copy contains a clause, omitted in the printed editions, exempting from confiscation property held in good faith by good Catholics, for fifty years or more.[222] In view of the activity at Ciudad Real and Toledo, it seems somewhat superfluous that Torquemada, in his supplementary Instructions of 1485, deemed it necessary to warn the tribunals that the prosecution of the living should not cause them to neglect the dead, so that their bodies may be disinterred and burnt and their property be seized by the fisc.[223] How far back the retroactive energy of the tribunals extended may be gathered from the case of Fernan Sánchez who had been converted about 1416, had lived as a Christian until his death in 1456, and who yet was disinterred and burnt and his estate confiscated by the tribunal of Cuenca and Sigüenza, probably about 1525.[224]

Notwithstanding the massing of cases in the citations and sentences, the formalities of the somewhat cumbrous procedure were duly observed. The trials were not speedy, but, as large numbers were in progress together, only the scantiest attention could be paid to each and the result was a foregone conclusion. A single case will illustrate the process. At Ciudad Real, August{83} 8, 1484, the fiscal is recorded as appearing and saying that he desires to proceed against certain deceased persons and among them Beatris González. He asks the inquisitors to issue their letters of summons, citation and edict, so that the children, heirs, kindred and others who wish to defend their bodies and bones, their fame and property, may appear. The same day the edict is issued, directed to the representatives of Beatris and two others, some of the kindred addressed being named and others included under the generalization of parties interested. The edict recites that the fiscal is about to accuse Beatris and the others of Judaism, and asks to have them summoned in defence, wherefore they are cited to appear within thirty days after the edict is read to them, or before their house-doors, or published in the public square, or read in the church of San Pedro and affixed to one of its doors; if they come, they will be heard with the fiscal, and justice will be rendered; if they do not appear, the fiscal will be heard and the case will go on without them to the end. The thirty days constituted three terms of ten days each, at the end of each of which the fiscal appeared before the inquisitors and accused the rebeldia or contumacy of the parties cited and, at the end of the third, on September 6th, he presented the accusation, a copy of which was ordered to be given to the children, with nine days in which to answer it. At the expiration of this time, on September 14th, the fiscal accused the further rebeldia and concluded; the inquisitors received the case to proof and assigned thirty days for it. On October 20th, the fiscal presented four witnesses, who were separately and secretly examined by the inquisitors, the testimony consisting of the usual details of observing the Sabbath by lighting candles and wearing clean linen, with an intimation of having chickens killed by decapitation. Then followed an interval, until January 18, 1485, when the fiscal asked for publication of evidence. The inquisitors granted this, ordering copies given to him and to the children if they ask for it, and assigning a term of six days for concluding. On January 24th the fiscal accuses the persistent rebeldia and concludes; the inquisitors hold the children to be contumacious and conclude the case, assigning for sentence the third or any following day. All this was in preparation for the great auto de fe of March 15th, where the sentence was read, condemning in mass a large number of the dead, confiscating their property and ordering their bones to be{84} dug up and burnt.[225] This was the procedure under which thousands of the dead were condemned and their properties seized from the existing owners; the forms of justice were comfortably preserved; no heirs or children ventured to appear in defence, and the condemnation might as well have been pronounced at the beginning.

This facility offered temptations to act on insufficient evidence and occasionally, when persons of importance were concerned, there was a contest, as at Saragossa where, on March 10, 1491, the fiscal presented his clamosa against a number of the dead, whose representatives defended them with persistent energy until December, 1499, when there were eight condemnations and three acquittals.[226] Some check on the abuses inevitable to the system was attempted, in the reformatory Instructions of 1498, which order that no prosecution of the dead is to be commenced unless there is proof sufficiently complete for condemnation; the practice of suspending cases where proof is imperfect is prohibited, in view of the hardship endured by the heirs, who are unable to marry or to dispose of their property and, under such circumstances, acquittal is ordered. Procrastination and delay are also forbidden, and cases must be determined speedily.[227]

Sequestration under these circumstances inflicted great suffering until, as we have seen, in the Instructions of 1561, it came under the general prohibition of sequestrating property in the hands of third parties. By this time, prosecution of the dead had shrunk to an inconsiderable part of inquisitorial business, and this may possibly account for other ameliorations in procedure. The preliminary necessity of sufficing proof was insisted upon; pains were to be taken to ascertain whether there were descendants, so as to cite them in person; no one who appeared as a defender was to be refused, even though he might be a prisoner on trial, who could empower a representative; if no defender appeared, the inquisitor was to appoint a skilful and sufficient person, who was not an official of the tribunal.[228] By this time, also, another rule had established itself which diminished the number of prosecutions—that they could only lie for formal heresy. Crimes{85} involving suspicion of heresy, such as fautorship, receiving and defending heretics and many others, were excluded, for the reason that suspicion, however violent, was held to be extinguished by death.[229] It was also generally admitted that stronger proof was required for prosecution of the dead than of the living because, as Rojas explains it, semiplena or half-proof, suffices for the latter—apparently alluding to the fact that the dead could not be tortured.[230]

If they could not be tortured, so neither could they save themselves from relaxation by confession and abjuration. This naturally resulted in burning in effigy, except in the case of death during trial, when, if the prisoner had manifested repentance and sought readmission to the Church, his effigy was solemnly reconciled in the auto de fe, nor does this somewhat grotesque ceremony appear to have aroused a sense of incongruity. Death in prison, as we have seen, was by no means infrequent and, as the cases when once commenced were continued to the end, they furnish, during the later period, a considerable portion of the prosecutions of the dead. Suicide in prison was held to be confession of guilt and pertinacity.

The sentence pronounced on the dead was even more impressive than that on the living. It declared him to have lived and died a heretic, his memory and fame were condemned and his property was confiscated. “And we order that, on the day of the auto, an effigy representing his person shall be placed on the scaffold, with a mitre of condemnation and a sanbenito bearing on one side the insignia of the condemned and on the other a placard with his name, which effigy, after the reading of this our sentence, shall be delivered to the secular arm and justice, and his bones shall be disinterred, if they can be distinguished from those of faithful Christians, and be delivered to the said justice to be publicly burnt, in detestation of such great and grievous crimes. And, if there is any inscription on his tomb, or if his arms are anywhere displayed, they shall be erased, so that no memory of him shall remain on the face of the earth, except of our sentence and of the execution which we order in it. And,{86} that it may the more remain in the memory of the living, we order that the said sanbenito or one like it, with the said insignia and name of the condemned, shall be placed in the cathedral or parochial church of ——, of which he was parishioner, in a prominent place where it shall remain for ever. Moreover we order that the children and the grandchildren by the male line, be deprived of all dignities and benefices and public positions that they possess, and be incapacitated for others, as well as to ride on horseback and carry arms and wear silk, camlet and fine cloth, gold, silver and corals and other things forbidden by the laws.”[231]

We have already seen how numerous, in the opening years of the Inquisition, were the trials of absentees, as shown by the burning of their effigies in the autos de fe. This arose not only from the flight of those alarmed by the activity of persecution, but also from the investigation of the records of all who, for years before, had changed their places of residence or had betaken themselves to the Moors of Granada or beyond seas. This proportion of the early period was not maintained after the first hurried rush of expatriation was past, but still there continued to be many cases. When a Judaizer or Morisco was arrested, all who had been associated with him recognized the impending danger and, if there was possibility of concealment or of leaving the country, prudence counselled absence. The Inquisition sought energetically to trace those against whom evidence was obtained and, if it failed, it prosecuted them in absentia. In some respects this procedure differed from that in prosecution of the dead.

The Instructions of 1484 give minute and precise details with regard to it, pointing out three courses which may be followed. The first is recommended as the safest and least rigorous and is that furnished by the canon law in Cap. Contumaciam (Cap. 7, Tit. 2 in Sexto Lib. v) which provides that, as contumacy renders suspicion vehement, a man who is suspect in the faith is to be excommunicated, when, if he remains under the censure for a year, he is to be condemned as a heretic. Under this process, which conveniently converted suspicion into formal heresy, justifying condemnation, testimony was superfluous and conviction certain, so that, although it cost some delay, we can understand the preference expressed for it. It simply required the party to{87} be summoned, with the customary monitions, to defend himself in matters of faith and a special charge of heresy, under pain of excommunication. If he did not appear, the inquisitor ordered the fiscal to accuse his contumacy and to demand letters denouncing him as an excommunicate and then, if he persisted in his contumacy for a year, he was declared a formal heretic. The citations were made by the customary edicts, proclaimed and affixed to the church-doors of his domicile, and the excommunication was published in the churches with the customary solemnities.

The second method was more speedy and was adapted to cases where the heresy could be completely proved. The accused was cited by edict to appear and prove his innocence, with steps similar to those used in summoning defenders in prosecutions of the dead; when the terms allowed were passed, if the evidence was conclusive, the absentee could be condemned without further delay.

The third process was suitable for cases where the evidence, though incomplete, justified vehement presumption. An edict was issued against the accused summoning him to appear within a specified time and furnish canonical purgation, with notice that, if he did not present himself, or if he failed in his purgation, he would be held as convicted and be treated accordingly. This was the simplest and speediest, but the Instructions say that, although rigorous, it was well grounded in law, and inquisitors, at their discretion, could adopt either of the three courses as best adapted to the case in hand.[232]

The first of these methods, utilizing the device of contumacy became the one almost universally employed, when time was of no consequence but, in the impatient temper of the early period, speedier processes were preferred. The case of Sancho de Ciudad and Marí Díaz his wife, was tried by the second process and will serve as an illustration. Sancho was regidor of Ciudad Real and a well-known citizen. On November 14, 1483, the fiscal represented that many persons defamed for heresy had fled from the Inquisition, among whom notoriously were Sancho and his wife, whom he intended to accuse, and he asked the inquisitor, on receiving due proof, to cite them to appear. Two witnesses then deposed that it was notorious that they were absent and, as they had departed about fifteen days before the Inquisition came, it{88} presumably was through fear. The edict was issued and the case took its course, all citations and summonses being gravely pronounced before Sancho’s house by a notary as though he were personally on trial. When the case reached the stage of proof, the fiscal presented thirty-four witnesses—the most damaging one being Sancho’s daughter Catalina, who gave the names of her brothers and of numerous others accustomed to assemble in her father’s house to participate in Jewish ceremonies. All the formalities of the trial were observed and duly notified before Sancho’s door. By January 22, 1484, the consulta de fe voted for relaxation, which Sancho was duly summoned to hear read, and it was read in the audience-chamber, January 30th, empowering the authorities of any place, where Sancho and his wife might be found, to inflict on them the penalties of the law, and meanwhile, as their persons could not be had, it ordered their effigies then present, to be subjected to the execution of the said penalties.[233]

If there is something grotesque in all this, at least the proceedings were decently in order and, if Sancho and his wife had cared to risk it, they could have been heard. How hurried and informal the process sometimes was is manifested by a case at Guadalupe in 1485. On July 13th three witnesses were heard as to ten persons who had left that place from twelve to sixteen years before, and of whom public fame reported that they had gone to Málaga or to some other Moorish town, and had turned Jews. On July 21st the fiscal presented his accusation, asking for sentence without previous citation or other notice, because by law in such cases and crimes of heresy, when notoriety is proved, nothing further is required. This was expressly assented to in the sentence, although it alluded to some kind of citation with three terms, published in the plaza and affixed to the church-doors, and also to a consulta de fe, but all this was probably mythical for, in an auto de fe held on August 1st, seven of the parties were included in one sentence, their effigies were relaxed to the secular arm and their property was declared to be confiscated, while judges everywhere were empowered to seize and proceed against them.[234] Neither of the three methods described in the Instructions of 1484 could have been employed in the interval of eighteen days between denunciation and execution, but, as one of the inquisitors{89} was Francisco de la Fuente, an experienced judge from the tribunal of Ciudad Real, we must presume that there was nothing irregular in this quick despatch.

Although in these sentences the condemned is abandoned to any secular justice for burning, the whole proceeding was merely designed to secure the confiscations and enhance the solemnities of the autos de fe with additional comburation of effigies. Its nullity in other respects was admitted by the rule that, if a culprit who had been burnt in effigy should return spontaneously, confessing and repenting, he could be admitted to reconciliation or, if he asserted his innocence, he was to be heard in his defence. This was decreed by Torquemada, October 10, 1493, with the reservation that it was a matter of grace and did not affect the confiscation. In 1494 there was a further provision that, if the condemnation had been the result of false-witness, it was the duty of the inquisitors to revoke the sentence ex officio, without awaiting the appearance of the convict.[235]

No change of importance was introduced in the procedure by the Instructions of 1561. In practice, the prosecution for contumacy was the one ordinarily employed; the second method was sometimes used when the testimony was complete and the third, summoning the accused to compurgation, became obsolete. The formula of the sentence, in the first method, avoids all allusion to the crimes alleged against the accused and bases the condemnation wholly on his remaining for a year under excommunication, thus proving himself to be an apostate heretic, the penalties for which are to be executed on his person, if it can be had and, in his absence, upon the effigy representing him.[236]

Of course condemnation to the stake was inevitable, when once the process was commenced, whether there was substantial evidence against the accused or not. Some authorities held that, whenever he could be caught, he was to be burnt, but Simancas expresses the considerate practice of the Inquisition in assuming that he is entitled to a hearing, whether he presents himself spontaneously or is captured, for there is no prescription of time against defence; if he comes within a year he can plead against confiscation, but after the year he can be heard only as to himself,{90} unless he is manifestly innocent or has been detained by a just impediment.[237] It may justly be doubted whether any fugitive was ever burnt for contumacy, and the ordinary practice is seen in the case of nine Judaizers of Beas, whose arrest was ordered by the tribunal of Murcia, April 5, 1656. When the warrants reached Beas, April 12, they were found to have departed secretly about the end of February. Five of them were traced to Málaga and four were reported to have gone to Pietrabuena, but all efforts to capture them failed and, on July 27th, the fiscal asked for edicts of citation. The regular process in contumacy followed leisurely, ending in a sentence of relaxation if the culprits should be found and if not, that their effigies should be burnt. This was confirmed by the Suprema and was pronounced December 5, 1659, and executed April 13, 1660, in an auto de fe at Seville. Nearly twenty years later two of the fugitives, Ana Enríquez and her husband Diego Rodríguez Silva, were arrested at Daimiel. They were tried anew; the previous records were brought from Murcia and used, as well as evidence concerning their career during the interval. There was no thought of executing the former sentence; the consulta de fe voted for reconciliation with two years of prison and sanbenito, which the Suprema changed to perpetual irremissible, and it was duly published in an auto de fe of December 17, 1679.[238]

Dilatory as were the proceedings in absentia in this case, they were speedy when compared with some others. The Valladolid tribunal issued a warrant of arrest against the Capitan Enrique Enríquez, June 6, 1650, but he eluded it. His trial for contumacy dragged on until July 30, 1659, when sentence was rendered, confirmed by the Suprema November 24th and sent to Seville, to be executed in the auto de fe of April 13, 1660.[239] It would appear that these delays did not please the Suprema for, in 1666, it called upon the tribunals to report the sentences agreed upon against the absent and dead and to push forward all unfinished trials. To this Barcelona replied that it had in hand three cases of absentees guilty of “propositions,” two of bigamy, one of a fraile who was said to have fled to France in order to embrace{91} Protestantism, and another of a dead Huguenot—all of which would indicate that these cases constituted a considerable portion of the diminishing business of the tribunals. The Suprema thereupon ordered that if, on examination, prosecution appeared to be called for, the cases should be followed up closely to a vote in the consulta de fe, which was to be submitted to it for decision.[240]

Effigies of the dead and absent continued to be one of the attractions of the autos de fe. In the great Madrid celebration of 1680, the procession was headed with thirty-four, of which all but two were burnt; they bore mitres with flames, on their breasts were placards with their names in large letters and some of them carried chests containing their bones.[241] At that of Granada, in 1721, there were no living persons burnt, but there were seven effigies, and the chronicler of the occasion assures us that the glory of Catholic zeal is acquired as much by carrying to the flames the dead as the living and, in this case, the inquisitors, the alguacil mayor and the secretaries bore them in the procession. Fired by this example, after the sentences were read, the ministers of the royal chancellería exultingly carried them from the staging to the brasero where they were burnt.[242] Even as late as 1752, at Llerena, there were six effigies of fugitives and one of a dead woman.[243]

It will be seen from this presentation of facts from the records that the inquisitorial process, as developed in the Spanish Holy Office, so far from being the benignant and equitable procedure asserted by its representatives and re-echoed by modern apologists, was one which violated every principle of justice. The guilt of the accused was assumed in advance; the prosecution was favored in every way; the defence was so crippled as to be scarce more than a pretext, while the judge, who was in reality the prosecutor, was shielded, by impenetrable secrecy, from all responsibility except to the Suprema. Many cases cited above show that the arbitrary power thus conferred was not always{92} abused, for the individuals were not necessarily as vicious as the system, but the power existed and its exercise for good or for evil depended on temperament and temptation.[244]

{93}

BOOK VII.

PUNISHMENT.

CHAPTER I.

THE SENTENCE.

IN the infliction of punishment, the Inquisition differed from secular courts in one important respect. Public law provided for impenitent heresy death by fire and confiscation, and visited on the penitent and on descendants certain disabilities, but apart from these, in its extensive field of jurisdiction over penitent heresy, suspected heresy and other offences, the Inquisition had full discretion and was bound by no rules. It was the only tribunal known to the civilized world which prescribed penalties and modified them at its will. In this, as in so much else, it combined the legislative and the executive functions.[245]

The culmination of the work of the tribunal was the sentence which embodied the result of its labors and decided the fate of the accused. In all cases that appeared in public autos de fe, the sentence was publicly read, and the opportunity was not lost of impressing on the minds of the people the lofty duties of the Holy Office and the enormity of the guilt which merited such chastisement. It afforded an occasion for the display of power, which was turned to the best account.

There were two forms of sentence—con meritos and sin meritos. The former recited at length the misdeeds of the culprit; the latter was briefer and merely stated the character of the offence. The consulta de fe, when it agreed upon a verdict, usually defined which form should be used, and also whether or not the culprit should appear in a public auto. This, in{94} itself, was a severe infliction, aggravated by the reading of a sentence con meritos. For lighter cases the sentence was read in an auto particular, in the audience-chamber, of which there were several varieties, as will be seen hereafter.

The sentence con meritos commenced with a full recital of the details of the trial, through all the various steps of the cumbrous process, represented as a suit between the fiscal and the accused, and it specified the crimes proved against or confessed by the culprit. It was thus sometimes enormously long. In the famous case of Magdalena de la Cruz, a fraudulent beata revelandera, whose fictitious sanctity and miracles had deceived all Spain throughout a long career, the reading of the sentence at Córdova, May 13, 1546, occupied from six in the morning until four in the afternoon.[246] In the sentence of Don Pablo de Soto, convicted of bigamy at Lima, in 1761, all the examinations are detailed at full length, including information volunteered by him concerning persons and matters in no way connected with the case; the secretary appears to have copied verbatim the records of the successive audiences, as though to prolong the shame of the penitent.[247] After these prolix recitals there followed the verdict “Christi nomine invocato,” in which, if the trial had resulted in conviction, the inquisitors found that the fiscal had duly proved his charges, wherefore they must declare the accused guilty of the heresy alleged, with its corresponding penalties.[248]

As a rule, prisoners were left in ignorance of their fate until, on the morning of the auto de fe, they were prepared for it by being arrayed in the insignia which designated their punishments. So jealously were they kept in the dark that, when the customary proclamation was made of an auto, fifteen days in advance, with drum and trumpet, the officials were not allowed to approach the Inquisition, lest the inmates should hear the sounds and guess what was in preparation. At the great auto of Lima, in 1639, we are told that, when the proclamation was made, the negro assistants of the gaoler were shut up in a place where they could not hear it, so that they might not carry the information to the prisoners, and the workmen employed in making the mitres,{95} sanbenitos and crosses were assigned a room in the Inquisition where they could labor unseen, under an oath of secrecy.[249] The effect of the sudden revelation, when it came, is indicated in the advice that it was better to give to those who were to appear their breakfasts in their cells than to wait until they were all brought together for the procession, for then there was shame and confusion and suffering, the fathers seeing their sons and the daughters their mothers in the sanbenitos and other insignia that designated their punishments.[250] The despair induced by the preceding long-drawn suspense occasionally found expression, as in the case of Diego González, who was reconciled for Judaism in the Valladolid auto of July 25, 1644. On the morning of that day, when the gaoler entered his cell to give him breakfast, he was found pale and faint, with the blood flowing freely from a wound in his arm, made with a nail from his bedstead, under the impression that he was to be burnt, and he had to be carried to the solemnity in a sedan-chair. Llorente recounts a similar case, of which he was an eyewitness, in 1791, when a Frenchman named Michel Maffre des Rieux hanged himself in consequence of being thus kept in ignorance.[251]

The object of the delay in thus communicating the sentence was to prevent appeals to the Suprema. We have seen how, in opposing appeals to Rome, the Inquisition and the monarchs argued that they were wholly superfluous, in view of the appellate jurisdiction of the inquisitor-general, who was always prompt to rectify injustice committed by the tribunals, but this nominal opportunity was rendered for the most part illusory by this device of withholding knowledge of the sentence until appeal was impossible. This came about by degrees. Originally it would seem that the tribunals exercised discretion as to withholding the sentence until the auto, although exceptions were rare. The Instructions of 1561, while admitting a right of appeal in some cases, nullified it by ordering, in such cases, the tribunals to send the proceedings in advance to the Suprema, without allowing the accused to know of it.[252] There evidently were contending influences, of justice on one side and convenience on the other, for in 1568 it was ordered that, in cases not of heresy,{96} when the penalty was arbitrary, the culprit should be notified in advance of the auto de fe, and this was extended, in 1573, by instructions that, in cases admitting appeal, the parties should be notified in time to enable them to do so. This concession to justice caused trouble and, on April 11, 1577 the tribunals were ordered to report on the evils arising from it. Apparently the inquisitors reported adversely for, on September 18th, they were ordered to return to the former practice of not notifying culprits prior to the auto de fe.[253]

There was, however, quite an extensive class of cases in which the right of appeal was not completely cut off by this. These were the more trivial ones, in which the sentence was rendered in the audience-chamber, and in these both parties, the culprit and the fiscal, were required to assent on the spot, when either could appeal, for the fiscal had the same right as his opponent; it was included, in the commission issued to fiscals, in the long enumeration of their powers and duties, and was a right not infrequently exercised.[254] Although the culprit thus had an opportunity to appeal, he was obliged to act without advice. In the case of María Cazalla, in Toledo, December 19, 1534, when called upon to assent to her sentence in the audience-chamber, she asked for delay; then, in the afternoon, she begged to be allowed to consult her husband or her counsel and, on this being refused, she accepted the sentence.[255] Still, as public autos diminished and private autillos multiplied, the opportunity for appeals became more frequent and were sometimes successful.

This was more apt to benefit ecclesiastics than laymen for, except in cases involving degradation, they were never exhibited in public autos; their sentences were read in the audience-chamber, and they were more likely than the ordinary culprit to possess the education and intelligence requisite to profit by the opportunity. Cases of appeal by them are consequently not infrequent. Fray Lucas de Allende, Guardian of the Franciscan convent of Madrid, was one of the dupes of Lucrecia de Leon, an impostor who pretended in dreams to have converse with God and the saints. He busied himself in writing out her revelations and was tried at Toledo, where he lay in prison from June, 1590, until April, 1596. He was sentenced to a{97} reprimand and warning not to meddle with such matters, to accept certain definitions laid down by the tribunal, and to strict reclusion in a convent for a year. He vigorously protested that the sentence was absurd and he appealed from it, to which the fiscal retorted by likewise interjecting an appeal. The Suprema heard both appeals and decided, July 30, 1596, by confirming the sentence as to reprimand and warning, and omitting the rest. Even this did not satisfy the obstinate Franciscan for when read to him, August 2d, he refused to accept it and appealed to the pope, but, on being warned to reflect well, he on the same day withdrew this appeal and submitted. There can be little doubt however that the inquisitors suppressed the revocation of part of the sentence, for there follows a petition from him to be allowed to visit his native Villarubia before entering upon his reclusion, deceit of this kind being perfectly practicable in the profound secrecy of the tribunals.[256] More successful was the Geronimite Fray Martin de Cazares, prosecuted in Valladolid for superstitious curing of the sick and sentenced, in 1655, to reprimand and four years’ exile from certain places. The Suprema had confirmed the sentence and yet on appeal from him it remitted the exile.[257] By this time the Suprema was supervising all action of the tribunals and, as it gradually became the whole Inquisition, appeals grew to be superfluous, yet the custom of withholding the sentence was persistent.

There was one class of cases, however, in which notification of the sentence was always made prior to the auto de fe—those in which the culprit was condemned to relaxation. The object of this was to give him a chance of saving his soul by confession and conversion; in the earlier period the notification was short, being only at midnight before the auto, but this, as we shall see hereafter, was subsequently extended to three days.

In the medieval Inquisition, the inquisitor, when rendering sentence, always reserved the right to modify it, in the direction either of mercy or of severity, or to remove it wholly. He could do this, for he was practically independent and irresponsible to any superior, the only authority over him being the distant and almost inaccessible{98} Holy See. The Spanish inquisitor occupied a wholly different position, being held in strict and constantly increasing subordination to the Suprema and, as commutations early became a source of large revenue, it is easy to understand that the tribunals were not permitted to participate in the proceeds. Already in 1498, the Instructions thus undertook to limit the power of inquisitors to modify sentences, by ordering that they should not grant commutations for money or favor or without just cause and, when such existed, the commutation must be into fasts, almsgiving and other pious uses; there could be no release from wearing the sanbenito and the rehabilitation of descendants was reserved for the inquisitor-general.[258] It was difficult to enforce restrictions which recognized any right of inquisitors to modify sentences and, in 1513, Ximenes deprived them of it wholly and concentrated the power in the hands of the inquisitor-general.[259] It was wholly a matter of finance and we have seen (Book V, Chap, iii) how it was thenceforth utilized. The tribunal was recognized to have no power to modify a sentence when once pronounced; as an experienced writer says, although by common law inquisitors and Ordinaries can change or mitigate sentences, it is otherwise under the Instructions which declare that this is reserved for the inquisitor-general, the reason being that they have exhausted their powers.[260]

In the Indies, where distance rendered application to the Suprema virtually impossible, the tribunals seem to have retained the power of modifying sentences, even though they may rarely have exercised it. In 1663 an old woman, known as Isabel de Montoya, tried for sorcery in Mexico, was sentenced to appear in an auto de fe with the sanbenito, to receive two hundred lashes and to serve for life in a hospital. In the audience-chamber, November 5th, the sentence was read to her, in presence of the fiscal and her advocate. With the assent of the latter, she begged that the sanbenito and the scourging be omitted; she had only been an impostor and had had no pact, expressed or implied, with the demon, and in view of her age and sickness and crippling in the torture she supplicated mercy. On November 7th the fiscal replied to this, asking an aggravation of punishment because it proved her to be an impenitent in denying her pact and intention. November 21st the consulta de fe assembled and unanimously confirmed its former sentence.{99}

The auto de fe was not celebrated until May 4, 1664; on the 6th she was duly scourged through the streets and on the 15th she was delivered to the Hospital del Amor de Dios. Her pitiful prayer, urging age and sickness, was justified for, on June 17th, a messenger from the hospital announced her death, and the inquisitors briefly ordered it to bury her.[261]

As regards cruelty, it is impossible to generalize, where in the earlier periods so much discretion was allowed to the tribunals, and so much depended on the temper of the inquisitors, who might be stern or humane. In the case of the obstinate heretic or of the impenitente negativo there was no question; the law of the land and universal public opinion alike condemned him to the stake but, in the wide sphere of the penitent heretic and of the numerous offences of which the Inquisition had cognizance, there was an ample field for the display of severity or benignity. Against the barbarity of a case like that of Isabel de Montoya, which had too many parallels, may be set the tendencies of the Toledo tribunal about 1600. In its reports to the Suprema at that period there, frequently occur explanatory remarks, as though to apologize for the mildness of the sentences, which indicate its readiness to temper its judgements—such expressions as “she was a poor and ignorant woman,” “she was simple and ignorant,” “she was spared heavier penance because she was only sixteen years old,” “she seemed a very simple and a very good woman,” “recent baptism and drunkenness.” Occasionally, in bigamy cases, involving scourging and the galleys according to rule, the omission of these is justified by the age or weakness of the culprit. Sometimes, but not often, the suffering which the prisoner has endured during prolonged imprisonment is taken into consideration, and is admitted as part of the punishment.[262] This tendency towards mercy becomes more marked in the period of decadence, when the humanitarian development of the age made itself felt even in the Inquisition, and it offers a suggestive contrast to the savage fanaticism of the secular courts of a land which claimed to be more enlightened than Spain. In 1765 a wooden crucifix on the bridge at Abbeville was mutilated and the Bishop of Amiens published a monitoire ordering, under pain of excommunication, any one having knowledge of the matter{100} to denounce the offender. Duval de Saucourt, a counsellor in the court of Abbeville, who was inimical to the Abbess of Villancourt, accused her nephew, the Chevalier de la Barre, a youth of nineteen. The only evidence was that he had once passed a procession without lifting his hat, that he had talked against the Eucharist and had sung impious and licentious songs. He was doubtless irreligious and debauched, and his evil reputation sufficed, in the court of Abbeville, to justify a sentence of amputating his tongue and right hand and burning him alive. Appeal was made to the Parlement of Paris which, by a vote of fifteen to ten, confirmed the sentence, with the mitigation of beheading before concremation and this was duly executed, July 1, 1766.[263] The annals of the Spanish Inquisition offer nothing more hideous than this, and the comparison is the more instructive in that its penalty for sacrilegiously outraging an image of Christ, the Virgin or the saints, with aggravating circumstances, was merely appearance in an auto de fe with the insignia of a blasphemer, abjuration de levi and a hundred lashes or vergüenza or exile, according to the character of the offence and of the culprit.[264]

The Inquisition boasted that it was no respecter of persons and, in one point at least, its rules offer a favorable contrast to those of the secular law. In Spanish law the privileges of gentility were fully recognized and, for many crimes, the penalties assigned to gentle blood were much milder than those inflicted on the commonalty. This was reversed in the Inquisition, where it was prescribed that, in matters of faith, nobles should be punished more severely than plebeians.[265] This was doubtless owing to the assumption that they were more intelligently trained and less exposed to error, besides the fact that their example was more impressive. On the other hand, however, the clergy, for whom less excuse could be found, were treated with much greater leniency than the laity and, far from being utilized as examples, their frailties and errors were shielded as much as possible from public view, in order not to diminish popular reverence for the Church.

The penal resources of the Inquisition, as we shall see, were endless. While, for certain well-defined offences, certain penalties were customary, the discretion of the consultas de fe was bound{101} by no definite limitations as to what were known as penas extraordinarias, and they could devise whatever seemed appropriate to special cases. Infinite gradations and intricate combinations were resorted to in the effort to fit the penalty to the offence of each individual, and also doubtless often to secure unanimity in the consulta de fe, so that not infrequently there are six or eight separate and distinct inflictions in a single sentence. It would be too much to expect that, in so composite an institution, during more than three centuries of existence, there should have been strict consistency in the exercise of this discretional power, but, making allowance for the infirmities of human nature under the temptation of irresponsibility, it can scarce be said that it habitually abused its authority, according to the barbarous standard of the times, except in the infliction of pecuniary penalties on which its finances depended, and in the vindication of its authority against all who dared to question its supremacy. It was callous to the sufferings of those whom it prejudged as guilty; it devised the most atrocious formulas of procedure; but, when it had secured confession or conviction, it was not systematically and ferociously cruel as has so often been asserted.

As regards the enforcement of the sentence, it is to be observed that the penalties divide themselves into two classes. Some, such as relaxation, confiscation, fines, scourging, the galleys, reconciliation and abjuration, were within the power of the tribunal. Others, like imprisonment, the sanbenito, exile and reclusion, depended to a greater or less degree on the will or the fears of the penitent. Theoretically, as we have seen, punishment was regarded as penance, voluntarily accepted by the penitent for the salvation of his soul, but the Inquisition, unlike the father confessor, did not rely wholly on the penitential ardor of the sinner. Punishment retained enough of the character of penance to justify the theologian in treating its non-performance as a proof that repentance had been feigned, and that the offender had relapsed into heresy, the penalty for which, under the canons, was death by fire without trial. In the earlier time this was enforced in so far as was possible. Thus, in 1486, at Saragossa, Rodrigo de Gris, who had been condemned to perpetual imprisonment in a designated house, with the penalty of relapse for leaving it, escaped and was burnt in effigy as a relapsed and, in 1487, Cristóval Gelva, to whom the Hospital of Nuestra Señora de la Gracia was assigned as a perpetual{102} prison, was burnt in effigy for escaping.[266] This continued for some time to be the theory but, in practice, while summoning the fugitive as an impenitent relapsed, to appear for judgement, it was deemed safer to proceed against him in the ordinary way in absentia, waiting for a year and prosecuting him for contumacy. Such a case appears to be that of Bartolomé Gallego, who escaped in 1525 from the penitential prison of Toledo and was condemned to relaxation in effigy, November 3, 1527.[267] Some forty years later, Pablo García explains that the suspicion arising from flight, joined with that of remaining under excommunication for a year, afforded sufficient proof for declaring the fugitive a relapsed heretic and relaxing his effigy. It was only when evidence could be had of subsequent acts of heresy that direct proceedings for relapse were justified, and this was decided in a case where a fugitive was relaxed in effigy, and the Suprema revoked the sentence and rescinded the confiscation.[268]

The theory of relapse was evidently giving way. Simancas tells us that, although supported by high authorities, it is cruel and false and not founded in law; the fugitive is impenitent, not relapsed; if he returns or is captured he is to be heard, and if prepared to obey the Church, his flight only deserves an increase of penalty.[269] How rapidly the ancient severity was disappearing is manifested by a case in Valencia, in 1570. Pedro Luis Verga was prosecuted for Protestantism on a vague accusation that, when studying in Paris in 1555, he had consorted with the dreaded Juan Pérez and had shared his opinions, for which he was reconciled and sentenced not to leave the kingdom. He disobeyed and, in 1570, he was heard of in Genoa, giving utterance to heretical opinions. Now this was a case of relapse, as well as of non-fulfilment of penance, but he was prosecuted for contumacy as a simple fugitive.[270] It was an evidence that the old rule had become obsolete when inquisitors sometimes prescribed in their sentences that the penance was to be performed under pain of impenitent relapse, as in the case of Juan Franco, condemned at Toledo, in 1570, to eight years of galleys for Protestantism, and of Juan Cote, by the same tribunal, in 1615, to irremissible perpetual prison for the{103} same heresy.[271] Towards the middle of the seventeenth century, Alberghini gives the various opinions held on the subject, and concludes that that of Simancas was commonly accepted.[272]

Cases of non-fulfilment were not infrequent for, as we shall see, the discipline of the penitential prisons was exceedingly lax; any penitent could absent himself and then throw off the sanbenito, which was the customary accompaniment of imprisonment, but, although this was canonically relapse, such cases were treated with what in those days might be considered as mercy. Thus Diego González, reconciled for Judaism at Valladolid, in 1644, and condemned to prison and habit, was recognized in 1645, at Medina de Rioseco, without the sanbenito. On being tried for this, the consulta de fe was not unanimous and the Suprema sentenced him to a hundred lashes.[273] It was the same with sentences of exile. In 1667, at Toledo, Francisco López Rodríguez, who had been reconciled in 1665 and had already been prosecuted for non-fulfilment of penance, was tried for doing so again, and was condemned only to a hundred lashes and two years more of exile. So in 1669, Juan López Peatin, for infraction of exile, had only two years added to the original term.[274]

A curious case, however, in 1606, shows how penitents were expected to fulfil their penances. Gaspar Godet, a Morisco, had been condemned at Valencia to reconciliation, a hundred lashes, and perpetual prison, of which the first eight years were to be passed in the galleys. After five years’ service, his galley was captured by the English, near Lisbon, and he was set free. He ought strictly to have conveyed himself on board of another galley to serve out his term, but he seems to have imagined that he was released from his sentence; he quietly returned to his native Torre de Llovis and resumed his profession of surgeon. He was, of course, reported to the tribunal, which seized him in August, 1606, and condemned him not only to complete his sentence but to undergo a hundred lashes and to pay a fine of two hundred libras, although the maximum fine that could legally be imposed on a Morisco was ten ducats.[275]

The renewed activity of the Inquisition, in the early eighteenth{104} century, seems to have been accompanied with a recrudescence of severity in these cases. In the Valencia auto de fe of February 24, 1723, Antonio Rogero was reconciled and condemned to irremissible prison and sanbenito. He escaped but was captured and, in the auto of March 12, 1724, he was condemned to two hundred lashes and five years of galleys, after which he was to be returned to prison, but the inquisitor-general mercifully commuted the scourging and galleys to five years of presidio, or labor in an African garrison. So, in the Valencia auto of June 25, 1724, Joseph Ventura, of Fez, a Moorish convert, had been reconciled with three years of prison and sanbenito; he fled, was captured and, in the auto of July 1, 1725, his prison was made perpetual and irremissible; again he fled, to be again caught and, in the auto of September 17, 1725, he was condemned to five years of galleys, after which he was to be returned to prison.[276]

All these were cases of formal heresy, for relapse in which the canonical punishment was burning. For offences less heinous, which inferred only suspicion of heresy, there was an occasional practice of including in the sentence a penalty for non-fulfilment of the penance. This was in every respect an arbitrary matter, concerning which no generalization can be formulated, for it is frequently impossible to divine why, in a group of similar cases, some sentences should carry this threat and some should not. This apparently objectless diversity is markedly exhibited in the auto of May 13, 1565, at Seville, where there were a large number of penitents thus arbitrarily differentiated. In the cases where the threat was employed, there was slender indication of mercy, for where exile for life or for a term of years was imposed, the penalty for non-fulfilment was that it should be completed in the galleys. In one case, that of Abel Jocis, for conveying arms to Barbary, the sentence was merely a prohibition to sail to Barbary, but a violation of this was visited with the galleys for life.[277] It should be added, however, for the credit of the Inquisition, that it not infrequently made threats which it had not the cruelty to execute. Thus the tribunal of Toledo, on a charge of divination, banished from Spain a priest named Fernando Betanzas, with a threat of the galleys for disobedience. Not long afterwards the Bishop of Salamanca found and arrested him, and the Suprema,{105} December 22, 1636, ordered the tribunal of Valladolid to investigate the case, after which the Suprema contented itself with deporting him to Portugal, and warning him that, if he returned again, he should be sent to the galleys.[278]

The case of the Augustinian Fray Diego Caballero, in 1716, indicates how non-fulfilment of penance might convert into formal heresy that which was mere suspicion. For uttering unacceptable propositions, he had been sentenced by the tribunal of Córdova to reclusion for four years in the convent of Guadix. He fled from there and continued to repeat his erroneous utterances, for which the Toledo tribunal pronounced him to be relapsed in grave crime and sentenced him to abjure de vehementi, to be suspended from his orders for a year, to perpetual deprivation of preaching, confessing and the right to vote and be voted for, to ten years’ exile from a number of places, to four years’ reclusion in a designated house, where for six months he was to be confined in a cell. He was also to wear a sanbenito, while his sentence was read in the audience-chamber, and the next day it was to be read to the assembled brethren of his Toledo convent, who were to administer to him a circular discipline, and he was to forfeit half his peculium—and all this under pain of being held as an impenitent relapsed.[279] What is noteworthy here is not only the severity of this long accumulation of penalties, but also the abjuration de vehementi which rendered reincidence in the abjured errors a matter for the stake.

In the medieval Inquisition it may be said that acquittal was virtually prohibited—a sentence of not proven might possibly be rendered, but acquittal was an admission of fallibility and was regarded as a bar to subsequent proceedings in case further evidence was obtained.[280] This principle was maintained in the Roman Inquisition, although, in the eighteenth century, exception was made in cases where the adverse evidence was clearly proved to be fraudulent.[281] The Spanish Holy Office was not quite so sensitive,{106} and had no hesitation as to repeated prosecutions, so that to it acquittal was a less serious matter. Moreover, while sentences of not proven were not unknown, there was an equivalent device by which the accused could be dismissed without admitting his innocence—suspending the case and discharging him, subject to the liability of its being reopened at any time.

The furious zeal of Torquemada rendered acquittal peculiarly distasteful to him, and we have seen above (Vol. I, p. 175) a case in which he set aside acquittals at Medina del Campo, and insisted on conviction although, at his instance, the parties had been tried twice and had been tortured without confession. This temper on his part could not but impress itself on his subordinates, and yet we occasionally meet with acquittals in this early time—acquittals, however, which manifest a strange mental confusion, and betray the unwillingness to admit the prosecution of the innocent, for they couple acquittal with punishment. Thus at Guadalupe, in 1485, in the case of Andrés Alonso of Trogillano, the sentence recites that the fiscal had not proved his accusation as fully as he ought, wherefore the inquisitors absolved the accused but, as the evidence aroused some suspicion in their hearts, for the satisfaction of their consciences and his, they sentenced him to abjure de levi and, as some infamy had accrued to him from the accusation, they removed it and restored him to his former good repute, and lifted the sequestration on his property. Whereupon he duly abjured de levi, renouncing all manner of heresy, and especially that of which he was accused, promising to be always obedient to the Church, after which he was absolved ad cautelam from any excommunication which he might have incurred, and of all this he asked to have a certificate.[282] All the acquittals that I have met, of this period, bear this illogical character, sometimes even requiring abjuration de vehementi and inflicting penalties for the offence of which the accused is pronounced innocent.

In Barcelona, the Inquisition had been established twelve years before the first acquittal was granted, and, from such record as we have, it would appear that there were acquittals of more than one kind—conditional and unconditional. Thus, in 1499, Jayme Castanyer and Eufrosina Pometa were acquitted, but were required to abjure publicly on May 2d, and, on October 5th, Luys Palau was acquitted. In 1500, on September 18th, four women were{107} acquitted absolutely, two men were acquitted with penance, and two women and a man were acquitted with abjuration. Then, on October 5th, the memory and fame of Juan de Ribes Altes were cleared and, on December 20, 1501, Blanquina Darla was acquitted absolutely.[283]

In a record of the Toledo tribunal, from 1484 to 1531, there are eighty-six cases of acquittal, or an average of somewhat less than two per annum which, in view of the intense activity of the earlier period, indicates how few escaped when once the Inquisition had laid its hand upon them. Some of these cases show how long the conditional acquittal persisted. Thus of those acquitted, Hernando Parral was required to abjure, and Francisca Ramírez and Catalina beata negra abjured de vehementi. Unless there is a mistake by the scribe, Leonora de la Oliva of Ciudad Real was acquitted and scourged, October 3, 1521, and again had the same sentence October 13, 1530. In 1520 Alonso Hernández was acquitted with public penance and, in 1513, Sancho de Ribera was acquitted with confiscation. One entry is difficult of comprehension—that of Inez González, who was voted to acquittal with reconciliation and confiscation, but the confiscation was remitted.[284]

Practically acquittal amounted only to a sentence of not proven. In the formula for it, Pablo García calls special attention to the omission of the word “definitive,” pointing out that it is not final, for the case could be reopened at any time that fresh evidence was obtained—and even without it, as we have seen in the case of Villanueva. In matters of faith there was no finality, no cosa juzgada, and it was so declared by Pius V, in the bull Inter multiplices, invalidating all letters of absolution and acquittal issued by inquisitors and other spiritual judges.[285] In strict accordance with this principle was the rule that sentences of acquittal of the living were not to be read at the autos de fe, unless at their especial request, while acquittals of the dead were read; in either case, the sentence simply stated that he had been accused of heresy and no details were given; if living he did not appear at the auto and if dead there{108} was no effigy.[286] All this was in direct contradiction to the glowing eulogy of Páramo who, as we have seen, states that the inquisitors used every means to prove the innocence of the accused and, when they succeeded, took care that he should go forth like a conqueror crowned with laurel and the palm of victory.[287] Yet Páramo had some justification in the fact that there were rare exceptional cases in which the acquitted was thus honored. The only instance of this that I have met in Spain was that referred to above (Vol. II, p. 561), where fourteen residents of Cádiz were falsely accused. In Peru, however, several cases are recorded. In the Lima auto of 1728 Doctor Agustin Valenciano appeared in the procession on a white horse, with a palm, and proclamation was made of his innocence. In the great auto of January 23, 1639, there were seven thus honored after their three years of incarceration, and in that of October 19, 1749, the effigy of Don Juan de Loyola, who had died in prison in 1745, headed the procession, bearing a palm. This last case is perhaps explicable by Jesuit influence, for he was of the family of St. Ignatius, and further reparation was made by creating his brother, Don Ignacio de Loyola y Haro alguazil mayor of the tribunal, while three nephews were made familiars.[288]

The reluctance of the tribunals to pronounce a sentence of acquittal is illustrated in the case of Francisco Marco, tried at Barcelona for bigamy, in 1718. Unable to prove the charge, which was punishable with scourging and galleys, the tribunal sentenced him to have his sentence con meritos read in the audience-chamber, to be reprimanded and threatened, and to be banished from Barcelona and Madrid for six years. In the earlier period this sentence would have stood, but by this time the Suprema was in full control and it expressed great surprise at so unjust a decision, inflicting so foul a stigma on the accused. It declared null and void all the acts of the process, it ordered Marco to be discharged at once, and that the inquisitors should defray out of their salaries all the cost of his imprisonment.[289]

The indisposition to acquit found expression in the device known as suspension. When the effort to convict failed, the case could be suspended, thus leaving matters as they stood; the accused was{109} neither acquitted nor convicted, the case could at any moment be reopened and prosecuted to the end, and it hung over the unfortunate victim while it saved the infallibility of the tribunal. The earliest allusion to it that I have met occurs in the Instructions of 1498, which show that it was a usage already established and abused, for it is forbidden in prosecutions of the dead, except when further evidence is expected, and acquittal is ordered when the proof is imperfect, because there are many cases of suspension that inflict hardship through the sequestrations continuing in force.[290]

Suspension was a convenient resource for a tribunal, unable to convict yet unwilling to acquit, and desirous to conceal its failure. At first it was comparatively rare, but in time it became a favorite method of escaping a decision and, as it gradually, for the most part, replaced acquittal, in its development it might even remove the stigma; in the great majority of cases it was practically the end of the matter, and it was usually accompanied with lifting the sequestration. Some authorities held that a case could not be entered as suspended, if there was enough in it to justify a reprimand, or even when the offence was trivial and the defendant was cautioned not to speak or act in that fashion, but this rigidity of definition was not observed in practice. When suspension was decided upon, the accused was not permitted to know it. He was simply brought into the audience-chamber; if he had been confined in the secret prison he was put through the customary inquiries as to what he had seen and heard, and was sworn to secrecy; he was told that for just reasons he was granted the favor of returning home and that he must seek to discharge his conscience for his case was still pending.[291] This mystery served to keep him in suspense, but, after he found the sequestration or embargo lifted from his property, he could doubtless fathom its meaning. If he demanded a definite sentence of conviction or acquittal, he had the right to do so, but I have met with no instance of this, and few could have been hardy enough thus to tempt their fate. If he asked for a certificate that he was freely discharged, or that his case was suspended, it was not to be given, but the Suprema might grant him one to the effect that he was discharged without penance or condemnation.[292]

Suspension wholly without penance was, however, unusual,{110} for the infallibility of the Inquisition was commonly emphasized by accompanying it with some infliction, more or less severe. The lightest of these was the reprimand and warning administered when discharging the accused. In 1650 the tribunal of Toledo summarily got rid of quite a number of cases in this fashion—four on June 18th, two on the 25th and three on the 30th, and those were fortunate who escaped so lightly. About the same time, Doña Gabriela Ramírez de Guzman, accused of superstitious sorcery, was not only reprimanded, when her case was suspended, but was banished for a year from Toledo and Madrid, and the same penance was assigned to Domingo de Acuña, when his trial for propositions was suspended.[293] How little incongruity was recognized in this is illustrated by the case of Martin Mitorovich, at Madrid, in 1801, when one of the inquisitors voted to suspend the case and confine him for life in the hospital of Ceuta.[294] In fact, as suspension grew more frequent in the closing years of the Inquisition, it was often coupled with severe inflictions. Thus, August 30, 1815, the tribunal of Llerena suspended the case of María del Carmen Cavallero y Berrocal, but sentenced her to reprimand, two hundred lashes and three years’ seclusion in a hospital; at the same time, in view of her ingenuous confession, the scourging was suspended until her amendment should earn its forgiveness, and the same phrases were used with her accomplice, Nicolás Sánchez Espinal, who was sentenced to reprimand, certain spiritual exercises and perpetual exile from the province.[295]

In cases like these, however, suspension had somewhat outgrown its original purpose of a substitute for acquittal, and was a more than doubtful mercy, for the case remained unconcluded, though visited with full penalties, and could at any moment be reopened. That originally it was merely a convenient device for escaping the admission of having prosecuted the innocent is manifested by cases of which the records are full. Thus, in 1607, Francisco Dendolea, a Morisco of Xea, was tried at Valencia on the evidence of a witness that, when limosnero or almoner of Xea, he had, under pretext of begging for the poor, used his office to serve notices of the commencement of the fast of Ramadan and give other ceremonial instructions. He proved that he never{111} was limosnero and the charge fell to the ground, but the case was merely suspended. So, in 1653, Doña Isabel del Castillo was prosecuted for Judaism at Toledo. She had previously been reconciled at Valladolid, and it was found that the evidence related to a period prior to the reconciliation. She of course ought to have been acquitted, but the case was suspended.[296] Even more self-evident is the case of the Benedictine Padre Francisco Salvador, tried at Valladolid, in 1640, for sundry propositions presented in a competition for a professorship. The consulta de fe voted to suspend the case and the Suprema, in confirming the sentence, added that a certificate should be given to him that no offence had been found that would in any way prejudice him.[297]

There was also a kind of imperfect or informal acquittal, which consisted in admitting the accused to bail at the end of the trial. It saved the tribunal from the trouble of a decision and of an acknowledgement that the prosecution had been in error, but it was cruel to the party involved, as it left him but partly liberated and with the stigma of heresy. Its working is fairly exemplified by the case of Petronila de Lucena, tried in 1534, at Toledo on a charge of Lutheranism. After nearly a year’s incarceration, her brother, also under trial, revoked in the torture the evidence which he had given against her. There was no other testimony, yet she was not acquitted but merely released, March 20, 1535, under bail of a hundred thousand maravedis, to present herself when summoned. The security was furnished and she was delivered to the bondsmen as her gaolers. On June 27th, she petitioned for release, for the discharge of the bondsmen and for the removal of the sequestration, which included some articles of personal necessity in the hands of the gaoler; she was, she pleaded, poor and an orphan, she needed the property and wished to be free to dispose of herself. No notice was taken of this and, sixteen months later, on October 20, 1536, she applied again; this time an order to lift the sequestration was issued, but there is no record of her having been released from subjection to bail. She thus remained under the ban and, at the age of 25, the two careers open to a Spanish woman—marriage and the nunnery—were virtually closed to her.[298]

{112}

There was yet another kind of acquittal, still more informal, in which the accused was simply discharged and bade to be gone, without a sentence, leaving him under the dreadful uncertainty of what might be his position. An instance of this is the case of Miguel Mezquita, tried for Lutheranism at Valencia, in 1536. The evidence was of the flimsiest, and the inquisitors merely ordered him to be released from prison without making further provision.[299]

The comparative frequency of these various forms of release, in the earlier period, may be inferred from the record of the Toledo tribunal from 1484 to 1531, in which there are eighty-six cases of acquittal, to only four of suspension, four of release under bail, and two of simple discharge—the latter forms thus being negligible quantities.[300] The proportions changed rapidly with time, showing how much more in harmony with the spirit of the institution were the forms which evaded acknowledgement of error. A record of the same tribunal, from 1575 to 1610, contains an aggregate of eleven hundred and seventy-two cases of all kinds, in which there were fifty-one acquittals, ninety-eight suspensions and thirty simple discharges.[301] This tendency continued with increasing development. A Toledo record from 1648 to 1694, comprises twelve hundred and five cases, of which but six ended in acquittal, one in discharge for mistaken identity, and a hundred and four in suspension, nearly all of the latter coupled with a reprimand in the audience-chamber—apparently a scolding for having given the tribunal so much bootless trouble. The suspensions were, in nearly every case, ordered by the Suprema, as though the inquisitors shrank from the admission which it involved.[302]

This repugnance existed to the last. In 1806, Don Matias Brabo, an ex-Agonizante and calificador of the Saragossa tribunal, was tried in Madrid on the charge of uttering certain propositions; he was acquitted but, in view of his disorderly life, especially in regard to the sixth commandment, he was sentenced to a reprimand, to fifteen days of spiritual exercises, and to make a general confession at such time as he could do so without disrepute.[303]

{113}

The same spirit is seen in the instructions of the Suprema, October 14, 1819, to the Cuenca tribunal, authorizing the arrest and trial of María Martínez for propositions. In case, it says, the trial shows that she has not erred in the matters charged, or in anything else, she is to be reprimanded and warned and told that the tribunal is keeping a watch over her acts.[304]

There was another kind of suspension, by far the most frequent of all. It often happened, especially in the later periods, that the sumaria, or collection of evidence against a presumed offender, proved insufficient to justify prosecution. In such cases it would be quietly voted to suspension; it was filed away in its place among the records, ready to be exhumed at any time, when further information might supply deficiencies and induce active proceedings. Thousands of these abortive processes reposed in the secreto of the tribunals, the subjects of which were unconscious of the dangers which had threatened them, or that their names were on the lists of suspects of the dreaded tribunal. That they were kept under surveillance is indicated by an occasional note, such as one respecting a certain Johann Wegelin, a Calvinist—“there is a sumaria which has been withdrawn because he became insane and returned to his own country,” or in another case “suspended because he died in 1802.”[305]

Yet, taking it as a whole, when we consider that the inquisitorial system was so framed as to put every temptation in the way of the judges to condemn, for the sake of confiscations, fines, penances, dispensations and commutations, it is rather creditable that acquittals and suspensions should occur in the records even as frequently as we find them there, though of course we have no means of knowing whether those who thus escaped were among the wealthy or the poor.

There was still another possible form of sentence. The Barbarians who overthrew the Roman Empire brought with them an ancestral custom, known as compurgation or, in England, as the Wager of Law, by which a defendant, in either a civil or criminal action, could maintain his title or his innocence by taking an oath and bringing a specified number of men who swore to their belief in its truth. They were known as conjurators{114} or compurgators and were in no sense witnesses; they pretended to no knowledge of the facts but only to their confidence in the veracity of their principal. This crude method of establishing the truth was maintained in all the lands occupied by the Teutonic tribes except in Spain, where the Wisigoths early yielded to the influence of the Roman law. It was eagerly adopted by the clergy, who found in it a convenient means of escaping from the harsher expedients of the ordeal or the wager of battle, so that it acquired the name of canonical purgation.[306] In the thirteenth century, the Inquisition found it used in the trial of heretics and necessarily included it among the resources for doubtful cases, although inquisitorial methods were too thorough to call for its frequent employment.

The Spanish Inquisition naturally inherited compurgation among the other traditions of the institution. When conviction could not be had by evidence or torture, and yet the suspicion was too grave to justify acquittal, it could sentence the accused to undergo compurgation. He could not demand it, nor could he decline it, though he might appeal from the sentence; and failure in compurgation was equivalent to conviction, while success was not acquittal but required abjuration and penance at the discretion of the tribunal, because, although legally shown not to be a heretic, the accused had to be punished for “suspicion.”

The early Instructions are silent on the subject, and such cases of the period as I have met indicate that there was no rigidly prescribed method of procedure, although, in the main, they accord in showing it to be a kind of trial by jury, after the tribunal had failed to reach a decision. The general features of the process can be gathered from the case at Saragossa of Beatriz Beltran, wife of the Juan de la Caballería, accused of complicity in the murder of San Pedro Arbues, who died in prison and was relaxed in effigy in the auto of July 8, 1491. She was put on trial for Judaism in 1489; the evidence against her was by no means decisive, while the defence discredited the witnesses and proved by abundant testimony her devotion to the Church, her regular attendance at mass and confession for more than twenty years, her liberality in the celebration of masses and her long hours{115} spent in daily prayer. She could not be tortured in view of her advanced age and severe infirmities and, on August 9, 1492, the consulta de fe voted unanimously that, as torture was out of the question, she be sentenced to canonical purgation, at the judgement of the inquisitors when, if she should purge herself, she should abjure publicly as vehemently suspect of heresy and of Judaizing, and should perform penance at the discretion of the tribunal. The next day the inquisitors pronounced that she was not convicted but vehemently suspect, wherefore she should purge herself with twelve conjurators. They were duly selected and a term of three days was assigned, within which the ceremony should be performed. They assembled in the Aljafería on August 23d, when the publication of evidence and the defence were read to them. She was sworn to tell the truth and was asked whether she had committed these crimes, to which she replied in the negative and was then removed from the room. The inquisitors again read the accusatory evidence and the defence, the compurgators were sworn to tell the truth, and the inquisitors polled them. The first one, Pedro Monterde, said that he believed Beatriz to have sworn truly, for he had known her for fifteen years and had always held her to be a good Christian, the rest unanimously concurred and the purgation was successful. Then, on September 8th, she appeared in an auto as a penitent and, on the 17th, she abjured all heresies and especially those of which she was vehemently suspected, after which the inquisitors rendered sentence, declaring her to be vehemently suspect of the crimes which she had abjured and, as these suspicions and crimes could not be left unpunished, they penanced her with forbidding her to commit these crimes, with the payment of all costs of her trial, the taxation of which they reserved to themselves, and with performing such penance as they might impose on her. The record fails to inform us what was that penance, but it probably transferred to the tribunal a large portion of the property that had escaped her husband’s confiscation.[307]

The threat that failure would imply condemnation was by no means an idle one. About this time, Fray Juan de Madrid was tried before the tribunal of Toledo; there was much adverse evidence{116} in full detail, and the only defence lay in disabling the witnesses. This was partially successful, but enough remained to justify the inquisitors in saying in the sentence that he could have been condemned on it but that, in benignity and mercy, he was offered compurgation. He willingly accepted it and named his compurgators, but half of them refused to sustain his oath of denial, declaring that through their knowledge of him they held him as suspect. This was conclusive; he was considered to be convicted of the charges and the consulta de fe had no hesitation in voting him to relaxation. In like manner, on February 3, 1503, Jayme Benet was burnt at Barcelona because he failed in the compurgation enjoined on him.[308]

A change, probably attributable to the growing desire for absolute secrecy, prescribed by the Instructions of 1500, altered profoundly the prevailing theory of compurgation, for it prohibited the reading to the compurgators of the evidence and defence. In their presence the accused was to deny under oath the charges which were recapitulated by the inquisitors, and the compurgators were simply to be asked whether they believed that he swore the truth, and no other questions.[309] There seems to have been some trouble in abrogating the custom of reading the evidence, for the prohibition had to be repeated in 1514.[310]

In the project presented to Charles V, in 1520, by the Conversos, with the object of rendering the inquisitorial process less effective, there was included a modification of compurgation in such wise as to facilitate escape.[311] Of course no attention was paid to this, but that some alteration of the process was required by justice is manifest from one or two minor reforms soon afterwards. In 1523 it was ordered that the fiscal should not be present after the compurgators were sworn, which is suggestive of his influencing them adversely. Still more essential was a regulation of 1529, forbidding those who had testified against the accused from serving as his compurgators.[312] Apparently it was one of the results of suppressing the names of witnesses that the poor wretch, in his{117} ignorance, would sometimes call upon those to save him who had been procuring his destruction, and the inquisitors had not sufficient sense of justice to exclude them, although they had power to refuse admission to any one supposed to be friendly to him. There was also a favorable modification of the ancient practice requiring unanimity on the part of the conjurators, for Simancas tells us that the inquisitors, when specifying the number to act, could also designate how many defections would be allowed without prejudicing the result.[313]

Yet by the middle of the century, when Simancas wrote, compurgation was becoming obsolete. He denounces it as blind, perilous and deceitful, and says that it especially should not be forced upon those of Jewish or Moorish descent, for it is equivalent to sending them on the direct road to the stake, since no one could help thinking ill of them, or at least doubting their innocence. Besides, nearly all men are now so corrupt, and Christian charity is so cold, that scarce any one can be found who will purge another, or who will not have an evil suspicion and interpret matters for the worst. To defeat the accused it suffices for the conjurators to say that they do not know, or that they doubt whether he has told the truth, and who is there who will not feel uncertain when he knows that no one is exposed to purgation unless he is vehemently suspected.[314]

This is echoed by the Instructions of 1561, which indicate how compurgation was passing out of use by the brief allusion vouchsafed to it. It is to be performed in accordance with the Instructions, with such number of compurgators as the consulta de fe may prescribe, but inquisitors must bear in mind that the malice of men at the present time renders it perilous, that it is not much in use, and that it must be employed with the utmost caution.[315]

Still, subsequently to this, Pablo García gives full and curious details as to procedure, which show how it had become hedged around with limitations that rendered it a desperate expedient for the accused. The compurgators had to be Old Christians, zealous for the faith, who had known the accused for a specified number of years, and were not of kin or well disposed towards him. He was required to name more than the number designated, so as to allow for those who might have died or be absent, showing{118} that he had to act in the solitude of the cell where perhaps he had been confined for years. When the sentence of compurgation was announced to him, he was given a certain term in which to make his selection and, if he allowed this to elapse, he was at the discretion of the tribunal. No communication with the compurgators was allowed, and when they were assembled each one was separately and secretly examined to ascertain whether he lacked any of the necessary qualifications, what were his relations with the accused, whether he would give anything to secure his discharge, whether any one had spoken with him and asked him to serve, or whether he had intimated to any of the kindred that he was willing to act. While thus carefully guarding against possible friendship, it is significant that there is no instruction to inquire into possible enmity.

The ceremony was performed with considerable impressiveness. On the table of the audience-chamber there were placed with much solemnity a cross, the gospels, and two lighted candles. The prisoner was brought in, his list of selections was read to him and he was asked if he recognized them, to which he assented and said that he presented them as his compurgators. They were then asked if they wished to serve or not; if they accepted, a solemn oath was taken by the prisoner to tell the truth and not to conceal it for fear of death or of loss of property or of honor or for any other reason. The inquisitors then recited the charges which created vehement suspicion and asked him, under his oath, whether he was guilty of them and, after he had answered, he was led back to his cell. Then, if necessary, the nature of compurgation was explained to the compurgators and they were sworn to answer truly and not to deny the truth for hate, or love, or fear, or affection, or other motive. They were kept apart, without communication with each other, and each was examined separately and in secret whether he understood what had passed and whether, in accordance with what he knew of the accused, he believed that he had told the truth, and after replying he was made to promise secrecy under pain of excommunication. The answers were carefully taken down and were signed by the compurgators.[316]

Conducted after this fashion it is easy to understand why compurgation should be characterized as blind and perilous. The{119} accused had to make his selection blindly, and the qualifications required of conjurators almost insured their unfavorable opinion, at a time when the operations of the Inquisition had caused every man to look upon his neighbor with suspicion, especially when that neighbor was one whom the tribunal required to undergo compurgation. Yet, although the Inquisition thus risked little in subjecting doubtful cases to it, there was ample reason for allowing it to fall into desuetude. Secrecy had become a cardinal principle in all inquisitorial proceedings and it was violated by calling in a dozen laymen to see the prisoner, to hear the charges against him and to participate in the judgement to be passed upon him. Besides, it was an acknowledgement that there were cases in which the assumed omniscience and infallibility of the Holy Office were at fault, and had to be supplemented by the random opinions of a few men selected by the accused. As practised for centuries in the ecclesiastical courts, it had been an easy method for the guilty to escape merited chastisement; as modified by the Inquisition, it became a pitfall for the innocent; it was wholly at variance with the inquisitorial process as developed in Spain and, while its place in the canon law prevented its formal abolition, the tribunals had exclusive discretion as to its employment, and that discretion was used to render it obsolete. Still, it maintained its place as a legal form of procedure. Even as late as 1645, among the interrogatories provided for a visitation, the question was still retained as to whether the forms of the Instructions were observed in canonical compurgation, although a writer of the same period tells us that it is not to be employed because, if the accused overcomes sufficient torture, he is to be discharged.[317]

In the Roman Inquisition we find compurgation ordered as late as 1590, in the case of a priest of Piacenza, accused of certain heretical propositions; the compurgators were to be five beneficed priests of good character and acquainted with the life of the accused. If the purgation was successful he was to be proclaimed of good repute as to the faith, and was to perform salutary penance for the imprudence of his utterances.[318] By the middle of the{120} seventeenth century, however, Carena tells us that it had been virtually disused by the Congregation, as most perilous, fallacious and uncertain.[319]

From this brief review of the various characteristics of the sentence, it will be seen that the Inquisition had at hand formulas adapted to every possible exigency, in the administration of its extensive and highly diversified jurisdiction. Until the development of the authority of the Suprema over the local tribunals, the use made of these formulas depended on the temperament of the individual inquisitors, shielded as they were from responsibility by secrecy and by the virtual suppression of the right of appeal, except in trivial matters. It must be borne in mind, moreover that, even when their sentences may seem merciful, there was always behind them the most grievous infliction of an infamy which affected the honor and the fortunes of a whole lineage.{121}

CHAPTER II.

MINOR PENALTIES

IN the preceding chapter the general penal system of the Inquisition has been considered, but for its proper comprehension a brief exposition of its several penalties is requisite. In this it is unnecessary to treat of confiscation and pecuniary penance which have already been discussed as constituting the financial basis of the existence of the Holy Office.

REPRIMAND.

Of the minor inflictions, the most nearly universal was the reprimand. It is naturally absent from the severer sentences of reconciliation and relaxation but, with these exceptions, scarce any defendant escaped it, no matter how groundless the accusation was proved to be, or how plainly his innocence was manifested. The freedom with which it was administered is evidenced in a phrase of frequent occurrence in the reports of the Toledo tribunal—“as no offence was proved, he was reprimanded and warned for the future.”[320] We have seen that some strict constructionists held that reprimand was incompatible with suspension, but that this principle was universally disregarded. The same authority asserts that no reprimand was to be administered without a formal sentence, but cases are numerous in which it is expressly recorded that the party was reprimanded without a sentence, and sometimes this was by the special command of the Suprema. In the Valladolid tribunal there were eight such cases in the year 1641.[321] To scold the defendant was one of the prerogatives of the inquisitor, from the use of which he rarely abstained,{122} especially as it afforded the opportunity of expatiating on the benignity which imposed penalties so incommensurate with the offences.

The severity of the infliction varied with his temper and power of invective, but constant practice rendered him skilful in detecting the sensitive places, and in applying the lash where it would be most keenly felt. There were those among the victims who regarded this as a severer penalty than a pecuniary penance, and it is not surprising that it occasionally drew forth remonstrance and retort, which were promptly suppressed by the infliction of a fine for the expenses of the tribunal.[322] No record was made of reprimands, beyond the fact of their utterance, but there is one which chances to have been preserved as it seems to have been carefully elaborated and reduced to writing. It was administered by the Licentiate Juan de Mañozca, who had been President of the Chancellery of Granada, to an unlucky gentleman prosecuted for having said that belief in matters of faith was good breeding. He had made the case worse by arguing, in his defence, that he could conceive of no word more applicable to the matter than cortesía, and that his long residence at the court had familiarized him with all the niceties of the Castilian tongue. For this, as a proposition ill-sounding and savoring of heresy, Mañozca belabored him through ten closely-written pages of savage ridicule. “In the Andalusian tunny fishery” he said “there may be seen an infinity of tunnies, the smallest of them as big as you, and yet not one of them will show the least particle of salt, although they have lived in the midst of salt.” So he went on, quoting the Scriptures, the classic poets and Plato, to prove that the unfortunate culprit was an ignoramus, closely approaching a heretic. Such ignorance was likened to the unfruitful ears of corn which, according to Christ, are only fit to be swept up and burnt, and the diatribe concluded with the significant warning that it was the Inquisition which gathered such worthless stocks and delivered them to the secular arm, that they might pass through temporal to eternal flame.[323] Doubtless the culprit was a fool, but his folly merited no such terrific warning.{123}

ABJURATION.

Suspicion of heresy, as we have seen, was, in itself, a crime requiring punishment. In accusations of formal heresy which failed of proof, there remained, as a rule, at least suspicion, and there was besides a number of offences which, though not in themselves heretical, were brought under the jurisdiction of the Inquisition by a more or less forced assumption that they inferred suspicion of heresy—that no one who believed rightly as to sacraments and points of doctrine could be guilty of them. In the Old Inquisition, this suspicion was classified as light, vehement or violent and these distinctions were retained in the New. Violent suspicion, however, may be discarded from consideration here, for it sufficed for condemnation and, in practice, it admitted of no disproof or explanation for, although theoretically it might be explained away, this was but a bare possibility. As Peña says, it created presumption of law, as when a man remained for a year under excommunication.[324]

The distinction between light and vehement suspicion was somewhat nebulous. Like everything else in the vague region of morals, it was incapable of accurate definition, and each case had to be decided on its own merits, according to the temper of the judges. Alberghini’s attempted test of infrequent or habitual performance of acts inferring suspicion fails utterly in practice and moreover leaves unsettled the more important and common class of cases where testimony was insufficient for conviction and yet too strong for acquittal.[325] Moreover, suspicion might be modified by exterior circumstances, as when Miguel Calvo tells us that, with Moriscos, however slender may be the suspicion, it must be treated as vehement.[326] It was evidently impossible to prescribe any absolute rule, and it is to the credit of the Inquisition that it rarely pronounced suspicion to be vehement, while light suspicion occurs in almost all sentences short of reconciliation. Thus, in the Toledo record from 1648 to 1794, there are three hundred and fourteen abjurations de levi and only fifty-one de vehementi—or about an average of one every three years.[327]

{124}

Whatever other punishment might be visited on suspicion, abjuration of heresy in general, and especially of the heresy suspected, was indispensable. This could be administered either in the audience-chamber, or in a public auto de fe, and was an impressive ceremony. In the face of a cross and with his hand on the gospels, the culprit swore that he accepted the Catholic faith and detested and anathematized every species of heresy, and especially that of which he was suspect. He pledged himself always to keep the faith of the Church and to be obedient to the pope and the papal decrees. He declared that all who opposed the Catholic faith were worthy of condemnation, promising never to join them, but to persecute them and denounce them to prelates and inquisitors. He swore to receive patiently and humbly all penance imposed on him, and to fulfil it with all his strength. If the abjuration was for light suspicion, he consented and desired that, if he failed in any part of this, he should be held as impenitent and he submitted himself to the correction and severity of the canons, so that the penalties prescribed in them should be executed on his person, and finally he called upon the notary to record it and on all present to serve as witnesses. If the abjuration was for vehement suspicion, he consented and desired that, if he failed in his promises, he should be held and considered as a relapsed and suffer the penalties provided for relapse. This was the difference between abjuration de levi and abjuration de vehementi, so often alluded to above, and it was of no small import under the canons. After the former, reincidence in the offence entailed no special penalty; it was at the discretion of the tribunal merely to repeat the previous sentence, or to aggravate it, as the case might appear to deserve. But, after the latter, reincidence was relapse, for which the canons decreed irrevocable burning, ipso facto and without trial. To impress this on the penitent, his abjuration de vehementi was written out and he was made to sign it. Then, on the next day after the auto de fe, he was brought into the audience-chamber, it was read to him and he was warned to observe its conditions for, if he should again fall into any heresy whatever, he would be treated as a relapsed without mercy, and it would be the same if he did not perform the penance imposed.[328]

In spite of these impressive formalities, I think it doubtful{125} whether, after the first furious rush of persecution was past, the extreme penalty of relaxation, for reincidence after abjuration de vehementi, was customary. As a rule, in the later periods, inquisitors rather endeavored to avoid relaxation and, while they were callous, they were not apt to be unnecessarily cruel. I have not happened to meet with such a case, while I have found more than one in which the canons were not observed. In fact, a learned writer of the second half of the seventeenth century argues elaborately, with the citation of many authorities, to show that reincidence after abjuration de vehementi does not incur the punishment of relapse, despite the penalties expressed in the formula, and this would appear to have been tacitly accepted, for a custom arose of specifying in the sentence whether or not the abjuration should entail the penalty. Thus, in 1725 at Cuenca, Doctor Zapata, accused of Judaism, was required to abjure de vehementi with liability to relaxation, while in 1794, at Toledo, Damaso José López de Cruz, for heretical propositions, was sentenced to similar abjuration without such liability.[329] There was another distinction between the two forms of abjuration, for those who abjured de vehementi were subject to the disgrace of appearing in an auto de fe and of wearing a sanbenito de media aspa—or with one band of color across it, before and behind.[330]

The Instructions of 1561 state that, when there is semi-proof, or such indications that the accused cannot be acquitted, there are three remedies, compurgation, torture or abjuration; but this is scarce correct, for those who succeeded in compurgation were always, and those who overcame torture were generally, required to abjure. The Instructions add that abjuration, whether for light or vehement suspicion, is rather a measure to inspire fear for the future than a punishment for the past, and therefore it is usually accompanied with pecuniary penance.[331] In fact, it was only in trifling cases, or in suspensions, that abjuration was not associated with much severer penalties. This was inevitable in the large class of offences which, by a strained construction, inferred suspicion of heresy. In these, when guilt was proven, it received its appropriate punishment, perhaps of scourging or the galleys, and the abjuration was a mere formality to satisfy{126} the artificial ascription of heretical belief. In cases of suspicion of real heresy, abjuration, whether de levi or de vehementi, was a necessary adjunct to the punishment. Thus in the Toledo auto of February 7, 1694, Luis de Vargas, for “suspicions of Judaism,” was sentenced to abjure de levi, to pay a fine of two hundred ducats and to be exiled for six years from various places. So, in 1715, at Toledo, the Carmelite Fray Francisco Martínez de Salazar, “for crimes vehemently suspect of heresy,” appeared in the audience-chamber with a sanbenito de media aspa, in the presence of twelve priests; he abjured de vehementi, was sternly reprimanded and threatened, and sentenced to a long list of penalties, including deprivation of functions, reclusion for six years in a convent and a circular discipline in the Carmelite house of Toledo.[332] On this composite sentence the consulta de fe had evidently exhausted its ingenuity, and the abjuration was merely a formal necessity to justify the rest. Yet, while abjuration in itself can scarce be termed a punishment it was, even when only de levi, an infliction of no little severity, in consequence of the infamy which it entailed, as we have seen in the Villanueva case, where the victim and his kindred struggled for so many years in Rome to have it removed.

EXILE.

Frequent allusions above to exile as occurring in sentences indicate how customary a feature it was in the penal system of the Inquisition. By itself, or in combination with other penalties, it was an unfailing resort in offences that did not incur the graver punishment of imprisonment. It could be varied indefinitely, to suit the peculiarities of each case, and the tribunals exercised the widest discretion in its employment. In its usual form it designated certain places and a fixed number of leagues around them, which the penitent was forbidden to enter. The list of proscribed localities as a rule included Madrid, or rather the royal residences, the seat of the tribunal, the dwelling-place of the culprit, if this was not comprised in the others, and any other towns, sometimes amounting to four or five, where he had been known in his guilty career. Although this was a convenient{127} resource to the tribunal, it was a somewhat irrational penalty, the severity of which could hardly be guessed at, for while it might be scarce more than an inconvenience to one offender, it might be the destruction of a career to a merchant established in business, or to a professional man with an assured clientèle. Considerations of this kind, however, rarely influenced the tribunals and, in the Toledan record of 1575-1610 we find exile included in a hundred and sixty-seven sentences.

The length of exile was always specified, and varied from some months to a life-time, but it usually was a term of a few years. Sometimes it was divided into two portions, the first preciso or absolute, the second voluntario or dependent upon the will of the tribunal—apparently as an incentive to amendment. A variant of this occurs in the case of Diego de Toro, sentenced for bigamy at Toledo in 1652, to four years of exile absolutely and four years more which he was to fulfil whenever the tribunal should see fit to order it, thus holding it over him indefinitely.[333]

It was not often that the Inquisition exercised the power of banishment from Spain, but it did not hesitate to assume such authority when it saw fit, and a converse to this was the occasional prohibition to leave Spain, of which an instance is cited above (p. 102). Another form, in which the wide discretion of the tribunals was exhibited, was forbidding the penitent to approach within a specified distance of the sea-coast. This was not infrequent in sentences on Moriscos, whose relations with Barbary always excited apprehension, but it is not apparent why the Valladolid tribunal, in 1659, when sentencing Diego de la Peña for Jewish tendencies, should have included an inhibition to approach within eight leagues of any sea-port without a special licence.[334]

Again, we sometimes find a penitent exiled to some particular place for a term of years, and this is frequently combined with provisions for keeping him under surveillance. Thus the Valladolid tribunal, in 1659, sentenced Isabel Rubía and María Martin, for sorcery, to reside for four years in a place to be designated, where there was an official to whom they must present themselves monthly and who would report as to their amendment.[335] This was sometimes a form of commutation for imprisonment, as in the case of Isabel Núñez, sentenced at Cuenca to prison and{128} Sanbenito, which was modified to four years’ exile at San Clemente. December 24, 1657, she presented a notarial certificate of her being there and begged that, as she was 74 years old and very poor and miserable, she might be released, in honor of the birth of the prince (Felipe-Prosper) or at least have the place changed to Alcalá, Guadalajara or Pastrana, where there were people who would help her. This pitiful petition was simply endorsed to be filed with the papers of the case, which indicates that it was refused.[336] A more rigorous example of this, which shows that no limit was placed on the discretion of the Inquisition, was the banishment for life to the Philippines, in 1802, of two frailes concerned in the imposture of Isabel María Herraiz, known as the Beata of Cuenca.[337] Conversely, a penitent might be prohibited to leave a designated place, as when, in 1599, Rodrigo Ramírez, a Morisco of Yepes, was forbidden for three years to leave Yepes without licence.[338]

As the ordinary form of exile was easily violated, the sentence, as we have seen above, was frequently accompanied with a threat of increased penalties for non-fulfilment. In Toledo this seems ordinarily to be a doubling of the original term, but frequently it was more severe as, in 1604, at Valencia, the sentence of Bartolomé Posca added to this a hundred lashes and, in 1607, Francisco Xiner, condemned to five years’ exile, was threatened with three years of galleys.[339] It was probably to check, in some degree, the facility for evasion that the Suprema, in 1665, required the tribunals to furnish it with a description of the culprit whenever they pronounced a sentence of exile. As this always comprised Madrid and, as the capital was likely to attract the homeless waifs, details which might assist in their identification were useful.[340]

RAZING HOUSES.

In the imperial jurisprudence, houses in which heretics held their conventicles were forfeited to the Church and this provision{129} was adopted in the legislation of Alfonso X.[341] When prosecution was systematized in the thirteenth century, this was modified to tearing down all houses in which heretics were found, the site remaining forever accursed and unfit for human habitation. This was accepted by the Church and found its way into all the lands that admitted the Inquisition.[342] Aragon adopted it and when, about 1340, the Spiritual Franciscan Fray Bonanato was burnt, and his disciples were scattered, the building which they had occupied at Villafranca del Panadés, near Barcelona, was levelled to the ground.[343]

In the early days of the Spanish Inquisition, the strict enforcement of the rule would have led to great destruction and serious impairment of the value of confiscations. It seems therefore to have been reserved for buildings in which the heretics or apostates had been accustomed to assemble, and then the king, as the recipient of confiscations, decided the matter. A letter of Ferdinand, May 23, 1501, to Aliaga his receiver at Valencia, states that the inquisitors have asked him to decree the destruction of a house in which a synagogue had been found, to which he assents with the suggestive addition that the civic authorities must be ordered to offer no opposition. It turned out that Ferdinand had already given the house to Juan Pérez, the scrivener of sequestrations, whereupon he ordered Aliaga to have it appraised and to pay the value to Pérez.[344] He seems to have offered no opposition to Lucero’s operations in Córdova, where a number of houses were torn down as having served as synagogues, and he ordered them rebuilt when the Congregacion Católica assembled at Valladolid, in 1509, pronounced the prosecutions fictitious.[345]

When the confiscations passed to the Inquisition, financial considerations apparently got the better of zeal, for when, in 1539, at Valencia, trials of a number of Judaizers revealed that a crucifix had been maltreated in a house used for their assemblies, and the tribunal desired authority for its destruction and the erection of a memorial chapel, the Suprema replied cautiously with a number of questions as to value, location and expense, as there were{130} no funds for the purpose, and it ordered the auto de fe to be held, reserving decision as to the house.[346] The subsequent proceedings against the convicts, who revoked their confessions, show that the house was still standing four or five years later.

There was no such hesitation in the stimulated excitement following the discovery of Protestantism in high places in 1559. When, in the Valladolid auto de fe of May 21, the Cazalla family were nearly exterminated, the house of the mother, Leonor de Vibero, where the little group used to assemble, was razed, and a pillar was erected on the spot, with an inscription that can still be read—“During the pontificate of Paul IV and the reign of Philip II, the Holy Office of the Inquisition condemned this building of Pedro de Cazalla and Leonor de Vibero his wife to be torn down and levelled with the ground, since here the Lutherans assembled to hold meetings against our holy Catholic faith and the Church of Rome, May 21, 1559.” Similarly in the great auto of Seville, September 24, 1559, the houses of Luis de Alerego and Isabel de Baena, which had served as Protestant conventicles, were destroyed.[347]

A thrifty disposition to restrain inconsiderate zeal for obliterating the receptacles of heresy was manifested by the Suprema, in 1565, when it forbade the razing of a house unless it belonged to the delinquents and thus would not have to be paid for.[348] This restriction, however, was not observed on an occasion which was perhaps the latest as well as the most conspicuous example of the practice. In the great Madrid auto of July 4, 1632, which was honored by the presence of Philip IV, among those who were burnt were Miguel Rodríguez and his wife Isabel Núñez Alvárez, in whose house not only were held Jewish meetings, but an image of Christ had been scourged and when it shed blood and thrice spoke to them they consumed it with fire. Of course it was doomed and on the day after the execution the Inquisition ordered it to be appraised in order that the owner might be compensated. He was the Licentiate Barquero, a highly respected jurist, who protested against its destruction until he received good security for its value. No time was lost. On the 6th the Inquisitor{131} Cristóval de Ibarra, accompanied by the Admiral of Castile, the Duke of Medina de la Torres and other gentlemen, many familiars and a crowd of workmen, and preceded by a guard of halberdiers with banner and drums, marched to the spot, where a secretary read a proclamation of the Toledo tribunal to the effect that it ordered the demolition of the house where a holy Christ had been scourged and maltreated. Then the drums beat and the workmen assailed the structure so zealously that by nine o’clock that night there was not a vestige of it left, the populace eagerly aiding them in tearing the stones from the walls and carrying off the timbers. The site was not left, as the canons direct, to be a receptacle of filth. Money was raised and a Capuchin convent was erected, known as La Paciencia, in remembrance of the patience with which Christ had borne the indignities heaped upon him.[349]

SPIRITUAL PENANCES.

It might be presupposed that, in dealing with spiritual offences, and professing that its main object was the salvation of souls, the Inquisition would incline rather to spiritual exercises than to pecuniary and corporal punishments—that it would seek to instruct and elevate the spirit rather than to afflict the body. Religious persecution, however, has always preferred the harshness of coercion, and has held that the surest way to bring conviction to the soul was to torment the flesh. We need therefore not be surprised to see how insignificant a place spiritual penances held in the sentences of the Holy Office, and it would scarce be worth while to consider them except to note how little was the importance attributed to them by the tribunals.

Except in trifling cases, which merited no real punishment, such spiritual penances as we occasionally meet with are conjoined with material penalties. A man sentenced to imprisonment may perhaps be required to fast on Fridays for six months or a year, and to recite on those days a prescribed number of Ave Marias and Paternosters or other prayers. Pilgrimages to shrines as distant as St. Thomas of Canterbury or St. James of Compostela, so frequently prescribed in the medieval Inquisition, were unknown. It is true that the formula of sentence on the reconciled,{132} condemning them to prison, requires them on Saturdays to make a pilgrimage to some designated shrine in the vicinity, where on their knees they must repeat with devotion five Paters, Ave Marias, Credos and Salve Reginas, but this was not often used in practice.[350] Clerical offenders, sentenced to reclusion in convents, frequently had spiritual exercises included among numerous other inflictions. While this moderation was the rule, occasionally of course the unlimited discretion of the tribunals made exceptions, as in a singularly ill-judged penance imposed at Toledo, in 1653, on Gerónima Mendes, a child ten years of age, convicted of Judaism, who was sentenced to a month’s instruction in the faith and the daily recitation of the rosary for a year. Seeing that the rosary consists of seventeen Paternosters, sixteen Gloria Patris, a hundred and fifty-three Ave Marias and the Apostles’ Creed, one can estimate the burden imposed on a child of such tender years and how little it would conduce to training the youthful penitent in a love for the faith.[351] Such an infliction however was exceptional, and it frequently happens, in the reports of the tribunals, after detailing the material portions of a sentence, that there is a mere general allusion to “some spiritual penances,” which suggests how slender was the consideration bestowed on them. There is one type of better promise, not infrequent in the later period, such as a sentence pronounced at Toledo, in 1777, on Antonio Rubio and Diego González, condemned for heretical acts and blasphemy, the former to five years’ labor in the arsenal of Cartagena and the latter to three years in the presidio of Ceuta, both of whom were required, before leaving prison, to perform fifteen days of spiritual exercises under a director who would instruct them.[352]

The hearing of mass as a penitent, which was a very frequent infliction, cannot be classed as a spiritual penance—it was a simple humiliation and was so intended, especially when performed publicly in church.

UNUSUAL PENALTIES.

A few instances will indicate how the tribunals sometimes used their wide discretion in adapting to any given case what was{133} deemed an appropriate penalty. It is true that when Valencia, in 1539, made Fray Torres, a priest, appear in a public auto de fe, with a bridle in his mouth and a pannier of straw on his back, the Suprema rebuked it and forbade such eccentricities for the future.[353] So when, in 1568, Inquisitor Morales reported that, during his visit to San Sebastian, he had condemned certain offenders to have sermons preached at their expense, the Suprema mildly remarked that this was a novelty.[354] In an auto de fe at Llerena, in 1579, there was a negress named Catalina, the slave of a man of Zafra. It was doubtless through consideration of his interests that she was spared the corporal chastisement visited on her accomplices, but there was a distinct invasion of his rights in a prohibition to him to sell her without licence from the inquisitors.[355] In 1607, at Valencia, a single witness accused María Tubarri, a Morisca midwife, of using Moorish ceremonies in baptising infants, and of circumcising the males; the proof, against her denial, was not thought sufficient to justify torture and she was required only to abjure de levi, but she was deprived for life of practising her profession.[356] There was wisdom, if a trifle arbitrary, in a sentence at Toledo, in 1685, on Lucas Morales for blasphemy, for it included, among other penalties, a prohibition to gamble—a sensible provision against relapse, for gaming was recognized as the most prolific source of blasphemy.[357]

There was the same latitude in vindictive as in deterrent punishments. At Valladolid, from 1635 to 1637, there were several Judaizers convicted of maltreating an image of Christ. The consultors voted for relaxation, but the Suprema approved the decision of the inquisitors that they should have the right arm nailed to a stake in the form of a cross, while their sentences were being read in an auto de fe.[358] Less symbolical and still more original was a spectacle devised for the Mexican auto of December 7, 1664, where one of the penitents was stripped to the waist, while two Indians smeared him with honey and covered him with{134} feathers, in which guise he was made to stand in the sun for four hours on the staging.[359] Even recruiting for the army was not beneath the dignity of the tribunal as when, in 1650, Toledo condemned Andrés de Herrera Calderon, for blasphemy, to serve for four years in the campaigns against Portugal and Catalonia, where doubtless he enriched his vocabulary of expletives.[360]

There evidently was no defined limit to the power of suiting the penalty to the inquisitorial conception of the offence, and the tribunals made ample use of their prerogative.{135}

CHAPTER III.

HARSHER PENALTIES.

THE SCOURGE.

ALTHOUGH at first sight the use of the lash, as a persuasive to correct religious belief, may appear somewhat incongruous, it must be borne in mind that, under the euphemy of the discipline, it has always formed a prominent feature of penance, especially among the monastic orders where, in the daily or weekly chapters, it was liberally administered for all infractions of the Rule or other sins, as a preliminary to absolution. In fact, the touching of the penitent’s shoulder with a wand by the priest in absolution from excommunication, is a symbol of the discipline which was anciently indispensable. In the Old Inquisition it was in frequent use, although there it was rendered a matter of edification, through its infliction by priests during divine service or in religious processions. That it should form part of the penal resources of the Spanish Holy Office was therefore natural, although it lost its penitential aspect and became purely punitive and vindictive.

It was no longer the priest who wielded the discipline with an indeterminate number of strokes during an indeterminate series of feast-days. The tribunal prescribed the number of lashes and they were laid on by the vigorous arm of the public executioner. The penitents who had to suffer appeared in the auto de fe with halters around their necks; if there was one knot in the halter, it signified a hundred lashes, if two, two hundred and so on, one hundred being the unit and the minimum number. The next day the populace was treated to the spectacle. Mounted astride of asses, bared to the waist, with halter and mitre bearing inscription of their offences and a pié de amigo holding the head erect, they were paraded through the accustomed streets, with a guard of mounted familiars and a notary or secretary to make record, while the executioner plied the penca, or leather strap, on the naked flesh, until the tale was complete, and the town-crier proclaimed that it was by order of the Inquisition for the crimes{136} specified. A clause in the proclamation, after the great Madrid auto of 1680, forbidding, under pain of excommunication, any one to throw stones at the penitents, indicates that the populace had a playful habit of thus manifesting its detestation of heresy.[361]

In 1568 the Suprema rebuked the Barcelona tribunal for condemning to public scourging penitents reconciled for heresy. This, it said, was contrary to the estilo of the Inquisition, and in future the lash was not to be used unless there was some other crime than heresy.[362] This indicates how completely the scourge had become punitive and how it was dissociated from the ancient discipline, but if such regulation existed it met with scant recognition. All the offences subjected to the Inquisition were constructively heretical, and there never seems to have been any discrimination exercised between them. Indeed, we have seen that the lash was especially indicated for heretics who were tardy or variable in their confessions, and Judaizers are constantly seen to be subjected to it.

Scourging was a favorite penalty which was lavishly and often mercilessly employed. In the Saragossa auto of June 6, 1585, out of a total of seventy-nine penitents, twenty-two were scourged; in that of Valencia, in 1607, of forty-seven penitents, twenty-four received the lash.[363] This, however, exceeds the average. The Toledo reports, from 1575 to 1610, present a hundred and thirty-three cases of scourging which, allowing for a break in the record, give about four per annum.[364] On the other hand, a collection of autos de fe celebrated between 1721 and 1727, embracing in all nine hundred and sixty-two cases, affords two hundred and ninety-seven sentences of scourging, or about thirty per cent.[365] When{137} we recall that, in the list of officials reported by Murcia, in 1746, there figures Joseph García Bentura as notario de açotaciones—a notary of scourgings—to keep record of the stripes, with a salary of about 2500 reales, we realize how prominent a feature it was in inquisitorial penology.[366] The brutalizing effect on the populace of these wholesale exhibitions of flogging, especially of women, can readily be estimated.

The usual number of lashes prescribed was two hundred, though in occasional cases a hundred sufficed. In the two hundred and ninety-seven just alluded to, two hundred and ninety were of two hundred lashes and only seven of one hundred. It was rare that two hundred were exceeded in any one infliction, though sometimes it was mercilessly duplicated, as in the Seville auto of September 24, 1559, Martin Fernando Saldrian, a shepherd, for blasphemy was scourged in Seville and again in his native town; Alonso Martin of Carmona, for Lutheranism, was scourged in both Seville and Carmona and Juan de Aragon of Málaga, who had pretended to be a familiar, was scourged in Málaga and again in the scene of his offence.[367]

Probably two hundred lashes were about the limit of safety, especially with those enfeebled by prolonged incarceration, for the infliction was excessively severe. We hear of Margarita Altamira reduced to such extremity after a scourging that the viaticum was administered to her.[368] There was no mercy for age or sex. In the Valencia auto of January 7, 1607, Isabel Madalina Conteri, a Morisca girl of 13, after overcoming torture, had a hundred lashes, Jayme Chulayla, a Morisco of 76, who had been tortured, had a hundred and the same was administered to Francisco Marquino, aged 86 for sorcery in treasure-seeking, while Magdalena Cahet, aged 60, who had escaped torture on account of heart-disease, was not spared a hundred.[369]

As the eighteenth century advanced there appears to be more readiness to remit the execution of sentences of scourging on account of age and infirmities and of “accidentes,” which probably mean crippling by torture. Then there developes a tendency to spare women and finally men; the sentences continue to be pronounced, but they are remitted by the inquisitor-general. In{138} 1769, at Toledo, Gerónimo Clos, for bigamy, was pardoned the two hundred lashes of his sentence, which could not have been for infirmity, as he was not released from hard labor for five years in the royal works at Cartagena.[370] From this time scourging may be regarded as obsolescent and soon to become obsolete. Under the Restoration, from 1814 to 1820, in the votos secretos, there is not a case in which the lash was inflicted, for when included in the sentences, it was always remitted by the Suprema.[371]

The clergy, of course, were not subjected to the disgrace of public scourging. In their cases it took the form known as a circular discipline, administered in a convent by all the inmates in turn.

VERGÜENZA.

Vergüenza, or shame, was the same as scourging, with the lashes omitted. The culprit, stripped to the waist and with the pié de amigo, was paraded through the streets, with the insignia of his offence, while the town-crier proclaimed his sentence. It was naturally regarded as less severe than scourging and was sometimes substituted for the latter, when the penitent was too aged or feeble to endure the lash. For the beldams and ruffians who were often its subjects it could have had but few terrors, but it was greatly dreaded by those of sensitive nature. The inquisitors took little count of this, when dealing with Judaizers and Moriscos, who had a keen sense of personal dignity, and Pedraza informs us that those exposed to it regarded death as a mercy, preferring to die rather than to endure a life of infamy.[372] To young women the exposure was especially humiliating, yet, on the whole, it may be regarded as more humane than the pillory of our forefathers, for the penitent was not exposed to the missiles of a brutal populace.

Vergüenza was a comparatively infrequent punishment. In the Toledo reports of 1575-1610 it occurs in but twenty-six sentences, which may be compared with the hundred and thirty-three scourgings, and the records of the same tribunal from 1648 to 1794 present but ten vergüenzas to ninety-two scourgings. In the very severe series of autos de fe between 1721 and 1727, the comparison is thirteen to two hundred and ninety-seven.{139}

MORDAZA.

The mordaza or gag, as we have seen, was regarded as increasing greatly the severity of the infliction of which it formed part. It was sometimes used in scourging and vergüenza, when the so-called penitent was a hardened blasphemer or likely in some way to create scandal. It was likewise employed in the autos de fe, on pertinacious and impenitent heretics of whom it was feared that they might on their way to the stake produce an impression on those not firm in the faith.[373] Its use was not frequent, although, in the dread inspired by Protestantism, in 1559, at the great Seville auto of September 24th, twelve of the victims wore the mordaza. There were also twelve thus gagged in the Madrid auto of 1680, but these numbers were exceptional.[374]

THE GALLEYS.

Enslavement in the galleys, to labor at the oar, would appear to be even more incongruous than scourging as penance for spiritual offences. It was a Spanish device, unknown to the elder Inquisition, and had its origin in the thrifty mind of Ferdinand. We shall presently see how exercised were the monarch and the Holy Office over the problem presented by the maintenance of those condemned to the canonical penalty of perpetual prison, and Ferdinand, whose Sicilian possessions required a powerful navy, bethought him of the expedient of utilizing his able-bodied prisoners to man his galleys—the galley propelled by oars being as yet the equivalent of the modern battle-ship. Galley-service was recognized as so severe that the old fueros of Aragon forbade it under heavy penalties, except with the free assent of the individual, and it was not until the curtailment of ancient privileges, in the Córtes of Tarazona in 1592, that judges were permitted to use it as a punishment for robbers.[375] In Castile, the pressure for slaves to man the galleys is indicated by a royal cédula of November 14, 1502, commuting the death-sentence of criminals in the secular{140} courts, and ordering them to be sent to the galleys.[376] It was probably about this time that Ferdinand turned to the Inquisition, which was bound by no laws, for relief from overcrowded prisons and undermanned galleys. Even the callous morality of the age seems to have been shocked at this and, as usual, the sanction of the Holy See was sought for the iniquity. It was of course granted, and Alexander VI, in a brief addressed to the inquisitors, May 26, 1503, recited that Ferdinand and Isabella had represented to him that those condemned to perpetual prison relapsed into heresy; that there was a lack of prisons in which they could be confined without perverting others, and that multiplication of prisons would lead to dissemination of heresy; that their power to commute imprisonment into other perpetual punishment had been called into question, and that they had asked him to provide a remedy. As the chief solicitude of the inquisitors should be the prevention of relapse, he therefore empowered them to change the perpetual prison of penitents into other penalties—deportation to the colonies, or imprisonment in the royal galleys, where, in perpetual confinement, they might render enforced service, or to any other perpetual punishment, according to their quality and offences.[377]

That full advantage was taken of this there can be no doubt, to the relief of the prison funds and the facilitation of the conquest of Naples. We chance to hear of the transfer at Barcelona, January 24, 1505, of nineteen prisoners from the gaol of the Inquisition to the galleys of Ramon de Cardona, which we may fairly accept as an example of what was on foot everywhere.[378] In fact, the eagerness of the tribunals to disembarrass themselves of their prisoners seems to have led to their discharging on the galleys those in every way unfit for the service, for the Suprema was obliged, in 1506, to declare that men over 60, clerics and women were exempt from the punishment of the galleys.[379] Even Ferdinand himself, towards the close of his career, seems to have shrunk from the responsibility of openly authorizing an extension of this heartless business for when, in 1513, the Inquisitor of Sicily asked permission to send to the galleys those condemned to perpetual{141} prison, Ferdinand threw the decision back on him; to build prisons will cost much money, he said, but the galleys may deter men from confessing their heresy; the inquisitor is therefore to think the matter over and do what he deems best.[380] The conclusion reached is unknown, but we may reasonably surmise that the Palermo tribunal did not waste its funds in constructing prisons.

Ferdinand’s hesitation seems to have been shared by Charles V for, in 1527, the Suprema ordered that penitents should not be sent to the galleys but should have other penances.[381] The motive for this humane provision, however, did not long withstand the more pressing economical considerations. In 1529, Rodrigo Portuondo, captain-general of the galleys, was instructed that no one sent to them by the Inquisition should hold any office or administration, or have charge of the rations, showing that the prohibition had been rescinded.[382] Apparently the superior intelligence of the penitents had rendered them more useful as petty officers and accountants than as slaves of the oar, but this alleviation of their misery did not satisfy the spirit of persecution and it was probably to prevent it that the formula of the sentence was service at the oar without pay—unless, indeed, the penitent was of gentle blood, in which case he could be sent to serve as a gentleman or as a soldier.[383]

We have already seen to what profitable account the Inquisition turned the power which it had assumed to grant dispensations from this abhorrent servitude, and a case in 1558 indicates how it guarded against any invasion of its prerogative. Philip II was led to interest himself in the case of Andrés de Frias, condemned to the galleys, and asked to have him dispensed from the remainder of his term. To this the Suprema demurred, saying that the statement of Frias was untrue, for in Rome he had treacherously stabbed to death the procurator of the Inquisition, Doctor Puente, after dining with him and promising to sup with him; moreover the seventeen months which he claimed to have served had not been as a galley-slave, as required by his sentence. Still, if he would present himself and manifest repentance there might{142} be opportunity for the king to show him mercy, but otherwise it would greatly impair the authority of the Inquisition.[384]

Philip was not given to interceding for those sent to his galleys, for galley-slaves continued to be in great demand. In 1567 the Venitian envoy, Antonio Tiepolo, explains the weakness of the Spanish navy by the fact that its galleys were manned with slaves and forçats, who were not numerous enough to keep many galleys at sea. It would be, he says, impossible to man them with free-men, as in Venice, for no one would serve voluntarily, as the ill-treatment of the crews is notorious and their dying for lack of the necessaries of life.[385] It is true that there was a curious source of supply, besides the ordinary criminals and heretics, for the prelates of the religious Orders were accustomed to condemn their peccant brethren to the galleys, from the same economical motive that had actuated Ferdinand—to save the expense of maintaining them in prison.[386] Still, the needs of the armadas were pressing; Philip turned to the Inquisition for aid, and, in 1567, the Suprema issued two decrees intended to assist in manning the royal galleys. One bore that sentences must not be for less than three or four years, for otherwise the penitents cost the king more than the service he got from them, and this was enforced by a royal cédula of 1584.[387] The other suggested—suggestion being equivalent to an order—that sentences to the galleys could be substituted for those to prison and sanbenito. The practical deduction drawn from this is expressed by a writer of the period, who says that, if the accused confesses but does not satisfy the evidence, he is to be tortured and, if he still fails to satisfy the evidence, it is customary to send him to the galleys, but this must be for not less than three years.[388] To appreciate fully this atrocity, it must be borne in mind that torture could only be used in cases of doubt where the evidence was defective, so that, besides the torture the victim was sent to the galleys for suspicion of heresy.

Even this did not satisfy the royal exigency and a further inexcusable{143} step was taken. We have seen that tardy and imperfect confessions were visited with scourging and sometimes with the galleys, while the buen confitente, who confessed promptly and freely, was allured with promises of special consideration and mercy. Yet, in 1573, the Suprema issued a carta acordada ordering that Conversos, even when buen confitentes, should be sent to the galleys, and this it repeated in 1591, with injunctions for its enforcement.[389] The name of religion has not often been more brutally prostituted than in these provisions, and their success may be measured by a report of the inquisitors of Saragossa to Philip, of an auto celebrated June 6, 1585, in which they call his special attention to their zeal in furnishing him with twenty-nine galley-slaves for six years, besides three left over from a previous auto—and this in Aragon, which forbade galley-service as a punishment for the most heinous crimes.[390]

The galley-captains naturally were not punctilious in discharging the men when their terms had expired, giving rise to perpetual friction. The sentence ordinarily was to a term of prison or exile, of which the first three years or more were to be passed at the oar, and this was set forth in the certificates given to the penitents. The tribunals kept watch over them, and demanded their return to serve out the rest of their sentences, but this was not an easy task. The vigilance exercised is illustrated by a royal cedula addressed to the captain of a galley, ordering him to release two men whose terms had expired, and warning him that in future all such persons were to be returned to the tribunal that had sentenced them.[391] This was followed, in 1568, by general instructions to Don John of Austria, as Captain-general of the Sea, and to all captains of galleys, reciting the complaints of the Sicilian tribunal that its reclamations of its penitents were not complied with, and ordering their restoration to their tribunals without waiting for demands.[392] This was ineffectual and, in 1575, we find the Barcelona tribunal instructed to prosecute the captains who impede the discharge of those who had served out inquisitorial sentences.[393] The trouble was perennial and, in 1645, we have a formula of{144} requisition for the return of the party specified, under pain of excommunication and of five hundred ducats, and the tribunal of the port where the galleys lie is requested to see to its execution. A significant note however adds that this is scantly courteous to such great men as the generals of the galleys, and that it is better to ask the tribunal of the port to procure the release by friendly negotiation.[394]

The cases could not have been infrequent in which men, utterly unfit for the privations and ill-usage of the galley-slave, were condemned to this hard service, and no doubt many perished in consequence. Yet exemptions on this ground were reluctantly admitted, if we may judge from a rebuke administered, in 1665, by the Suprema to the Barcelona tribunal, in a case where this was asked; the opinions of the physician and surgeon were insufficient; other professionals must be called in and examination be made as to the penitent’s condition when, if it appears that he is unfit for the service, the sentence can be commuted to eight years of exile as proposed.[395] It is a marked expression of the humanitarian development of the eighteenth century that, even in the fierce persecution of its first quarter, in 1721 it was ordered that, before imposing a sentence to the galleys, the delinquent should be examined by the physician and surgeon and, if incapacitating weakness appeared, it should be mentioned in the vote of the consulta de fe that, in consequence of it, the sentence was commuted to irremissible imprisonment.[396] The succeeding autos show that this bore fruit in sundry commutations, although the alternative of irremissible prison was not observed, and less severe penalties were sometimes substituted.[397]

In the sixty-four autos de fe between 1721 and 1727, of which we possess details, there were ninety-two sentences to the galleys and seven to service in the presidios. There was a certain relation between the two. In the seventeenth century legislation on offences connected with the coinage, the galleys were provided for commoners and presidio service for gentlemen and, as the century drew to a close, we find the Inquisition no longer sending gentlemen to serve as soldiers on the galleys but to Oran, Ceuta,{145} Gibraltar, Badajoz, Peñon and other royal works and garrisons.[398] In the eighteenth century Inquisition, the galleys for all classes were gradually supplanted by the presidio, if we include in the term enforced labor in the royal dock-yards and arsenals as well as in the African garrisons. Galleys were disappearing from the sea and, in the Inquisition, they were superseded by the bagne, in its various forms of hard work. In 1742, the Toledo tribunal condemned Rafael Nuñez Hernández, for certain errors, to eight years of exile of which the first five were to be passed serving the king in the unwholesome quicksilver mines of Almaden, and the last sentences to the galleys that I have met occur in 1745, when Nicholas Serrano was condemned at Toledo for bigamy to eight years of service in them, and Miguel Gutiérrez and Francisco García, at Valladolid, for relapse into Judaism, to ten years. After this the galleys may be said to be obsolete, even for bigamy, as is seen in a sentence of the Valencia tribunal in 1781.[399]

The presidio continued as a punishment under the Restoration, but cases were so rare that there was question as to the reception of the convicts in their places of destination. In 1818, the Seville tribunal sentenced three persons—two for propositions and one for bigamy—to two years’ service in Ceuta or Melilla, and it asked the Suprema to get the minister of war to issue orders to the governors to receive them. The Suprema replied that this was the business of the tribunal; it must do as on former occasions, and if necessary could write to the governors. The forçats were duly received and, it is pleasant to add that, in six months, the Suprema humanely remitted the punishment in order that they might return and support their families. For this an order from the secretary of the Council of War was required and procured.[400]

For women, the equivalent of the galleys was service without pay in hospitals, houses of correction and similar institutions. Apparently these female convicts were not always regarded as desirable inmates and though, in the pre-revolutionary times, no opposition was ventured, under the Restoration there was sometimes difficulty in securing their admission. In 1819 the Seville tribunal appealed to the Suprema, representing that it had been{146} unable thus to dispose of Juana de Luna, for the same reasons which it had experienced in the cases of Ana Barbero and Leonor Macias. The Inquisition inspired no such terror as of old, for the Suprema could suggest no means of overcoming the difficulty, and could only instruct the tribunal to devise some method of executing its sentences.[401]

It is not to the credit of the Roman Inquisition that it followed the example of the Spanish and included the galleys in its list of punishments. Carena, indeed, tells us that it was the most usual of all and was the customary penalty in a wide variety of offences.[402]

RECONCILIATION.

That reconciliation to the Church, which was represented as a loving mother, eager to welcome back to her bosom her erring children, should be regarded as a punishment, seems a contradiction in terms, yet so it was, and the Suprema did not hesitate to speak of those “who had been condemned to reconciliation.”[403] It would not be easy to invent a more emphatic illustration of the perversion of the spirit of religion by persecuting fanaticism.

The apostate or the heretic, who had abandoned the Church after admission through the waters of baptism, could only be reincorporated by abjuring his errors and applying for reconciliation. In the case of Conversos, who secretly adhered to the Mosaic or Mahometan law, there could be no question as to this, nor was there with such heretics as Protestants. To what extent other errors might constitute formal heresy requiring reconciliation, or might infer suspicion of heresy, light or vehement, was a problem for the calificadores, and sometimes was an intricate one, for the gradations of theological error are infinite and subtile.

In the tumultuous proceedings of the early period when, under Edicts of Grace, penitents came forward by the thousand, confessing their errors and begging for reconciliation, the ceremony was naturally simple. Under the Instructions of 1484, the form{147} described by Joan Andrea was to be used: the inquisitors declared that the penitent had been an apostate heretic, who had followed the rites and ceremonies of the Jews and had incurred the penalties of the law but, as he now says that he has been converted and desires to return to the faith, with a pure heart and faith unfeigned, and is ready to accept and perform the penances to be imposed, they must absolve him from the excommunication incurred through the said crime and must reconcile him to Holy Mother Church, if, as he says, he is converted to the holy faith truly and without fiction.[404]

No mention is made here of any subsequent ceremonies, although at least abjuration must probably have followed. When procedure was less hurried and there had been time for its elaboration, the process became impressive. The sentence recited that the penitent was admitted to reconciliation; that as penance he was to appear in an auto de fe, without girdle or cap, in a penitential habit of yellow cloth, with two red aspas or bands forming a St. Andrew’s cross, and a candle in his hand when, after his sentence is read, he should publicly abjure the errors confessed and all other errors and apostasy, after which “we order him to be absolved and we absolve him from any excommunication which he has incurred and we unite and reincorporate him in the bosom and union of the Holy Mother Catholic Church, and we restore him to participation in the holy sacraments and communion of the faithful”—to which was appended a recital of the various punishments to which he was condemned. After the auto de fe was ended, the abjuration was administered. This was similar to the abjuration de vehementi already given and in it he consented, in case of relapse, to submit to the penalties of the canons. On the conclusion of this, he was formally absolved and the next day his abjuration was read over to him, with a warning that in case of relapse he would be burnt.[405]

As described in an account of the Madrid auto de fe of 1632, this ceremony was imposing. The penitents to be reconciled were brought before the inquisitor-general who was presiding. While they kneeled before him he read a short catechism, comprising the creed with some additions, to each question of which they answered “Yes, I believe.” Then the secretary recited the abjuration, in which they followed him. The inquisitor-general{148} then pronounced the exorcism and the customary prayers and the royal chapel chanted the Miserere, during which the chaplains of the Inquisition struck the penitents with rods on the shoulders. After this the inquisitor-general recited the customary verses and prayers and the royal chapel sang a hymn, while the black cloth was removed from the cross, which had been covered as a sign of mourning, and the inquisitor-general concluded the solemnities with a hymn.[406]

Superficially, there is nothing formidable in this reception of a wandering sheep back into the fold, but the serious aspect of reconciliation, justifying its characterization as a punishment, lay in the penalties which were virtually inseparable from it, and were customarily included in the sentence—imprisonment, sanbenito, confiscation and disabilities, with occasionally scourging and the galleys, some of which we have already considered while others will be treated hereafter. There was further the fact that the canons pardoned the heretic but once. If, after reconciliation, he was guilty of reincidence, there was no mercy for him on earth, although the Church in its kindness, would not close the portals of heaven on him and, if truly contrite, would admit him to the sacraments, although it would not spare him the stake.[407] The crucial question of relapse, however, will be considered in the next chapter and meanwhile it should be said that the Spanish Inquisition did not always enforce this cruel precept. In the later period second reconciliations were by no means infrequent, and, even in the earlier time, men sometimes shrank from the holocausts which the strict enforcement of the rule would have caused amid a population terrorized into suddenly forswearing their ancestral faith. In Majorca, under the Edict of Grace, there were three hundred and thirty-eight reconciliations, August 18, 1488, followed by ninety-six on March 26, 1490. Soon after this an Edict of Mercy was published, under which there were reconciled a second time no less than two hundred and eighty-eight of the previous penitents. One of these, Antonia, wife of Ferrer Pratz was even reconciled a third time, June 28, 1509. Scattering cases of second reconciliations can also be found elsewhere.[408]

{149}

There was a rule that the reconciled were not to be subjected to scourging or the galleys, even though they might have deserved them by varying and revoking confessions, but I cannot find that this was observed for, in both the earlier and later periods, cases as we have seen were numerous in which reconciliation was accompanied with these corporal punishments.[409] On the other hand, although the principle was absolute that reconciliation carried with it confiscation and perpetual prison, cases sometimes occur in which these penalties were lightened. In the Toledo auto of November 30, 1651, there were nine reconciliations, in which the accompanying punishments were mostly trivial—in one case the sanbenito was removed immediately on return to the Inquisition.[410]

It seems almost a travesty on solemn religious observances that effigies of the dead should be admitted to reconciliation but, as the grave afforded no refuge from the Inquisition, this was a logical outcome of the system, when a defunct heretic had recanted and sought reincorporation with the Church. As he could not be reconciled in person he had to be reconciled in effigy, especially as the sentence was necessary to secure confiscation of his estate. The only occasion of this was the death, during trial, of a prisoner who had confessed, professed conversion and received sacramental absolution on his death-bed. His trial would necessarily be continued and result in reconciliation, and the Inquisition saw no incongruity in parading his image before the people, and performing with it the solemn farce of reconciliation. There was a somewhat inexplicable instance in Majorca of three Judaizers, who had died in prison during their trials, in 1678, after manifesting the necessary signs of repentance; they were not included among the two hundred and twelve reconciliations, in the autos de fe of 1679, but, thirteen years afterwards, their effigies were reconciled in the auto of July 2, 1691 and no theologian seems to have asked himself what was their spiritual condition during this prolonged interval.[411] This reconciliation in effigy, was not, as Llorente states, an innovation introduced under Philip III, but was practised from the beginning, for there was an instance{150} of it in Beatrix Sener, deceased, thus reconciled May 2, 1499, at Barcelona.[412]

Apparently the age of responsibility was the only minimum limit in reconciliation. In the Madrid Auto of 1632, Catalina Méndez, a child of 12, was reconciled with sanbenito and six months’ imprisonment. At Toledo, in 1659, Beatriz Jorje and Ana Pereira, Portuguese Judaizers each ten years old, were reconciled; the former had her sanbenito removed at once; the latter was sentenced to confiscation and four months of prison.[413]

Reconciliation brought with it one alleviation, for the reconciled, as penitents, were entitled to the fuero of the Inquisition. This was derived from the penitential system of the Middle Ages, which deprived the penitent of bearing arms during the long series of years for which penance was imposed, and no one could be expected to assume it unless protected by the Church against his enemies. In this the Inquisition stood in the place of the Church, and cast its jurisdiction over its penitents during their term of penance. In 1501, we find a certain Pan Besante of Teruel, a reconciliado, to whom Ferdinand had restored his confiscated property, complaining to the king that he was persecuted and maltreated by his debtors and his neighbors, and that the inquisitors, to whom he had appealed for protection, neglected to aid him, whereupon Ferdinand promptly ordered them to come to his assistance, to enforce, by their officials, the payment of his just claims and to punish the aggressors.[414] So far was this carried that at Granada, in 1654, the reconciled penitents had an advantage in trade over the faithful, by claiming exemption from the alcavala, or royal tax on sales. When the citizens complained of this discrimination, the fiscal of the tribunal admitted that the question was a difficult one; to subject the penitents to the royal jurisdiction would give rise to great embarrassments, yet at the same time the inquisitorial jurisdiction ought to be a punishment and not a reward.[415] That it was a reward we have seen from the eagerness with which it was claimed by all who could put forward the slenderest pretext.{151}

THE PERPETUAL PRISON.

Imprisonment for life was the penance imposed by the canons on the heretic who, under the persuasive methods of persecution, sought reconciliation to the Church. It was so decreed, indeed, by pope and emperor before the Inquisition was organized, and that institution relentlessly enforced the laws. That the Spanish Holy Office should accept it was a matter of course. Its expense, however, had proved a source of tribulation in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and it was none the less so in Spain for, large as were the confiscations and pecuniary penances, they were squandered as fast as they accrued. In Torquemada’s supplementary Instructions of December, 1484, the receivers are ordered to provide for the maintenance of the prisons, which shows that the sovereigns admitted their responsibility,[416] but, in the chronic financial disorder of the time, no regular provision was made, either for their establishment or support. It is true that, in 1486, at the earnest request of the inquisitors of Saragossa, Ferdinand ordered the receiver to construct a perpetual prison, in accordance with their desires, but it is safe to assume that he prudently postponed replying to their inquiry as to the maintenance of the captives.[417] In 1492, when the tribunal sentenced Brianda de Bardaxí to five years’ imprisonment, it was to the tower of Saliana and this, in a few days, was changed to the convent of Santo Sepolcro in Saragossa.[418] In fact, for want of prisons, the custom was general of consigning reconciled penitents to strongholds, hospitals, convents, or even to their own houses—the latter presumably being such shelter as friends or kindred could afford to those who had been stripped by confiscation. The Instructions of 1488, indeed, authorize inquisitors, in view of the multitudes condemned to perpetual imprisonment and the lack of prisons, to designate to the penitents their houses, where they must confine themselves under the penalties provided by the laws. But this, it was added, was only meant to be temporary, and the sovereigns were supplicated to order that, at each tribunal, the receiver should provide a large enclosure with little huts and a chapel, where the prisoners could hear mass and could each work{152} at his trade and earn his living, and thus relieve the Inquisition from heavy burdens, due care being taken to keep the sexes apart.[419] The only answer to this prayer seems to have been the device of relieving the prisons for the benefit of the galleys.

The laxity of quartering penitents on public institutions or in private houses led to impracticable rules in the effort to counteract its evils. An instruction issued about this time by the Suprema orders that no one be admitted to reconciliation without condemning him to confiscation and perpetual prison, if he has been a heretic, and those thus condemned must perform their penance most rigidly, not speaking with any one except on the days when they go to mass and hear sermons; on other days, both in going out and in eating, they must show themselves true penitents, holding no intercourse with wives and children.[420] This seems to have received scant obedience and, in 1506, the Suprema ordered that sanbenitos be placed on all prisoners, and that they must not leave their houses and then, in 1509, it prescribed that perpetual prisons must be provided. Apparently this was partially successful, for it was followed by instructions that all who had been or should be condemned must be placed in them, where they can ply their trades, or their kindred can supply them with food, or they may beg alms for their support. Thus, in 1510, Llerena selected two pairs of houses for the purpose, which Ferdinand ordered the governor of Leon to have appraised. Cuenca also seems to have obtained a prison, but an inadequate one, for in 1511 the Suprema authorized the tribunal to permit all the sick, and all who had been confined for two years, to betake themselves to their homes. Where such prisons existed the discipline must have been exceedingly lax for, in 1512, the Suprema issued a general provision empowering the tribunals to allow the destitute occupants of the perpetual prisons to go out by turns to beg in the cities, but they must wear their sanbenitos and return by nightfall, under penalty of relapse, and this was repeated in 1513. Then the further effort to provide prisons seems to have been abandoned for, in 1514, Ximenes issued an order permitting the reconciled to fulfil their penances in their own homes.[421]

This fluctuating policy and the extraordinary laxity which it{153} reveals were not due to any humanitarian impulses. It was simply a continuous effort to shirk the responsibility of maintaining those whose property had been confiscated, and who were required by the canons to be incarcerated for life. The Inquisition obtained the plunder, it inflicted on its victims disabilities, which increased enormously the difficulty of self-support, it rendered them odious to the population by making them wear the sanbenito, it was in duty bound to provide prisons where they could be immured and prevented from infecting the community, but it neglected this duty and virtually told them that they might beg or starve. That death by starvation, indeed, was not uncommon is asserted in the project of reform drawn up, in 1518, by order of Charles V.

Still the tribunals seem to have made some progress in providing themselves with penitential prisons for, in 1524, the Suprema deemed it worth while to order that they should be inspected monthly, and the results be recorded in a book to be kept for that purpose.[422] By no means all had done so however. Barcelona, which occupied the royal palace, had found room there, in 1489, for its penitents, and in 1544 we hear of Gerónimo de Quadras as alcaide, on a salary of fifty ducats, out of which he was to pay for a person to conduct the prisoners to mass and to bring them back. Valencia was less advanced, for it could have had no prison in 1540, when it sentenced three women to keep as a prison such place as should be designated to them, but in 1546 it secured the services of Gerónimo de Quadras as alcaide, at a salary of thirty ducats. In 1550, however, he complained that he had never received his pay and, in 1554, we find the perpetual prison of Brianda de Garcete commuted to confinement in her own house, or other designated place, which would indicate that the attempt to establish a prison had been abandoned.[423] In 1553, Logroño apparently had none, for it assigned, to Juan Prebost, Bilbao and two leagues around as a prison, with the sanbenito.[424] This need not surprise us for, if in some tribunals there was an attempt to provide a perpetual prison, it was exceptional. In 1537 the Suprema had formally declared that it would be a novelty to support the penitents at the cost of the fisc; this could not and ought not to be done; there was no objection to their performing{154} their penance in their own homes and the tribunals could arrange it accordingly. A few months later this was repeated; the reconciled could be sent to their houses to perform their penance, if they had no other means of support.[425]

At length the Instructions of 1561 endeavored to introduce some system in this scandalous state of things. The sentence of reconciliation condemned the penitent to prison and sanbenito for a specified term, during which he was to wear the abito publicly over his other garments; he was to be confined in the perpetual prison, going to mass and sermon on Sundays and feast days, and on Saturdays performing certain devotions at a designated shrine.[426] To enforce this discipline the Instructions stated that, as many tribunals had no perpetual prison, houses should be bought for the purpose as, without them there were no means of knowing whether the reconciled performed their penance. The alcaide should help them in their necessity by giving them materials to work at their trades and help to support themselves, and the inquisitors should visit the prison several times a year.[427] This seems to have been followed by an effort to induce the tribunals to provide prisons, for, in 1562, Toledo was taken to task for having none. It not only did not supply the deficiency but demurred to the suggestion that it should at least furnish a person to see that the penitents performed their penance, and it was told that for three or four thousand maravedís of extra pay the portero could attend to this.[428]

In 1570 the Suprema resumed the attempt to bring about this much needed reform. It told the tribunals that they could rent houses until they should be able to purchase, and they must appoint proper persons as alcaides to keep watch over the penitents.[429] The result of this pressure was gradual. In 1577 the Cistercian convent of Santa Fe, in Saragossa, made formal complaint to the pope of the number of penitents quartered upon it, and Cardinal Savelli, the head of the Roman Inquisition, interposed with the Suprema to relieve it of this oppression.[430] It was not until 1598 that the Mexican tribunal, nearly thirty years after its foundation,{155} built a capacious prison adjoining its own structure.[431] In 1600, for the first time, there is an allusion in the Toledo record to a “carcel de la peniténcia” and, in 1609, Valencia was busy in erecting one at a cost of 5110 libras; it had been planned to have three floors, but was economically reduced to two.[432] Whether all the tribunals yielded to the pressure and established penitential prisons it would be impossible to say, but they probably did so, if only in some perfunctory fashion that justified the appointment of an alcaide. Simultaneously with this there came a change in the name, and the carcel perpetua was known as the casa de la peniténcia or de la misericórdia.

It does not follow that the establishment of prisons was attended with any increased strictness of discipline. The Inquisition persistently refused to accept the burden of supporting its prisoners and left them to shift for themselves. Where prisons existed there were few penitents in them, although condemnations to imprisonment were frequent and, in 1641, Philip IV conceived the idea of liberating them all. The Suprema sent his decree to the tribunals with orders to report whether they had any prisoners and what were their cases, to which Valencia replied that it had one, imprisoned for persistent sorcery, whereupon the Suprema ordered the sentence to be commuted and the prisoner to be discharged.[433]

The royal project fell through. All prisons were not as empty as that of Valencia and a discussion occurring, in 1654, at Granada, to which allusion has already been made, illustrates the character of the imprisonment rendered necessary by the refusal to support the prisoners. They gained their living chiefly by hawking goods around the city; this at length aroused the shopkeepers, and the corregidor represented to the tribunal that scandals were occasioned by their entering houses and committing indecencies; there was loss to the king for, as penitents, they were not subject to the alcavala and other imposts; thus favored they undersold the{156} shopkeepers, who had lost half of their trade, while the penitents grew rich, for they came almost naked from the secret prison and, in a short time, they were well clothed and enriched. The tribunal admitted the force of this and, on December 24, 1654, issued an order that, for two weeks, they might cry their wares through the streets, but not enter houses, and subsequently be restricted to selling in shops. At this the prisoners complained bitterly of the deprivation of a privilege of long standing in all places where there was a tribunal, for without it they could not earn a living or support their wives and families. Thereupon the fiscal, Doctor Joseph Francisco Cresco de Escobar, seeing that both sides would appeal to the Suprema, printed for its enlightenment a memorial which reveals to us the character of penitential imprisonment. He states that, in accordance with the Instructions of 1488, the tribunals had provided penitential prisons, the one at Granada being of ample capacity for the observance of the Instructions of 1561. He quotes the canons and conciliar decrees to show that recanting heretics are to be immured for life, whence he argues that the prison should be afflictive and penal. Now, however, it is only nominal; the so-called prisoners go out at all hours of the day, without restriction, without a companion, without labor save what they voluntarily undertake, all of which is liberty and not captivity. They wander at will through the city and suburbs, they amuse themselves at the houses of their friends, they spend, if they choose, only part of the night in the prison, which serves them as a comfortable lodging-house, free of rent. The Instructions require that the alcaide shall see that they perform their penance, but this has become impossible, and there are no means of restricting their intercourse with the faithful. As for their plea that they leave the secret prison broken in health and stripped of their property, that they have no chance to learn trades and must support their families by trading, the answer is that only through the mercy of the Holy Office do they escape burning, and they should be thankful that their lives are spared; their poverty is a trifling penalty for their crimes, and their children only share the punishment of paternal heresy.[434]

With all this laxity, there was a pretence of maintaining the old rigor, which regarded prison-breaking as relapse, but the real offence lay in the fugitive throwing off the sanbenito. There seems{157} to have been little desire to recapture those who absented themselves, for the formula of the mandate to search for and arrest fugitives only concerns itself with those who escape from the secret prison and who thus are still on trial,[435] but when from any cause penitents were returned to the tribunal, their treatment is exemplified in the case of Juan González, who escaped from the casa de la peniténcia of Valladolid, July 3, 1645. His story was that, having gone out to collect some money due to him, he gambled it away, got drunk, went to sleep under the walls of the Carmelite convent in the suburbs and, on awaking next morning and fearing punishment, he wandered away, throwing off the sanbenito and seeking work. Thus he reached Irun and designed passing into France, but was recognized by a priest who had seen him in Valladolid; he was handed over to the commissioner and was passed from familiar to familiar till he was lodged in the secret prison of Valladolid. The fiscal claimed that his flight and throwing off the sanbenito proved him to be an impenitent and pertinacious relapsed into Judaism who must be relaxed; but his sentence was only two hundred lashes and irremissible prison.[436]

Sentences to imprisonment continued as usual, but growing indifference as to providing for their execution is indicated by a correspondence between Barcelona and the Suprema in 1718. At that time the tribunal had but four cases under trial; it still occupied the ancient royal palace but, after it had condemned for Judaism María Meneses to irremissible, and her daughter Catalina de Solis, to perpetual prison, it did not know what to do with them and applied for instructions. There was, it said, no penitential prison nor could it find that there ever had been one, neither was there an alcaide; it possessed no house that could be used for the purpose, and no official could be spared from his other duties. The Suprema replied by inquiring whether there was a prison for familiars in which a room could be used for the women, or whether some little house near the palace could be had and some official or familiar could serve as alcaide. The tribunal rejoined negativing the proposed use of the prison for familiars; it would see whether a house could be had, but there was no money for the purpose; as for the officials, they were all fully occupied and no one would take the position without salary. This{158} the Suprema met with a peremptory order to rent a little house and appoint an alcaide at the ordinary wages. Under this pressure some kind of provision must have been made for, in an auto of January 31, 1723, the tribunal condemned four Judaizers to irremissible prison.[437]

During the recrudescence of persecution at this period, the number of condemnations to imprisonment was large; in the Granada auto of December 21, 1720, there were twenty-seven and, in sixty-four autos between 1721 and 1727, there were seven hundred and forty.[438] How these numerous prisoners were accommodated it would be difficult to guess, for the neglect of the penitential prisons was progressive and, in the census of all the tribunals, about 1750, but three reported to have alcaides—Córdova, Granada and Murcia.[439] It does not follow that others had not prisons, but only that they had no prisoners and cared to have none. For instance, in 1794, when the Suprema inquired of Valencia whether its prison would suit for the priest Juan Fernández Sotelo, whose health required a change from the convent where he was recluded, the tribunal craftily replied that its prison was constructed with cells and dungeons and that, in the eyes of the people, confinement in it produced infamy, so that quarters for Sotelo had better be found in some convent in the suburbs. Apparently it forgot all this when, in 1802, it complained that the salaries of its secretaries had not been raised in 1795, while that of the alcaide of the penitential prison had been increased from a hundred and twenty to twenty-two hundred reales, although he had nothing to do, and enjoyed the use of a house in the prison as good as those of the inquisitors.[440]

In fact, by this time penitential imprisonment was virtually obsolete. After the subsidence of the active persecution of Judaism, the Toledo tribunal which, in 1738, pronounced twelve sentences of prison, did not utter another until 1756. Then a long interval occurs, of thirty-eight years, before the next one, which was for heretical propositions.[441] It would not, perhaps, be safe to say that, in the concluding years of the Inquisition, this form {159}of punishment was wholly unknown, but no cases of it have come under my observation.

There was the same reduction in the duration of imprisonment as in its severity, owing presumably to the same economical motive. As we have seen, the medieval Church recognized only lifelong imprisonment as the fitting penalty for the heretic who saved his forfeited life by recantation and, in recognition of this, the penitential prison in Spain was officially known as the perpetual prison, the sentences being always for perpetual imprisonment. At a very early period, however, it was clearly recognized that the literal enforcement of this was a physical impossibility. Bernaldez tells us that in Seville, up to 1488, there had been five thousand reconciled and condemned to perpetual imprisonment, but they were released after four or five years with sanbenitos and these were subsequently removed to prevent the spread of infamy throughout the land.[442] At Barcelona the tribunal had scarce been established, when we find it drawing a distinction in its sentences to perpetual imprisonment, some being cum misericordia and others absque misericordia—thus anticipating the so-called “irremissible” perpetual prison—and from the sentences it would appear that “without mercy” was exceptional.[443]

This inevitable laxity provoked opposition on the part of the more rigid authorities and, in 1509, while Ximenes was in Oran, there was a discussion on the subject in the Suprema, when we are told that his temporary representative, Rojas Archbishop of Granada, stood alone against the other members.[444] What was the nature of the decision is not recorded, but it probably favored the laxer view, for Ximenes and the Suprema, in 1516, deemed it necessary to order that all sentences to prison and sanbenito must be perpetual, in accordance with the canon law; if, in any case, the inquisitors thought there should be a remission it must be left to the discretion of the inquisitor-general.[445]

The tendency to shorten the term was irresistible; the conservatives had to yield and, by the middle of the sixteenth century, Simancas tells us that perpetual prison was customarily defined to{160} be three years, if the penitent was repentant, while those condemned to irremissible prison were usually released after eight years.[446] So purely technical did the term “perpetual prison” become that inquisitors saw nothing incongruous in such sentences as “perpetual prison for one year” or “for six months,” which are constantly met with, as well as “perpetual prison” followed by terms of exile. The real infliction was therefore much less severe than it appears on the records, and when periods longer than eight years were intended, they were specified, as when Salvador Razo, for Molinism, was sentenced, in the Granada auto of July 4, 1745, to ten years, of which the first five were to be spent in the galleys—a hardship remitted on account of his infirmities.[447]

The terms of imprisonment were frequently shortened, moreover, sometimes, from humane motives, but more often from financial considerations, for the dispensing power in this, as in the other penalties, was a source of profit. Thus Mayor García, a Morisca of Daimiel, condemned in the Toledo auto of September 21, 1550, to perpetual prison for six months, on January 13, 1551, petitioned the tribunal for release “as was customary with others,” saying that her husband would pay what the inquisitors should demand. The matter was promptly arranged with Inquisitor Alonso Pérez for four ducats, to help to build the staging for an auto de fe—a somewhat heavy payment for two months’ relief.[448] This dispensing power was the subject of a prolonged struggle between the tribunals and the Suprema. In the early period, at Barcelona, the former endeavored to secure it by the device of discretional sentences, which inquisitors could curtail or extend at will, and this was recognized in a letter of the Suprema, October 4, 1499, authorizing them, under such sentences, to dispense with the imprisonment but not with the sanbenito.[449] In 1513, however, Ximenes forbade this without his consent and the repetition of the order in 1514 and 1516 shows that it was difficult of enforcement.[450] In spite of this when the Valencia tribunal, February 25, 1540, condemned five Moriscos to “habit and prison for as long a time as we shall determine,” the Suprema insisted that, when discretion{161} was specified, it must alone be that of the inquisitor-general, a mandate that had to be repeated more than once, even as late as 1592.[451]

The question of this, as of all other commutations, was inevitably settled, as we have seen, in favor of the inquisitor-general. In many cases there was no concealment that it was purely an affair of bargain and sale, but it is pleasant to record that often it was prompted by humanity. Petitions for abridgement of the penance were numerous and were usually sent in at the time of the greater feasts, which are alleged as a reason for mercy, in addition to the misery of the penitent. As an example of these petitions may be mentioned the case of Violante Rodríguez who, with her husband Duarte Valentin, was arrested for Judaism March 15, 1664. After a three years’ trial, she was sentenced at Granada, February 24, 1667, to two years’ imprisonment, while her husband was similarly sentenced at Cuenca. About August 10th she petitioned for commutation, alleging that she had eight little children, deprived of both parents. The Suprema promptly sent to Granada for the details of the case, but the tribunal delayed until October 8th, when it accompanied its report with the suggestion that she should be released with spiritual penances after the expiration of the first year, as she had manifested true repentance. Growing impatient, on December 24th, she again petitioned the Suprema, alluding to her seven children, thus showing that one had meanwhile died. That she was duly discharged in February there can be no doubt, and there is no trace in the correspondence of any pecuniary consideration. Some of the petitions for release, in truth, were well calculated to inspire compassion, such as that of Simon Méndez Soto, in 1666, wherein he describes himself as 84 years old, blind, deaf, crippled on both sides with many infirmities and penniless, and he supplicates release that he may seek for cure.[452]

There would appear to have been no minimum age for imprisonment short of irresponsibility. The Toledo tribunal condemned for Judaism García son of Pedro the potter of Aguda, a boy eleven years of age, to perpetual prison. In the Cuenca auto of June 29, 1654, for the same offence, Escolástica Gómez, aged 12 and Isavel{162} Díaz Jorje, aged 14 had the same penalty and, in the Toledo auto of October 30, 1701, José de Leon, a boy of 16 was sentenced to irremissible prison.[453]

THE SANBENITO.

The sanbenito, or penitential garment, was the invariable accompaniment of reconciliation and prison, constituting together the “carcel y abito” of the sentences, although it was not exclusively reserved for such cases. It was not invented by the Spanish Inquisition, even though we can scarce agree with an enthusiastic writer, who traces its origin to the Fall, when God made the delinquents put on penitential habits of skins, corresponding with the sacos benditos now used in the tribunals.[454]

The penitential habit of sackcloth sprinkled with ashes, customary in the early Church, has passed into a proverb. That the penitents of the Inquisition should be required to wear such a garment was inevitable and, from the foundation of the institution, in the thirteenth century, they were distinguished from other penitents by two yellow crosses, one on the breast and the other on the back. From Eymerich we learn that in Aragon this garment was like the scapular worn by the religious Orders.[455] This saco bendito became known as the sanbenito or, more commonly, abito and was necessarily inherited by the new Inquisition. In 1486, at the Toledo auto of December 11th, two hundred penitents, reconciled under the Edict of Grace, were required to wear in public such a garment for a year, under penalty of relapse.[456] For those reconciled after trial, the infliction was more severe. In 1490, Torquemada ordered that they should wear during life a sanbenitillo of black or gray cloth, eighteen inches long and nine inches wide, like a small tabard, hanging on breast and back, with a red cross before and behind, occupying nearly the entire field. This was hung over the outer garment, and was a conspicuous{163} indication to all beholders of the shame of the wearer, rendering it a punishment regarded as exceedingly severe.[457] In 1514, Ximenes changed the cross to an aspa de San Andrés, a St. Andrew’s or oblique cross, of which the bars traversed diagonally the breast and back.[458] Finally the Instructions of 1561 describe the abito penitencial as made of yellow linen or cloth, with two red aspas, although in some parts of Aragon there are particular customs as to colors which must be observed—referring probably to the use of green cloth in place of yellow, which seems to have been the case in Valencia and Sicily.[459] In some tribunals there was also in use, for those who abjured de vehementi, a sanbenito de media aspa, or half cross, consisting of a single diagonal band. Those who were to be relaxed appeared in the auto de fe in a black sanbenito, on which were painted flames and sometimes demons thrusting the heretic into hell.[460] Llorente tells us that abjuration de levi was performed in a zamarra, or yellow sanbenito without aspas, but I have met with no allusion to its use.[461] The distinction between the sanbenito de dos aspas and the one de media aspa was maintained, and the former was understood to indicate that the wearer had been guilty of formal heresy, that he and his children were subject to the consequent disabilities, and that he was liable to the stake in case of relapse. The latter was worn only during the auto de fe, after which it was laid aside.[462]

Although, in the early period, the sanbenito was imposed perpetually, the expression is to be taken in the same sense as imprisonment. As a rule, the two were coterminous and the sentences are almost invariably “habit and prison for two years,” or perpetual or irremissible as the case may be. Where, indeed, the heresy was trivial or technical rather than real, or the conversion seemed genuine and spontaneous, the sanbenito was merely a symbol, to be worn only during the auto, or even for a briefer period, although it none the less left its ineffaceable stigma. There were gradations suited to every case, as is well illustrated in the Granada auto{164} of May 27, 1593, where, in three cases, it was removed after reading the sentence, in two, after returning to the Inquisition, in two, after twenty-four hours (one of these being the Licentiate Juan Fernández, who had Judaized for thirty-six years), in one case it was imposed for two years and in another for three, and Leonor Fernández had two years of sanbenito and four of prison. It was even put on the effigy of Doña Inez de Tórres, from which it was removed after reading the sentence, because she had confessed and died as a Catholic, with ample signs of contrition.[463] Thus the tribunal could vary the penalty at its discretion, and was not bound to the rule of coterminous abito y carcel. In the Toledo auto of March 15, 1722, two girls of 14, Manuela Díaz and María de Mendoza, were sentenced to six months of prison and two months of sanbenito, while in that of February 24, 1723, Manuel Ximenes had perpetual prison and one year of sanbenito.[464]

From the fact that, in the sentences, the penitents are told that they are not to go out of their prisons or their houses without the sanbenito, it is inferable that it was not worn within doors. Discarding it, as we have seen, was a grave offence, punishable as non-fulfilment of penance and, in the Edicts of Faith, the denunciation of this, as of other infractions, was required. There was one occasion, however, in which this was done on a large scale with impunity, for in the Palermo rising of 1516 against the Inquisition, there was a universal throwing off of sanbenitos. When order was restored and the tribunal was re-established, there was a fruitless effort made to reimpose them. In 1522 the Suprema wrote to Inquisitors Calvete and Cervera calling attention to this as a great disservice to God and a heavy charge on the souls of the penitents, who must be compelled to resume them, and all secular and ecclesiastical authorities were commanded to assist. Then again, in 1525, Inquisitor-general Manrique insisted on the resumption of the sanbenitos, but at the same time he cautioned the inquisitors not to cause scandal or trouble, and we may assume that the attempt was practically abandoned.[465]

Cruel as was the imposition of the sanbenito, it was a punishment inherited from the elder Inquisition, but Spanish ingenuity invented a still more cruel use of it to stimulate the detestation of{165} heresy. This was the preservation of the sanbenitos, with suitable inscriptions, conspicuously displayed in the churches, thus perpetuating to future generations the memory of the crime and punishment of the delinquent. The origin of this may perhaps be traceable to the ceremonies observed in the early period, when penitents were relieved of the abito. As described, in 1490, at Barcelona, they were assembled in the Inquisition and preached to by the inquisitor. A fortnight later they gathered in the parish church of Santa María del Pino and heard mass; then they marched in procession to the chapel of Our Lady of Monserrat, again heard mass, offered twelve dineros apiece to the Virgin, and passed the night, after which their sanbenitos were taken off and hung in a prominent place near the door.[466] Of course, in the case of those who were burnt, the sanbenito was hung up at once, and this remained the rule, as we learn from the Instructions of 1561—the sanbenito of the reconciled was hung when it was removed, whether during the auto or after years of prison; that of the relaxed, immediately after the auto.[467]

The custom must have been of gradual growth. There is no allusion to it in the Instrucciones antiquas, nor have I found any indication as to the time when it became imperative except that, in 1512, there is a decision of the Suprema expressing the will of the king and the cardinal that the sanbenitos of the relaxed and reconciled of the Campo de Calatrava shall be hung in the churches, except those of the reconciled in the Time of Grace, and that, if any of the latter have been hung, they are to be removed.[468] This indicates a custom favored by the authorities, spreading, but as yet subject to question. It had already passed to Sicily, where one of the incidents of the rising of 1516 was the tearing down of the sanbenitos in the churches, and so great was the popular detestation of it that, at the end of the century, it had not been possible to restore the practice.[469]

It mattered little to the descendants that the sanbenitos of the victims in the early years had escaped this publicity. The perversity which inspired it developed into such malignity that, in 1532, the Suprema ordered the tribunals to make from their records lists of all burnt or reconciled, even under Edicts of Grace, and{166} to suspend in the churches whatever sanbenitos were found to be lacking. The inexcusable cruelty of including the voluntary reconciliados under Edicts of Grace caused this portion of the order to be revoked in 1538, but, in 1539, this was declared inapplicable to those which had already been hung—if they had been removed, they must be replaced. The question was revived, in 1552, and opinions were divided, but the decision to retain them prevailed. Meanwhile, in 1548, the Suprema stimulated the tribunals to fill all vacancies, whether arising from omissions or the surreptitious removal of old ones, and it ordered the hanging of new ones as soon as the autos were held, in order to anticipate the complaints and importunities of the sufferers and their kindred. Then, as though the tribunals were slack in their duty, in 1555 the order of 1532 was revived and repeated.[470] The wilful viciousness of this is indicated by the Instructions of 1561, which point out that, as those reconciled in Time of Grace are exempt from wearing the sanbenito, so their sanbenitos ought not to be suspended in the churches.[471]

The object was the cruel one of perpetuating the infamy of the victim and rendering it as galling as possible to his kindred and descendants. As the sanbenitos wore out or became illegible with time, they were replaced, and finally superseded by yellow linen cloths, bearing full details of the name, lineage, crime and punishment of the culprit.[472] Originally they were hung in the cathedral of the city of the Inquisition, but this did not bring the disgrace sufficiently close to the descendants and, in some places at least, they were ordered to be transferred to the parish churches of the delinquents, whose infamy was thus kept alive in the memory of their neighbors. A single instance will illustrate the spirit actuating this. In 1519 the Suprema ordered this transfer made by the tribunal of Cuenca, but the command was slackly obeyed and was repeated in 1529. Then the descendants of Lope de Leon and Alvar Hernández de Leon, residents of Belmonte, petitioned the Suprema, saying that the wives of Lope and Alvar had been reconciled; they were natives of Quintanar, where they had committed their heresy, and the descendants now begged that the sanbenitos be hung in the church of Quintanar and not of Belmonte. To this the Suprema replied, April 15, 1529, by{167} instructing the tribunal to hang the sanbenitos in the residence of the descendants, in a place so public that the reconciliation of the women should be notorious to all. It is true that the descendants secured delay until the pressing orders came of 1548, when, on November 9th the sanbenitos of the women were hung in the church of Belmonte.[473]

This policy of distribution cannot have been universal for, when the Toledo cathedral desired to be relieved of the great accumulation of sanbenitos, the Suprema forbade it, adding that if it was desired to have them in the parish churches it must be done with new ones, leaving the originals in the cathedral. At length, in 1538, the inquisitors Yáñez and Loaysa distributed them among the parish churches, when Sebastian de Orozco tells us that it caused infinite misery to the descendants, leading them all or nearly all to change their family names, so that in Toledo the names actually borne by the Conversos disappeared.[474]

Change of name was not the only device resorted to by the descendants, for they were constantly at work removing surreptitiously the evidence of their infamy. As early as 1518, the Saragossa tribunal was ordered to prosecute with rigor those who had abstracted them from the Dominican church.[475] Their zeal was stimulated by the fact that the inquisitors, in making up the records, included all who had been reconciled under Edicts of Grace, thus affording legitimate ground of complaint, as shown by a long-continued struggle at Frejenal. In 1556, Doctor Ramírez, Inquisitor of Llerena, protested to the Suprema against the efforts of the people of Frejenal for the removal of the names of those reconciled in Time of Grace; it would leave but few for, in 1491, there had been three hundred and fifty-seven reconciliations there, of which three hundred and fifty-four had been under the Edict. To render ancestral infamy more accessible to the public, besides the sanbenitos, the names and details were inscribed on a tablet of parchment. This became torn and nearly illegible and, on August 23, 1563, it was solemnly replaced by another, written in large letters, with printer’s ink, and varnished to insure its preservation. The secret warfare waged against this perpetuation of infamy is described, in 1572, in a deposition of the{168} familiar Rodrigo Carvajo. The people of the town, he said, were mostly descendants of Conversos, resorting to perjury and every other means to conceal their origin. The sacristans were generally Conversos, who connived at the methods employed to destroy the evidence, and the sanbenitos were stolen; there used to be five hundred and ninety-nine, and now there were only ten or a dozen, worn and torn and so placed that they could not be read, while the tablet with the names was gradually being defaced and rendered illegible. Thus it continued until 1576, when Inquisitor Montoyo brought to Frejenal a new set of sanbenitos prepared from the records, which were duly suspended, and a tablet containing names and details was placed where all could read it. This list shows the obstinate persistence with which the names of the spontaneously reconciled were retained. It contained a hundred and sixty-two relaxed and four hundred and nine reconciled, all, with very few exceptions, in the years from 1491 to 1495. There were none between 1499 and 1511, and none later than 1511.[476] Struggles similar to this were doubtless on foot in numerous other places.

The churches themselves do not seem to have looked with favor on this desecration of their sacred precincts. At Cuenca, there was apparently an attempt to hide the sanbenitos of which the tribunal complained in 1571, when the Suprema ordered it to see that nothing was put before them, even on feast-days.[477] The parish church of San Salvador, at Cifuentes, went further and, in 1561, appealed to Pius IV, explaining to him the Spanish custom, and representing that not only was the attractiveness of the church marred by the prominence assigned to the sanbenitos, but that they led to many scandals, all of which would be prevented if they were removed to some less prominent place or laid away altogether, but that licence from the Holy See was requisite for this. The pope gave the required licence, subject to the assent of the Inquisition to the removal, which of course rendered it inoperative.[478] The cathedral of Granada was more fortunate for when, in 1610, Inquisitor-general Sandoval consecrated as archbishop Pedro González de Mendoza, the latter asked him, as a special favor to his bride, that she should be relieved of the sanbenitos. Sandoval assented and the permission came soon after{169} Mendoza had reached Granada. It was celebrated with great rejoicings and ringing of bells; the sanbenitos of the Moriscos were transferred to the church of San Salvador, in the Albaycin, while those of the Judaizers were hung in the church of Santiago, which was the parish church of the Inquisition.[479] Even when there was not this open antagonism, there was apt to be neglect which was practically more damaging. In 1642, the Valencia tribunal learned that some of those in the cathedral had fallen and were allowed to lie. It made an investigation and, from the report, it would seem as though every available spot was thus decorated and that all required attention for their preservation. The sacristans promised to do what was necessary, but apparently they had been quite willing to see them disappear.[480]

Conscious of this ecclesiastical indifference and of the constant effort of those interested to make way with the visible records of their infamy, the Suprema was incessantly active to counteract the results. The Instructions of 1561 insist imperatively on the duty of hanging the new sanbenitos and renewing the old, so that the memory of the infamy of heretics shall be preserved forever, and inquisitors on their visitations are commanded to see that the parish churches are kept with unbroken lines of the mantetas y insinias of their culprit parishioners.[481] Philip II was no less urgent. In his instructions of 1595 to Manrique de Lara, he calls special attention to the subject; there are sanbenitos now to be hung and others which have never been hung, apparently through favoritism, for which the inquisitors deserve rigorous punishment, for this is the severest penalty which the Holy Office can inflict on heretics and their descendants, and Manrique is to see that all deficiencies are made good.[482]

In fact, the most pressing business of the inquisitor in visiting his district was to attend to this. In 1569 the Suprema ordered every one, before starting, to have full lists made out of the relaxed and reconciled of the region to be traversed and, in each place, these lists were to be compared with the existing sanbenitos and all that had disappeared were to be replaced. In 1600 and 1607 these instructions were repeated with still greater urgency, as a matter not to be neglected for a single day, in view of the evils{170} that would follow.[483] That nothing was to be allowed to interfere with this pious duty is seen when Valencia had no money wherewith to defray the expense of renewals and was told to borrow it from the Depositario de los pretendientes—the sacred deposits of those seeking to prove their limpieza, which were thus used to preserve the muniments that might destroy their hopes.[484]

How, in fact, the sanbenitos were employed for this purpose is indicated in a perquisition conducted at Tortosa, in 1577, by the inquisitor, Juan de Zúñiga. The sanbenitos were carefully examined and lists were made out, classified firstly into those of which the trials could be identified and those of which no trace could be found in the records, and secondly into the penalties inflicted. Then two of the oldest residents—a notary and a priest—were summoned; the lists were gone over with them and their evidence was taken as to the descendants of the culprits, especially whether any had changed their names so as to elude disabilities. Thus a close watch was kept on them and every care was taken that the infamy of their ancestors should be lasting.[485]

As the seventeenth century wore on, it would seem that the zeal of the tribunals in the matter of sanbenitos was flagging. A general carta acordada of February 27, 1657, assumes this, in calling their attention to the Instructions of 1561 and to subsequent orders of similar import. As many autos de fe had recently been held, and as it was understood that, in some places, the sanbenitos had not been hung in the churches, the tribunals were commanded forthwith to make out lists of the relaxed and the reconciled, and to have corresponding sanbenitos suspended in the churches, as well as to renew the old ones which were worn out. In view of the importance of this to the service of God, a full report in detail was imperatively required to be furnished within four months. This may have excited the tribunals to spasmodic activity but, if so, its influence was but temporary for, in 1691, we find the Suprema ordering reports as to the length of time that had elapsed since sanbenitos had ceased to be hung in the churches; lists of deficiencies were called for; the old sanbenitos were to be examined and statements were to be rendered{171} as to what were lacking and what had become illegible, so that the Suprema might take requisite action.[486]

This looks as if the custom had been falling into desuetude, but it was by no means abandoned and, as late as August 26, 1753, when a deceased delinquent named Horstmann was burnt in effigy at Valencia, two sanbenitos were ordered to be suspended, one in the cathedral and one in the parish church of San Lorenzo.[487] Still the same tribunal furnishes, in 1783, a refreshing evidence of the decline of intolerant zeal in the gradual diffusion of enlightenment. The cathedral had been undergoing restoration, during which the sanbenitos had been carefully stored in a room of the Inquisition. On the completion of the work, the tribunal suggested to Inquisitor-general Beltran that it would not redound to the service of God or of the public to hang them up again, to which Beltran assented; if the chapter did not ask for them, the tribunal was not to raise the question, or to do any thing in the matter and, from an endorsement on the letter, it is to be inferred that the sanbenitos were allowed to repose undisturbed.[488]

It is not to be supposed that, when the Córtes of Cadiz, February 22, 1813, abolished the Inquisition, it was satisfied to permit the continued existence of the sanbenitos which perpetuated so many dreadful memories. A decree of the same day recited that Article 305 of the Constitution provided that no punishment should extend beyond the criminal to his family; that the means by which, in public places, the memory of penalties inflicted by the Inquisition was preserved, brought infamy on families, and even exposed to evil repute persons of the same name. Therefore all portraits, pictures, or inscriptions, recording the punishments imposed by the Inquisition, existing in churches, cloisters, convents and other places, were to be removed or blotted out within three days after receipt of the decree.[489]

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The condition of Spain was not such as to insure any wide obedience of this decree, although it is scarce likely that the French armies had left many sanbenitos hanging in towns occupied by them during the war. What occurred elsewhere may probably be guessed by the example of Majorca, when the Constitution of Cadiz was enthusiastically received and the sanbenitos were removed from the church of San Domingo, but they were providently stored away and were again hung up after the Restoration in 1814. In the Revolution of 1820, however, they were torn down and burnt and the Inquisition was levelled to the ground.[490]

The custom of suspending in the churches the habitelli or sanbenitos of the reconciled and relaxed seems to have been borrowed by Italy from Spain, at least in some places. It is to the credit of the Roman Inquisition that it disapproved this barbarous practice, as appears from a decree of 1627 ordering them to be removed from the cathedral of Faenza and to be secretly burnt.[491]

DISABILITIES.

Disabilities have already been considered in their relation to the finances of the Inquisition, arising from the sale of dispensations, but they formed too important a portion of the penal system not to require further treatment in this connection. They differed however from other punishments in that, although specified in the sentences, they were the inseparable consequences of condemnation for heresy and thus, in some sense, self-operative, for the severity of the laws for the suppression of misbelief was not content with confiscating the property of those whose lives were spared. The reconciled heretic was not only turned adrift penniless, but was subjected to restrictions incapacitating him from earning a livelihood. As this refinement of cruelty could not be applied to those who were burnt, it was visited on their descendants.

This latter provision was derived from the imperial legislation against treason, which disabled children of traitors from holding office and succeeding to collateral estates.[492] Frederic II, in his Ravenna decree of 1232, made this applicable to the children and grandchildren of heretics, which was eagerly incorporated{173} into the legislation of Alexander IV and Honorius IV, although Boniface VIII mitigated it slightly by exempting grandchildren in the female line.[493] As part of the canon law this of course governed the Spanish Inquisition and, if there were those who questioned the justice of punishing orthodox children for their parents’ heresy, they were triumphantly silenced by Alfonso de Castro, who pointed to Original Sin as an irrefragable proof that this was in accordance with the law of God.[494]

The application of these restrictions to reconciled penitents apparently originated with the Council of Béziers, in 1246, which ordered that penitents should not hold public office, or serve as physicians or notaries, or wear silk garments or gold and silver ornaments or other vanities—in short, that their apparel should befit those whose lives constructively were to be passed in repentance.[495] These provisions were not carried into the canon law but apparently became traditional in the Holy Office.

In the Instructions of 1484 there is nothing said as to the disabilities of descendants, but inquisitors were instructed to order penitents, after completing their penance, never to hold public office or benefices or to serve as procurators, tax-collectors, farmers of the revenue, grocers, apothecaries, physicians, surgeons, bleeders or brokers, thus prohibiting the professions which they had specially made their own. Moreover, they were not to wear gold or silver, coral, pearls or other precious stones or garments of silk or camlet or other finery or to ride on horse-back or bear arms, and all this during life, under penalty of relapse.[496]

There was evidently doubt as to the application of these restrictions to the descendants of those relaxed, but that there was an effort made in that direction is shown by their procuring, in 1486, from Innocent VIII, a brief enabling them to farm the revenues of churches.[497] In the assembly of inquisitors, in 1488, the matter excited considerable debate, resulting in instructions that each tribunal in its own district should enforce, under heavy penalties, the disability of children and grandchildren to hold any office or{174} dignity that could be considered public, and the list of prohibited callings was enlarged by including those of merchants, notaries, scriveners, advocates, farmers of revenues and some others. The sumptuary restrictions were not extended to them, for they were not penitents, but they were forbidden to wear the insignia of any dignity, secular or ecclesiastic.[498] The omission was made good in a decree issued by Torquemada, April 22, 1494, but it was so slackly obeyed that when, in 1502, the sovereigns ordered its enforcement, they allowed a certain time for those affected to become acquainted with its provisions.[499] Ferdinand himself had had occasion to recognize the hardship of the rule for, in 1500, the mother of Pero Rúiz, a member of his royal guard, was condemned and consequently he was incapacitated from riding and bearing arms. Unwilling to lose him, Ferdinand wrote to Torquemada for letters of dispensation to be brought back by the messenger.[500]

We have seen how, in the struggle over the profits of dispensation, the sovereigns abandoned to the Inquisition the cosas arbitrarias, or sumptuary restrictions, and assumed to themselves, by the pragmáticas of 1501, control over the disability to hold office and to follow certain professions and trades, which limited so greatly the ability of the reconciled and of the children and grandchildren of the condemned to support themselves.[501] A humane exception was made however, in 1502, under which children reconciled below the age of 14 were exempted from the operation of the pragmáticas.[502] As these were municipal laws they were subject to the secular officials, who were ordered to enforce them under pain of confiscation and loss of office for negligence.

It was easier to publish edicts than to get them executed. The civil magistrates seem to have paid little attention to the pragmáticas, while the Inquisition did what it could within its allotted sphere. The Suprema issued orders to the tribunals to punish with all rigor those who disregarded the sumptuary restrictions, who were said to be numerous, in great contempt of the Holy Office. It was probably to stimulate zeal that, in 1509, it modified{175} the penalty of relapse to a pecuniary penance, which it authorized the inquisitors to impose at discretion, bearing in mind the gravity of the case and the wealth of the offender.[503] The sums thus realized were considerable enough to tempt the cupidity of the courtiers for, May 9, 1514, we find the king making over to four of his ushers the penalties levied on the sons of Alonso Gallo of Toledo, and on April 1st he ordered Vázquez de Busto, alguazil of Toledo, to collect all the penances of this kind, to pay one-half to the receiver for the tribunal, and divide the other half between the fiscal, Martin Ximenes, and a servant of secretary Calcena.[504] The punishments decreed in the pragmáticas were also modified to fines, as we learn from a letter of June 20, 1515, dividing those incurred in Seville between Calcena and Aguirre, after setting aside one-third for the tribunal, and from another letter of January 8, 1516, bestowing on Fernando de Hoyos, portero of the Cuenca tribunal, the penalties incurred by the wives of Pedro de Vaguera and of Quiros and Jayme Boticario, for exercising the profession of apothecary.[505]

At length it was recognized that the Inquisition was the only instrumentality to be depended upon for the enforcement of the pragmáticas and Charles V, in a cédula of March 30, 1528, placed the whole business in its hands. He recited the laws of Ferdinand and Isabella, with their severe penalties for negligent officials, in spite of which he was informed that, in many places, they were disregarded, wherefore he granted to the Inquisition all necessary powers and ordered it to see to the execution of the law. Possibly there may have been some opposition by the secular authorities to this invasion of their jurisdiction, which called for a repetition of the cédula, March 2, 1543. In pursuance of this the Suprema, in cartas acordadas of 1548, 1549 and 1566, called the attention of the tribunals to the number of persons engaged in prohibited callings or wearing forbidden articles, and it urged them to be active in detecting and punishing the offenders.[506]

The construction of the laws was rigorous. There was a nice question whether, when a parent was condemned in absentia as contumacious, the children were subject to the disabilities, for{176} the heresy was presumptive and not proven. Farinacci held that they were not, for the absentee, even though burnt in effigy, could always return and prove his innocence. Peña represents the stricter Spanish view, that the fugitive was condemned as a heretic and his children were incapacitated. The matter was threshed out in the case of the son of Antonio Pérez, who was deprived of a pension on the church of Cuenca. This was the final decision of the Rota after full argument; it served as a precedent, and the sentence of the absent contained the same enumeration of disabilities as that of one who was burnt in person.[507] Some doubts arose as to whether the pragmáticas prohibited trade in general; all such points were reserved to the king and when, in 1566, it was proposed to prosecute some merchants, the Suprema ordered the cases to be suspended until he should be consulted. It was less cautious when, in 1542, it forbade all reconciled penitents to keep schools, or even to teach children their letters. A question arose whether the prohibition to ride on horseback comprehended mules, but Simancas decides it in the affirmative, and even desires to include vehicles, as it is fitting that all such persons should walk on foot.[508] Even the limits of the canon law were disregarded in the panic occasioned by the discovery of Protestantism in 1559, for in the Seville auto of September 24th, when Juan Ponce de Leon was burnt, the disabilities of his descendants in the male line were extended to the fourth generation.[509]

An ecclesiastical career was closed to penitents and their descendants, who were forbidden to enter holy orders. There was some question raised whether those who were in orders could obtain or retain benefices, but it was decided in the negative. The practice, as stated about 1640, was that on their visitation the inquisitors dealt summarily with cases concerning the cosas arbitrarias while those which involved the holding of benefices or public office were sent to the tribunal for trial.[510] In the Edicts of Faith which they published, denunciations were invited, and all persons were required to give information as to any infractions of the laws of which they were cognizant.[511]

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As everyone who had the misfortune to fall into the hands of the Inquisition was a marked man thereafter, and was liable to the suspicion that he had incurred disabilities—a suspicion apt to grow stronger with time and to affect his descendants—it became important for those who were not thus affected to have some evidence of the fact. In the earlier time the Inquisition was chary about affording this relief, but did not absolutely refuse it when the sufferer applied to the Suprema. It was not everyone however who could obtain the intervention of the Suprema; popular prejudice was strong, and no one knew what took place within the precincts of the tribunals. Blighted careers were thus numerous. Escobar, in his work on Limpieza, tells us that, at the origin of the Inquisition it punished the lightest offences with extreme severity and this, after the lapse of a century and a half, was still disastrously affecting the descendants; it was inhuman that a word inadvertently spoken through levity, or anger, or in jest should bring infamy on the delinquent and his posterity without limitation of time.[512] The memorial of 1623, by a member of the Suprema, discusses the same evil. The writer says that the Inquisition is surrounded by enemies who are daily multiplied through those afflicted by the tribunals. It is not merely those who are relaxed or reconciled or compelled to abjure de vehementi, but there are many well-affected Old Christians, punished with lighter penalties who, if they remain defamed and their posterity disabled from honors, must necessarily add to the number of enemies and it is pitiable thus to afflict them for trivial causes.[513]

The tribunals did not cease to afflict the people, but some relief was afforded by a practice, which gradually came into use, of including, in a sentence for light offences or of acquittal, a clause declaring that the party and his descendants were not subject to disabilities and that he could have a certificate to that effect. Two examples of this, occurring in Valladolid in 1638 will suffice. In the case of Agustin López, tried for blasphemy, the consulta de fe could not agree and the Suprema sentenced him to reprimand and exile, adding that the sentence should be no bar to offices of honor or in the Inquisition. So a sentence, acquitting Miguel Rúiz of a charge of sorcery, says that his imprisonment shall not be an obstacle to him and his children, and that he shall{178} have a certificate to that effect. That Rúiz had not even been confined in the secret prison but in the public gaol shows how sensitive was the popular mind.[514] These certificates de no obstancia, as they were called, would appear, as a rule, not to be issued unless specially applied for, and yet how important they were to the individual and his posterity is manifested by a petition presented, January 17, 1818, by the Licenciate Mariano de Santander y Alvárez setting forth that, twenty years before, in 1798, his father had been arrested and prosecuted by the Valladolid tribunal because, in his trade as a bookseller, he had sold prohibited books. In the final sentence it was declared that his imprisonment and prosecution did not prejudice him or his descendants in the enjoyment of their civil rights, but the secrecy of the Inquisition, and the loss of the certificate given to the father, prevented the petitioner from furnishing the proofs necessary to his admission as an advocate in the royal chancellery, wherefore he begged for a proper testimonial. The Suprema had the statement verified and ordered a certificate to be duly issued.[515]

From this, as well as from the memorial of 1623, it appears that not merely reconciliation but even abjuration or lesser penalties inflicted disabilities, if not as to the cosas arbitrarias at least as to the attainment of an honorable career. In the closing years of the Inquisition this sometimes led to a merciful moderation of the sentence, as in that pronounced, August 27, 1817, on Francisco Mosquera Villamarino, of Santiago, “Bachiller clasico y Profesor del 6º Cuerpo de Canones en su Real Universidad,” for certain propositions. He escaped with a reprimand in the audience-chamber and without abjuration, it being expressly stated that he was treated with this benignity in order not to prejudice him in his career, though he was warned that the Inquisition would keep a watch on him.[516]

Popular prejudice, as we have seen, intensified the cruelty of the cruel laws. How inveterate was this is manifested in the case of Josef Calot who, in 1791, sought in marriage the daughter of Pablo Bordo, a merchant of Valencia. The parents refused assent and the lovers eloped. Bordo brought the matter before the royal Audiencia, showing that Calot was the great-grandson of Clara Muñoz who, at the age of 19, was reconciled for Judaism in the{179} Barcelona auto de fe of April 2, 1724, and was sentenced to irremissible “carcel y abito,” though after two years her husband, Antonio Antonelli, obtained her release. In view of this descent the Audiencia decided that Bordo’s opposition to the marriage was reasonable and just, thus inflicting an indelible stigma on Calot and his posterity. In some way the affair reached the Suprema, which wrote to Valencia for details and, in transmitting them, the inquisitors added an expression of sympathy for Calot in the dishonor cast upon him; the punishment of his great-grandmother did not disable him from the professions, but it would be difficult to restore him to his good fame without calling in question the justice of the sentence of the Audiencia.[517] Even the Inquisition did not venture to repair an injustice caused by its assiduous training of the population in an unreasoning abhorrence of heresy.

The penalty for disregarding the disabilities settled down to the thrifty one of a fine. As regards those imposed by the pragmáticas, the Suprema, in 1531, replied to an inquiry from the tribunal of Avila and Segovia that, although the laws prescribed confiscation for infractions, yet the practice was to penance culprits in accordance with their wealth and station and the degree of the offence. So, in respect to the cosas arbitrarias, it decreed in 1536, that although the Instructions of 1484 provided the pain of relapse, they did not require the inquisitors to condemn the infraction as such, and the practice was to impose pecuniary and spiritual penances.[518] Cases of prosecution for infraction are not very numerous in the records, chiefly owing, we may presume, to the customary sale of rehabilitations; in the tribunal of Toledo they amount only to ninety-one and of these it is noteworthy that there are only three posterior to 1586—two in 1600 and one in 1616.[519] When they occurred, the penalty was at the discretion of the tribunal, and Toledo exercised this with great moderation, in 1579, when Bernardino de Aldana, a ribbon-weaver, spontaneously denounced himself. His mother, Isabel Alvárez, had been burnt by the Cuenca tribunal, yet he had worn a velvet cap, had carried a sword and had ridden on a mule with a saddle;{180} he was married and had done this to satisfy his wife and her kindred, and besides his brother had told him that they had been rehabilitated. His artless story seems to have moved his judges, for he escaped with a reprimand and a fine of two ducats.[520] In 1703 the tribunal of Madrid was more severe with Simon de Andrade, a reconciled penitent, who had worn the prohibited articles. He was harshly reprimanded, was fined in fifty ducats, was banished for a year and was required to surrender the cosas arbitrarias, but we are told that he was permitted to keep the garments which he had on to cover his nakedness, especially as they were of ordinary cloth.[521]

CLERICAL OFFENDERS.

In a land where theocratic influence was so strong, it was inevitable that there should be especial favor shown to erring ecclesiastics. The Church has ever sought to conceal from the public the knowledge of weaknesses that might diminish veneration for its ministers, and scandal has been more dreaded than sin. The Inquisition established its jurisdiction over both the secular and the regular clergy, but it exercised that jurisdiction in accordance with the general policy of the Church. Every care was taken to keep clerical offences from public knowledge, except in cases of formal heresy or of administering the sacraments by those who held only the lower orders. As a rule, in place of being confined in the secret prison during trial, they were housed in some convenient convent, where their presence need excite no surprise. When convicted, they were not exposed in the public autos de fe, but their sentences were read in the audience-chamber with closed doors, though in certain cases a prescribed number of other clerics were summoned to be present as witnesses; even then they did not wear the penitential habit as did laymen.[522]

For aggravated offences, the ordinary punishment was reclusion in a designated convent for a specified term, a penalty which might be infinitely varied. Perhaps six months or a year was to be passed in a cell; the culprit was to be last in choir and refectory; he might be suspended for a term or perpetually from some or{181} all of his functions and of the right to vote or to be voted for; spiritual penances might be superadded or, at his entrance, he might be subjected to a zurra de rueda, or circular discipline, in which all the members of the house, including the lay-brethren, took a hand. All these greater or less aggravations could be varied or accumulated to meet the exact shades of guilt. This conventual reclusion was adopted, perhaps, partly for concealment and partly as a milder form of incarceration, but the mercy was doubtful if we may trust the story told by Llorente of a Capuchin guilty of aggravated abuse of the confessional who, when condemned to five years’ reclusion in a convent of his Order, begged to have it changed to incarceration in the secret prison; he had been, he said, provincial and guardian, he knew how the brethren treated those thrust upon them as criminals, and it would cost him his life. His prayer was refused and his prevision was correct, for he died within three years.[523] I have met, however, with cases in which the recluded fraile survived longer terms; as a rule, no doubt, life was not rendered pleasant, but it depended on circumstances. The Franciscan, Francisco Ortiz, sentenced to confinement for two years in a cell in the convent of Torrelaguna, without intercourse with his brethren, refused to leave his retirement on the expiration of the term and remained there till his death, twelve years later, the object of veneration to all around him.[524] There might or might not be sympathy for the penitent and his treatment naturally corresponded.

When, however, the offence was formal heresy, entailing reconciliation or relaxation, the cleric was obliged to appear in an auto de fe, like any other culprit. Cases of the kind were common enough in the early period, when many Conversos had entered the Church but, after the thorough weeding out by the Inquisition, they became rare. An essential preliminary was degradation from the priesthood, which was of two kinds, verbal and formal—the former sufficing for cases of reconciliation, while relaxation required the latter. Verbal degradation effaced the orders, but not the priestly character and, in the later period, publicity was often avoided by executing the sentence in the audience-chamber, as in the Toledo cases of Jacinto Vásquez Aranso, a priest convicted of Judaism and condemned to the galleys, December 4, 1688, and{182} of Buenaventura Frutos, cura of Mocejon, sentenced February 19, 1722.[525] Originally the ministration of a single bishop sufficed for verbal degradation, while two were required for formal, until Gregory IX, to facilitate the operations of the Inquisition, decreed that, in cases of heresy, the bishop of the culprit could perform the ceremony, in the presence of some abbots and other learned men, and finally, in 1551, the Council of Trent permitted a single bishop to officiate in all cases of formal degradation, and his vicar-general in verbal degradation.[526]

The ceremony of public formal degradation was impressive. The culprit marched in the procession bearing the mitre and sanbenito of relaxation, which were removed on the staging in order that he might be seen in his priestly vestments and tonsure. In the case of Fray Joseph Díaz Pimiento, a relapsed Judaizer, burnt at the Seville auto de fe of July 25, 1720, we are told that an immense crowd was assembled, for no degradation had been witnessed there since 1623. The auto was celebrated in the church of San Pablo but, as soon as Fray Joseph’s sentence was read, he was taken by a number of officials to a scaffold in the Plaza de San Francisco, where the Bishop of Lycopolis, the assistant of the archbishop, performed the ceremony. His tongue, the palms of his hands and finger tips were scraped and rubbed with tow, the tonsure was erased by cutting his hair and he was deprived of his orders one by one in the reverse order of their bestowal. He was then handed over to his superiors of the Mercenarian Order, who stripped him of the habit, after which the mitre and sanbenito with painted flames were replaced on him and he was taken to the juzgado, or secular court, and delivered to the deputy Assistente of the city to be formally sentenced and conducted to the brasero.[527]

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CHAPTER IV.

THE STAKE.

THE condemnation of a human being to a death by fire, as the penalty of spiritual error, is so abhorrent to the moral sense and so oppugnant to the teachings of Christ, that modern apologists have naturally sought to relieve the Church from responsibility for such atrocity. On the surface a tolerably plausible argument can be made. The ministers of religion, the spiritual courts, the Inquisition itself rendered no judgements of blood. Any ecclesiastic who might be concerned in them incurred “irregularity” requiring a dispensation before he could validly perform his functions or obtain preferment. The execution of heretics was a matter purely of secular law and burning them alive is not prescribed in canon or decretal. The earliest recorded example of concremation is that administered by Robert the Pious of France to the Cathari of Orleans in 1017, and its embodiment in positive law has not been found earlier than in the decrees against Waldenses by Pedro II of Aragon in the Council of Gerona in 1197. In 1231 Frederic II included it in the Sicilian Constitutions and, in 1238, by his Cremona decree, extended it throughout the empire, while Alfonso the Wise of Castile, in 1255, adopted it for Christians who turned Jews or Moors.[528] It thus became part of the public law of Christendom, not so much from the initiative of rulers, as from a recognition of what had become a custom through the spontaneous ferocity of popular fanaticism.

The Inquisition, through whose agency heretics were consigned to the stake, did not itself condemn them to it, but merely pronounced them to be heretics of whose conversion no hope was entertained; it cut them off from the Church, which had nothing further to do with them, and abandoned or “relaxed” them to the secular arm for due punishment. It assumed that it condemned{184} the crime and the civil judge the criminal and, in relaxing him, it adjured the judge to spare his life and not to spill his blood. This latter was a device invented by Innocent III, before the Inquisition existed, to preserve from irregularity the spiritual courts in degrading clerics guilty of forgery and handing them over to the secular authorities for execution.[529]

This shifting of responsibility to the civil power was not through any sense that the laws punishing heresy with burning were cruel or unjust, for the Church taught this to be an act so eminently pious that it accorded an indulgence to any one who would contribute wood to the pile, thus assuming the responsibility and expending the Treasure of the Merits of Christ in stimulating popular ferocity. That this indulgence was well known in Spain appears in the evidence in the trial of Jan of Antwerp for Lutheranism at Toledo in 1561.[530] In fact, when Luther argued that the burning of heretics was contrary to the will of the Spirit, Leo X included this among his heresies condemned in the bull Exsurge{185} Domine.[531] Consequently the secular power had no choice as to what it should do with heretics delivered to it; its act was purely ministerial, and if it listened to the hypocritical plea for mercy, it was liable to prosecution as a fautor of heresy and to deprivation of its functions.[532] The Church enforced this by embodying in the canon law a provision that princes and their officials must punish duly and promptly all heretics delivered to them by inquisitors, under pain of excommunication, which became heresy if endured for a year; and inquisitors were required to proceed against them, but were cautioned to speak only of executing the laws, without alluding to the death-penalty, in order to escape irregularity.[533]

As elsewhere, so in Spain. The Inquisition abandoned the unrepentant or relapsed heretic to the secular arm, which was bound to sentence and execute him. In the hurried informality of the early period, it seems to have been indifferent whether the magistrate pronounced a sentence or not. A contemporary account of the Toledo auto of August 14, 1486, describes the reading of the sentences of the inquisitors and the condemned being carried at once to the Vega for execution, where they were burnt till not a bone remained, without any allusion to the formality of intervention by the secular power.[534] When, however, the form of a condemnation by the alcalde was observed, as at Córdova in 1484, he uttered it by virtue of the sentence of the inquisitors, which rendered unnecessary anything more than condemning the culprit to be burnt alive, wherefore he ordered the alguazil mayor to carry it into effect.[535] In the inquisitorial sentences of the period the adjuration for mercy is generally lacking. In that of Mencia Alonso, condemned at Guadalupe, November 21, 1485, not only is it absent but the duties of the secular officials are treated as purely ministerial, for it ends “As a limb of the devil and accursed and excommunicate, she shall be taken to the place of burning so that by the secular justice of this town, or by other laymen, justice shall be executed upon her according to the custom of these kingdoms.”[536]

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That the function of the magistrate was not judicial is manifested in the refusal to communicate the trial to him. When those of Brescia, in 1486, refused to execute the sentences of the inquisitor without seeing the trials, Innocent VIII ordered the inquisitor to excommunicate them if they delayed more than six days, no matter what the local laws might be, for heresy was a purely ecclesiastical crime.[537] In accordance with this is the assertion of the Repertorium de Pravitate Hæreticorum, printed at Valencia in 1494, that the magistrate has no right to have the process shown to him that he may judge as to the justice of the sentence; inquisitors are not to concede any such right, for his sole duty is to execute it without delay, and if he hesitates he is subject to deprivation of office and condemnation as a heretic.[538] This principle was fully admitted by secular jurists themselves. Torreblanca, who was attached to the royal Chancellery of Granada, states that the duty of the civil magistrate is purely executive and he has no right to examine into the merits of a case or to act in a judicial capacity.[539]

In fact, the secular power could be dispensed with altogether. The Venetian Signory was not always as prompt as it should be in suppressing heresy so, to avoid delays and embarrassing questions, the papal nuncio there, with his fiscal, auditor and other officials, had faculties to condemn to mutilation and death all heretics without incurring irregularity or other ecclesiastical penalties, notwithstanding all canons and decretals to the contrary. Such provisions were issued in 1547 by Paul III and in 1550 by Julius III and were doubtless customary.[540] Peña reduces this to a general principle for, without referring to special papal faculties, he asserts{187} that the intervention of the secular judge is unessential and that, if he is not accessible, the tribunal can condemn the heretic to death; if accessible he must execute the sentence if he wishes to escape the heavy penalties of fautorship and impeding the Inquisition.[541]

There was little danger of such reluctance on the part of secular officials in Spain, where the oath exacted of them by the Inquisition obliged them to execute whatever sentences the tribunal might require.[542] In fact, the only indication I have met with, of possible hesitation involving punishment, occurs in a mandate, September 5, 1725, to the Toledo tribunal, directing that, in autos de fe, the first sentences read should be those of relaxation—thus reversing the usual order—so that the convicts might be delivered at once to the royal judge, without permitting delay in the execution of the sentences, under any pretext, since the tribunal had complete jurisdiction to compel him, by censures and other penalties, to its exact performance.[543]

The Inquisition regarded the sentence of the magistrate as a mere perfunctory formality. The doctors had pointed out conclusively that heresy was a crime over which he had no jurisdiction, and if he were to assert it he would render illusory the sentence of the bishop or inquisitor.[544] Consequently, in preparation for an auto de fe, the tribunal, in advance, gave to the secular authorities a list of the condemnations so that the sentences might be drawn up and the wood, the stake and the garrotes be prepared for immediate execution.[545] It is true that thrift induced a certain amount of equivocation when, in 1579, the royal alguaziles of Saragossa claimed payment from the confiscations for their services and for the cost of the wood, and Philip II emphatically rejected the demand as unexampled, adding that the inquisitors could not{188} order such payment without irregularity, and that the executions were in virtue of the sentences of the secular judges and not of the inquisitors.[546] This, however, was the merest quibble. In autos generales, the magistrates were asked to be present to receive the convicts and “execute on them the penalties imposed by the canon law of the kingdom.” In autos particulares, held in churches which must not be polluted by judgements of blood, the Suprema pointed out, in a consulta of April 7, 1690, that the secular judges could wait at a designated place, when it sufficed that a notary informed them in writing that “N. has been declared a heretic by sentence of the Holy Office,” simultaneously delivering the convict, when they must accept this assertion, and without delay execute the sentence, unless they wish the Holy Office to prosecute them as fautors of heretics and impeders of its free jurisdiction. At the same time the judges are to continue as usual to pronounce the formal sentence.[547]

Still, the estilo of the Inquisition required the ghastly comedy of asking mercy. In the official formula of the sentence the clause announcing relaxation to the civil magistrate proceeds “whom we ask and charge most affectionately to treat him benignantly and mercifully.” In sentences of the absent and dead, where the effigy alone was abandoned to the secular arm, there is no prayer for mercy, as there was no effusion of blood to create irregularity.[548] In the rigid formalism of inquisitorial procedure, after the Suprema had established its minute control, it is safe to assume that this official formula was universally followed.

All this affords ample proof that the avoidance of irregularity was the only motive that actuated the Inquisition in this matter, but if further evidence is required it is furnished by the fact that still greater scruple existed in the exercise of the temporal jurisdiction acquired by the Spanish Holy Office over all matters concerning its officials, because such cases were not provided for in the commissions of the inquisitors-general, from which were delegated the powers of the tribunals. In 1514 the question arose when Micer Castillo, assessor in the Saragossa tribunal, was murdered, and two of his assassins, Joan Uguet and Pere Gasco, were tried and convicted. The inquisitors dared not deliver them to the secular arm for execution, and various devices were{189} discussed, but the matter was settled by procuring from Leo X his motu proprio Cum sicut accepimus, January 28, 1515, in which he granted faculties to the inquisitors to arrest, try and deliver for punishment to the secular authorities, any one who had struck, mutilated or slain an official of the Inquisition, even if it entailed effusion of blood or mutilation or death, without incurring any note of irregularity.[549] Under this the tribunals acted when such cases arose, notably in Granada, about 1545, when seven persons were thus relaxed—six Moriscos and an Old Christian—who, while in prison, killed the alcaide and his assistant and who were hanged before burning.[550]

In time the cardinals of the Roman Inquisition were beset with similar scruples and, to relieve their consciences, Pius V, October 9, 1567, granted a decree empowering them to participate in sentences of blood without incurring irregularity.[551] This applied only to Italy, but it was otherwise with the terrible bull Si de protegendis, April 1, 1569, commanding the delivery to the secular arm, for the punishment due to high treason, of any one maltreating or even threatening an official of the Inquisition or destroying or altering its records. This was ordered to be published throughout the world; the Spanish Inquisition claimed the benefit of it, and had a Castilian version of it published every year. It made no illusion to irregularity, tacitly assuming that none was incurred and it was often cited in Spain to that effect.[552] Still, when in 1579, the Toledo tribunal desired the death-penalty for Francisco de la Bastida, for personating an official of the Inquisition, and there was no secular law to that effect, a special brief was obtained from Gregory XIII empowering it to find him guilty of death and deliver him to the secular arm for execution without incurring irregularity.[553]

There seems to have arisen a fresh sense of insecurity about 1605. The brief of Leo X was well-nigh forgotten; some tribunals had copies of it, but most of them had not, and the bull Si de protegendis did not specifically meet cases that arose. Application was therefore made to Paul V to extend to Spain the 1567 decree{190} of Pius V, which he granted by a brief of November 29, 1605, repeated in 1607. In this he bestowed the fullest powers, not only on inquisitors but on all their officials, in all cases whether of faith or not, coming within their competence, to participate in sentences of torture, mutilation, or death without incurring irregularity.[554] This would appear ample enough to remove all possible scruples and yet subsequently contingencies occasionally arose which excited debate, or called for papal intervention to quiet sensitive consciences.[555]

In the work of exterminating heresy, the rules which governed the Spanish Inquisition were more merciless than those framed by its predecessor. At first, in the medieval tribunals, it was only the pertinacious and impenitent heretic who was consigned to the stake; he who recanted and professed conversion, even at the last moment, was admitted to reconciliation. Then gradually, as it was found that these enforced conversions were frequently insincere, relapse was regarded as proof of impenitence and pertinacity and was subjected irremissibly to the death-penalty, and this included those who had abjured for vehement suspicion. The treatment is exemplified in the case of Fray Bonato, the head of a little body of Spiritual Franciscans in Catalonia. He was pertinacious until the flames had roasted him one side, when his resolution gave way; he professed conversion and was rescued, but some years later he was found to be still cherishing his heresies and, in 1335, he was burnt alive.[556]

The number of burnings in the Spanish Inquisition, during its first half century, could never have occurred under the old rules. Indeed, in the first rush and fury, the case of Juan Chinchilla in 1483 (Vol. II, p. 468) indicates that even frank confession failed to save from the stake those who had sought reconciliation in a Term of Grace, but had been prevented by causes beyond their control. Even when rules began to be framed, the Instructions of 1484 placed the lives of those on trial at the discretion of the tribunal, for they required that repentance and asking for reconciliation must be expressed prior to rendering the final sentence,{191} to entitle the culprit to mercy; while even then, if the inquisitors considered that the repentance was feigned, and they had not fair hope of genuine conversion, they were empowered to declare him an impenitent and relax him to the secular arm—all of which was left to their consciences.[557]

The rule thus expressed presents two points, the development of which requires separate consideration. As regards the time of confessing and begging mercy, which the Instructions limit to the period prior to the rendering of the sentence, this was extended to the time of reading of the sentence at the auto de fe. Yet this was grudgingly admitted by the Instructions of 1561, which say that often when convicts on the staging profess conversion the inquisitors receive them to reconciliation, but this ought rarely to be done, for it is a very perilous thing which should be suspected to come from dread of death rather than from true repentance.[558] Yet, in spite of this warning, it was customary to suspend proceedings with those who, at the auto de fe, before the reading of their sentences, claimed to be penitent. They were remanded to the Inquisition and, if they confessed fully as to themselves and others, they were reconciled with appropriate punishment. Such cases were of constant occurrence; in the Córdova auto of April 12, 1722, there were four. Even while the sentence was being read, the doubt was thrown in favor of the culprit, as in the Murcia auto of May 17, 1722, when Inez Alvárez Pereira, convicted as an impenitent Judaizer, begged mercy during the reading of her sentence, professed that she wished to confess and be converted, and was sent back to prison, where she was reconciled.[559] In fact, in public autos, where there were convicts to be relaxed, there was always a room arranged under the staging to which the repentant culprit was at once transferred and one of the inquisitors descended to take his confession before he should have time to change his good resolutions. In such cases reconciliation was accompanied with confiscation, irremissible prison and sanbenito and usually one or two hundred lashes for tardy confession.[560]

The Instructions of 1561 were justified in claiming that little reliance was to be placed on conversions thus obtained. For the most part the awful experience led penitents, who thus escaped,{192} to cherish their beliefs in secret, but occasionally there was one whose conscience could not pardon the weakness that led to a betrayal of faith. Diego López Duro, an humble retailer of tobacco, condemned for Judaism, recanted while on the staging and was reconciled with imprisonment. In 1700, one day, when hearing mass, he stood apart from his fellow-prisoners and, in a loud voice, told the priest that he lied for the Law of Moses was the only true one. He would have been slain on the spot had he not been hurried out to save him from popular wrath, but for him there could be no mercy. The inquisitors labored long to save his soul by inducing him to recant without success; he was pertinacious to the last and was burnt alive in the Seville auto of October 28, 1703—one of those martyrs whose constancy explains why Judaism has been indestructible.[561]

After the reading of the sentence was concluded, recantation did not avert the death-penalty, as in the elder Inquisition, but it was modified to garrotting or strangling before burning, for it was received as a principle that a Christian was not to be burnt alive. This was recognized at least as early as 1484, when in a Saragossa auto a culprit is recorded as strangled before burning “porque murio reducido.”[562] In addition to this, the traditions of the Old Inquisition introduced at first a certain irregularity in practice, and it did not follow that delivery to the secular arm inevitably inferred execution. In a list of quemados y relaxados at Ciudad Real, there are several cases, up to 1523, of those who were “relaxed” and yet had penances of various kinds, showing that they had recanted after delivery to the magistrate and yet were spared the death-penalty.[563] In fact, it continued for some time to be a matter of debate, in which opinions were divided, whether a man who had been returned by the secular judge to the inquisitors, because he recanted and promised full confession, could be again relaxed for execution. The older doctors inclined to the merciful view and Simancas tells us of such a case in Cuenca, which was referred to the Suprema, when many experts held that the culprit could not be again relaxed, for he had made a true confession, and the secular arm had renounced its rights. Even as late as 1640 an inquisitor says that the rigor of executing a man{193} who repents after delivery to the magistrate is not customary in Spain.[564]

In this he would seem to be mistaken. I have never met with a case, later than those alluded to, in which conversion professed after sentence secured reconciliation. The tendency to rigor was too strong. The Instructions of 1561 make no allusion to such a possibility, as they grudgingly allow mercy for earlier confession. Peña forbids it; he admits that it was the ancient custom, but such conversions are not to be trusted and experience shows that such penitents are only rendered worse.[565] It was the universal practice to garrote those who professed repentance after sentence, and the dreadful alternative of death by fire, when thus impending so imminently, wrought so many conversions on the way to the brasero, even among those whose resolve had held out thus far, that burning alive became comparatively infrequent. In the first three autos held at Barcelona in 1488 and 1489, all the converts professed a desire to die in the Christian faith and all were strangled before burning.[566] At the great auto of May 21, 1559, at Valladolid where Dr. Cazalla and other Protestants suffered, there were fourteen relaxed in person, of whom only one, the Bachiller Herrezuelo, is characterized as a pertinacious heretic and consequently burnt alive, the rest being garrotted as repentant converts.[567] In 1571 there were hanging, in the parish church of Logroño, 157 sanbenitos, of which 101 were of those reconciled and 56 of those relaxed. Of the latter nine were in effigy and 47 in person, of whom only four are specified as burnt alive.[568] The weakness of human nature afforded but rare examples of those who could stand the final test of fiery martyrdom.

Notwithstanding the practice of executing all who delayed conversion until after hearing their sentences, there still were those who argued that they should be admitted to reconciliation, basing their contention on the ancient rule and on the silence of the{194} Instructions of 1561 on this point. In 1674 the Suprema felt called upon to quiet the doubts of the Granada tribunal, by insisting that this rigor had been the invariable custom of the Holy Office. Still the question was debated until a carta acordada of May 24, 1699, disposed of it authoritatively. This declared that, in consequence of existing doubts, the Suprema had examined the matter carefully, reaching the conclusion that technically the delivery to the secular arm was coincident with the reading of the sentence; the Inquisition thus remained without jurisdiction which had passed to the royal justice for the execution of the sentence. Therefore, if the convict was not converted before the reading of the sentence, he was not to have mercy or to be admitted to reconciliation, even if he begged for it, but the royal justice was to execute and fulfil the sentence. If the conversion was real and not feigned—the latter being presumable at such a time—any of the confessors who assisted the culprit could reconcile him to the church and confess him sacramentally.[569] Thus his body was irrevocably forfeited, although his soul might be saved.

After so formal a definition, no arguments in favor of mercy could be urged. In the sixty-four autos de fe, between 1721 and 1727, there was a total of seventy-seven cases of relaxation in person. In the relations it is not always stated distinctly whether the victim was burned alive or garrotted but, from the details given, the estimate cannot be far wrong that not over thirteen, or about one in six, endured the severer punishment. In the Granada auto of January 21, 1722, there were eleven relaxed, all of whom professed conversion after their sentences were read, and all were garrotted before burning. So rigid was the interpretation of the rule that it could not be dispensed with even to gratify the intense longing for expiation which sometimes possessed the eleventh hour convert. In the Córdova auto of April 12, 1722, Antonio Gabriel de Torre Zavallos, relaxed for Judaism, was converted after the reading of his sentence. At the brasero, with copious tears and signs of repentance, he loudly proclaimed his Christian faith, praising the mercy of God and of the Holy Office and demanding to be burnt alive, in order to offer to God satisfaction for his sins, but this was refused; he was duly garrotted and “he gave his soul to God to the great consolation and edification of all the people.”[570]

{195}

An unpleasant doubt obtrudes itself whether in all cases the preliminary strangling really relieved the sufferer from death by fire. Spanish executioners are said to possess such dexterity in manipulating the garrote that they can prolong the death-agony for hours when they are not bribed to give a speedy release. In the universal venality of the period, it is possible that those, whose friends failed to earn the good-will of the minister of justice, were by no means insensible when the torch was applied to the faggots. There may have been more than mere lack of skill in the incident at the Cuenca auto of June 29, 1654, which gave Bartolomé López the opportunity of displaying his nerve. He had delayed professing conversion until after the reading of his sentence and was consequently relaxed for strangulation and burning. At the brasero, seeing that the executioner, Pedro de Alcalá, bungled in garrotting Violante Rodríguez and Ana de Guevara, he said to him “Pedro, if you do not treat me better, you had better burn me alive.”[571]

According to inquisitorial jurisprudence, there were several causes which entailed relaxation. The first of these was pertinacity—the obstinacy which led the heretic or apostate to avow and defend his errors, and to resist the well-meant effort of his judges to save his soul by inducing conversion. This heroic temper, which preferred martyrdom to denying what it believed to be the truth, was not common, but the annals of the Inquisition are illustrated by cases of unknown and forgotten victims, whose persistence through torment and persuasion, to the fiery death at the brasero, ennobles human nature, whether they were Moslems or Jews, Protestants or Mystics. It was a blind perversity that refused to see in this aught but hardness of heart, inspired by Satan, and with empty rhetoric sought to draw a distinction between this and true martyrdom. Thus Simancas tells us that we should not be surprised to see heretics sometimes carried rejoicing to the stake. This is not true alacrity but madness, not patience but fierceness, and there is wide difference between barbarous fierceness and the modest constancy of the true martyr. Then there are those who, by certain arts, so benumb the body that it does not feel torments; there are also those who deprive the mind of sense, so that they meet death without fear, but that gentleness and placidity, that sublime humility and humble sublimity, we see only in the martyrs of Christ.[572]

{196}

Yet, to do it justice, the Inquisition—at least after the first fury of its career was spent—earnestly sought the salvation of its victims, rather than to send them through temporal to eternal flame. We have seen that, in the case of those sentenced to relaxation, it advanced the notification of their fate, in order to enlarge the opportunity of the ghostly counsellors, whom it deputed to labor with them. Even before this extension, the Instructions of 1561 order inquisitors to do everything in their power to induce conversion, so that, if nothing else can be accomplished, the culprit may not die without the knowledge of God.[573] During the fortnight previous to an auto de fe those sentenced to relaxation were to be summoned to repeated audiences, when they were to be earnestly entreated to confess and recant, with promises of mercy, and learned theologians were required to be present to aid in the exhortations.[574] Even prior to the consulta de fe, pious inquisitors spared no effort to convince the erring of their errors. One relates how, in 1630, he had to deal with two Protestants, an Englishman and a Frenchman, who were pertinacious, saying that they had been brought up in their pretended reformed religion and knew nothing of Catholicism. Their simplicity went so far as to ask to be allowed to return to their native lands, or that persons learned in both religions should dispute before them, so that they might learn which was best for, as they were illiterate, they could not themselves dispute. The inquisitor set theologians to work upon them when, after considerable labor, they were converted; devotional books were given to them, which they eagerly devoured; the trial was delayed and, by the time the witnesses were ratified, the heretics were good Catholics.[575]

When three days’ notice of impending relaxation was given, the time was utilized to the utmost. There was a pertinacious heretic to suffer in the Seville auto of December 10, 1719—a Moorish slave, baptized under the name of Francisco Andrés, who had renegaded and was persistent when his sentence was made known to him. Then twelve calificadores—two each from the Orders of Mercenarians, Minims, Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustinians and Jesuits—with eight familiars were assigned to his conversion. They were successful and he escaped with prison{197} and sanbenito for four years.[576] A remarkable case, at the Seville auto of July 5, 1722, shows however that, after delivery to the secular arm, the Inquisition considered that its functions were ended. There were four pertinacious Jews, two men and two women. Nine calificadores and eleven familiars labored with them in vain during the three days; they persisted through the reading of the sentences and were delivered to the secular magistrate. The two men and the elder of the women succumbed at the last, professed conversion and were garrotted and burnt. The younger woman, known as La Almiranta, at the brasero begged audience of the deputy assistente, told him that she desired to confess and give evidence as to other Jews and was remanded to the royal prison. Word was sent to the tribunal, which replied that it had nothing further to do with her. She was kept until the 7th and, when taken to the brasero was more pertinacious, than ever, saying that, as her companions had died as Catholics, they were accursed and that she had pretended to yield in order that her ashes, which were holy, should not be mingled with theirs. Of course she had the martyrdom which she craved.[577]

In exceptional cases pertinacity seems to have been allowed the privilege of preliminary strangulation. At a Valladolid auto of May 29, 1691, there were five pertinacious women condemned for Judaism, described as being from 24 to 27 years of age and very handsome, who excited general compassion. On being delivered to the magistrate two of them weakened, while three persisted in their faith, yet they were all garrotted before burning.[578]

A large portion of the cases of pertinacity arose from the death in prison, during trial, of those who did not ask on the death-bed for the consolations of religion, and who had no opportunity of obtaining mercy by conversion. Thus in the Granada auto of May 13, 1725, out of seven burnings in effigy, six were of those who had died in prison.[579] Suicide in prison was treated harshly, for Simancas tells us that the suicide is to be condemned as fully convicted and impenitent, even though he had previously confessed and professed repentance, to which Rojas adds that,{198} although his effigy is to be burnt, his heirs are allowed to prove insanity, difficult as that is.[580]

The negativo—the man who denied his heresy in the face of what was deemed competent testimony of guilt—was classed as an impenitent heretic and doomed to relaxation. This was the inevitable logic of the Inquisition, although it led to the most tragic of all situations—that of being tortured to death in honor of the faith which the sufferer held. It was impossible, under the inquisitorial system, to allow a possible heretic to escape merely because he unflinchingly affirmed his orthodoxy, and yet when a man asserted it up to the brasero, knowing that it would not avail him, it was impossible not to recognize in him a true believer who would not save his body at the expense of falsely confessing apostasy. Three such there were in the Granada auto of May 27, 1593, burnt as negativos and consequently burnt alive.[581] Such men were true martyrs, especially as rigid constructionists denied them the consolations of religion in their last moments. At the Toledo auto of October 28, 1723, Diego de Quiros was in this position, and a Jesuit who heard him in sacramental confession was severely censured for doing so while he persisted in maintaining his innocence. Again the question came up in the Toledo auto of July 1, 1725. Fernando de Castro was relaxed as an impenitent negativo and was sentenced to burning alive. On account of the heat the execution was postponed until the afternoon, and the convict was meanwhile placed in the public prison. With cries he earnestly begged for sacramental confession, but the frailes in attendance declined unless he should admit his heresy, which he steadfastly refused to do, asserting the witnesses to be perjured, and the judgement unjust. At this juncture there came a Jesuit father who yielded to the despairing appeals of the poor wretch and heard him in confession, whereupon the judge took the responsibility of modifying the sentence to preliminary strangulation. The frailes loudly rebuked the Jesuit, and were joined by the public, disappointed of the promised spectacle of the burning alive of a fellow-creature. Considerable debate followed and a priest named Candido Múñoz wrote an argument justifying the Jesuit, but his labor was superfluous for, while his{199} tract was in the press, the Suprema issued a carta acordada, October 11th, ordering that in such cases the priest should hear the confession and confer absolution or not, according to the disposition manifested, but in future no one but the appointed theologians were to attend the convict to the last.[582]

Thus it was left to this late date to admit the dying victim to the sacraments, probably, we may assume, on the doctrine that the blood of martyrdom is the most efficacious of all sacraments. Such cases could not have been common, but those must have been numerous in which the unjustly convicted negativo found his resolution give way at the approach to the brasero and, in order to escape burning alive and to obtain the sacraments, falsely confessed to having entertained heresies which his soul abhorred.

There was also the diminuto, who made a confession that did not “satisfy the evidence” and thus was held to be imperfect. A confession that was not full was regarded as fictitious; it inferred impenitence and therefore entailed relaxation. We have seen how, under the early Edicts of Grace, any omissions in the hurried confessions was construed as rendering them imperfect and subjecting the penitent to prosecution and relaxation. Especially was imperfect denunciation of accomplices regarded as diminucio; if the accused confessed all that was in evidence against himself and omitted the acts of accomplices who were proved to have been with him, or if he named only those who were absent or dead or already convicted, it was proof of malice and impenitence; he was not truly converted and was subject to relaxation after torture in caput alienum.[583] The denial of heretical intention in acts confessed, which was frequent in those against whom Judaic or Moorish customs were proved, constituted the accused a negativo in the substantial part of heresy, which is intention, or a diminuto, implying, according to the common opinion, impenitence and pertinacity involving relaxation.[584] Thus Hernando de Palma, a Morisco, accused of teaching and conducting Moorish ceremonies, denied and overcame severe torture, whereupon the consulta de fe{200} voted for appearance in an auto and abjuration de levi. Ignorant of this, he asked for an audience and confessed that, for seven or eight years, he had practised some Moorish rites, without regarding them as contrary to the faith. In this he persisted and was burnt in the Toledo auto of 1606. Revocation of confession was similarly impenitence and pertinacity, as in the case of Manuel Thomas, who confessed to Judaism after the accusation was presented, then revoked the confession and persisted in the revocation, for which he was relaxed in the Toledo auto of 1585.[585]

When the Reformation plunged the Church into a struggle for life, of which no man might foretell the result, there arose a demand for sharper measures of repression. The dogmatizer or heresiarch—he who not only condemned his own soul to perdition but sought to carry others along with him, by disseminating his pestiferous doctrines—might recant and make his peace with God, but not with God’s earthly ministers. Simancas well expresses the hatred intensified by fear, which was aroused by the teachers of the new doctrines. The heresiarch, he says, the master of errors, is to be relaxed and, under no circumstances, is to be received back into the Church. He is unworthy of pardon who has led others into error, like a murderer who has slain many. He is a crafty homicide, who daily sheds the blood of souls. He who teaches heresy slays, not with the sword, but with the poison of his doctrine; he kills not the body but the soul, not with temporary but with eternal death, wherefore he is worthy of the severest punishment. And, of all others, the teachers of the Lutheran heresies are in no way to be pardoned.[586]

Yet the Church had always professed to welcome to reconciliation its erring children, who renounced their errors and begged for mercy, provided they were not relapsed, and the Inquisition from its inception had acted on this principle. On this were based the powers deputized to it and when, in 1558 the discovery of the Protestants of Valladolid was so exploited as to throw Spain into agitation, and it was desired to make an example of Doctor Agustin Cazalla, some further grant of faculties was felt to be necessary. Paul IV was nothing loath. In 1555 he had apparently desired to show that Rome was not to be outdone by{201} Geneva in persecuting rigor and that, if Calvin in 1553 had burnt Servet for denying the Trinity, he could be equally zealous for the faith. By the bull Cum quorundam he decreed that all who denied the Trinity, the divinity of Christ, his conception through the Holy Ghost, his death for human salvation, or the perpetual virginity of the Virgin, and who did not confess to inquisitors and abjure their errors within three months, and all who in future should maintain those heresies, should be treated as though they were relapsed and as such should be forthwith relaxed to the secular arm.[587] Having thus extended the catalogue of unpardonable heresies, he was quite ready to grant the additional powers sought by the Spanish Inquisition. By a brief of January 4, 1559, he bestowed on the inquisitor-general and Suprema a faculty to relax all heresiarchs and other heretics, even though they were not relapsed, and though they desired to abjure their heresies, when it was believed with verisimilitude that the abjuration was not sincere but was only to escape punishment.[588] This was, in fact, no more than the power assumed in the Instructions of 1484, but under it, as we shall see hereafter, were relaxed some conspicuous heretics, such as Doctor Cazalla at Valladolid and Juan Ponce de Leon at Seville, although they had renounced their errors and sought reconciliation in advance of the autos de fe.

It thus became a principle in inquisitorial jurisprudence that the inquisitor-general and Suprema could relax dogmatizers, irrespective of pertinacity or relapse.[589] This was not confined to Protestants. About 1600, the Suprema had to decide the case of a Morisco alfaquí, accused of being a teacher of Islam, who confessed to teaching his wife but denied other proselytism. A consulta presented to the Suprema argued that, although by law a{202} dogmatizer must be relaxed yet, if he spontaneously denounces himself and is sincerely repentant, he can be reconciled, for his conversion and humility serve as an example to those whom he has misled. In the present case, however, the alfaquí has only confessed partially and to save himself, wherefore he should be relaxed—and to this the Suprema assented.[590] Yet this severity had exceptions. In the Seville auto of July 5, 1722, Pedro de Alpuin, reconciled with perpetual prison and sanbenito, had five years of galleys added for being a teacher of the Law of Moses, and even these were remitted in consideration of his infirmities.[591]

Relapse was the most fruitful source of relaxation, at least after the first rage of the Inquisition had exhausted itself. It has been already stated that, after reconciliation or abjuration de vehementi, any backsliding was held to indicate that the conversion had been fictitious, that the culprit was impenitent and pertinacious, and that he was to be abandoned to the secular arm without hope of mercy. This was an unvarying principle of the canon law. The Suprema, in a case brought before it, in 1536, declared that it could not dispense for that which the law enjoined, and therefore it was powerless to relieve the relapsed from his punishment.[592] Simancas is equally emphatic—the relapsed is to be condemned without hope of pardon.[593] In the first audience of the accused, the inquisitor was required to tell him that, if he would discharge his conscience, his case would be despatched with speed and mercy but, if the charge was relapse, the word mercy was to be omitted because no mercy could be shown.[594] Even prompt and full confession was of no avail; the law was absolute and implacable.[595]

This severity was greatly enhanced by the elastic definition given to relapse. The reconciled penitent had to walk warily, for any unconscious return to ancestral habits was sufficient to convict him. About 1500 the Suprema decreed that penitents communicating with unreconciled heretics were to be held as relapsed, and all evidence coming before the tribunals was to{203} be scrutinized for proof that would justify prosecution—evidently of those who might chance to be incidentally named in it—and then, if this proved insufficient for conviction, any admission of the accused, not contained in his former confession, could be used to condemn him as a fictitious convert.[596] How this was construed in practice, we learn from Simancas, who says that he is considered a relapsed who, after abjuring heresy, talks with heretics, or visits them, or makes presents to them, or favors and communicates with them, so that he cannot but be held to do it as a consequence of his heresy.[597] The man who had been reconciled thus lived in unceasing danger that, at any moment, some acquaintance might be tried and convicted and his name might occur in the evidence as being on good terms with him. Safety, indeed, could only be secured by resolutely isolating himself from his family and his race.

It was the same with those who had only abjured for vehement suspicion. The Instructions of 1561 declare absolutely that, if they confess or are convicted, they must be relaxed, for the inquisitors have no power to reconcile them, although they are not truly but only fictitiously relapsed.[598]

Still, there were some exceptions. Self-denunciation for relapse, it was admitted, required relaxation under the law, but it was argued that such second confession was not really a conviction, for it showed that the penitent was not incorrigible and should be admitted to mercy.[599] Such cases must have been exceedingly rare, but we have seen one in that of Ursule de la Croix (Vol. II, p. 572) where, it will be remembered, a third self-denunciation was visited with the stake.

Moriscos enjoyed a special exception. The wholesale enforced conversion of the Moors of Castile in 1502 and of the kingdoms of Aragon in 1525, filled the land with nominal Christians, whose baptism served no other purpose than subjecting them to the Inquisition. They were largely vassals of nobles, to whom their services were indispensable, and to subject whole populations to the penalties of a relapse which was inevitable was a prospect{204} that might well stagger the statesman if not the churchman. In the unsparing rigor of the canon law, escape from this was to be sought only in Rome and, in March, 1510, Ferdinand asked for a bull enabling the converts to avoid the penalties of relapse.[600] The request was doubtless granted and was followed by numerous papal briefs, issued during the remainder of the century, which bore the shape of empowering the inquisitors-general to appoint confessors with power to absolve Morisco penitents with secret absolution and penance, even if they had relapsed repeatedly, or to proclaim terms of grace, during which absolution could be had irrespective of relapse, together with other devices, the futility of all which we shall see hereafter.[601]

This was but one of the many attempts to solve the increasing difficulties of the Morisco problem, and its only relation to the general policy of the Inquisition is to prove how easily, when sufficient motive existed, the unsparing cruelty of the canon law could be set aside. Under that law, we can readily conceive how large a portion of the executions were due to relapse. Details are lacking as to the earlier period of activity, but the later records are sufficient to indicate how efficient an agent it was in procuring victims. In the great Madrid auto of 1680, there were eighteen Judaizers relaxed in person, of whom ten were for relapse, six for pertinacity and two for denial or imperfect confession.[602] In the terrible Mallorquin autos of 1691, all the relaxed—thirty-eight in person and seven in effigy—were condemned for relapse, having been reconciled in 1679, and of these only three were burnt alive as pertinacious.[603] At the Granada auto of January 31, 1723, of the eleven Judaizers relaxed, all were relapsed; at that of Cordova, April 23, 1724, seven out of eight were relapsed, and the same was the case with all of the six relaxed in the Cuenca auto of July 23, 1724.[604] In these last three autos only one person was pertinacious; the rest all professed contrition and conversion and would have escaped with reconciliation instead of strangulation had it not been for the rigor in the treatment of relapse.

A case already alluded to exemplifies this and is worth relating{205} in some detail, if only for its psychological interest. Fray Joseph Díaz Pimiento was born in Cuba, of Old Christian parents, in 1687. He was bred to the Church and his life was an example of the licence pervading the colonies. He drifted around the shores of the Caribbean, involved in all kinds of disreputable adventures. In Mexico, he forged a certificate of baptism in order to obtain ordination under age. In the Dutch colony of Curaçoa, he professed conversion to Judaism and was circumcised, in the hope of getting a few hundred dollars from the Jews. After incredible hardships he fell into the hands of the Inquisition of Cartagena de las Indias, where he recanted, was reconciled and was sent to Spain for reclusion in a convent. While confined in the episcopal prison he broke gaol, but was captured at Xeres, and was put in a convent, heavily fettered, where he endeavored to get assistance from some New Christians who were under suspicion, but in this he failed, although to excite their compassion, he wrote to the commissioner of the Inquisition that he was a Jew. Then again he escaped and fled to Lisbon, where he worked for a Dutch ship-master, who promised to carry him to Holland, whence he could sail for Jamaica. Then a sudden impulse took possession of him, which carried him to Seville, where he presented himself to the Inquisition. At first he professed to be a Christian but, after a few days, he told the alcaide that he was a Jew, and in this he persisted, stubbornly refusing to make defence. Necessarily, as a relapsed, he was condemned to relaxation in the auto of July 25, 1720, and, during the three days prior to the auto, all the learning and piety of Seville were enlisted in his conversion, while prayers for his soul were put up in all the churches. Then came another revulsion and, after two days, he announced that the grace of God had touched him, and that he was a Christian. But for his relapse, this would have saved him; as it was, it only obtained for him preliminary strangulation and this he sought to reject for, at the stake, he begged to be burnt alive in order to prove that his conversion was the result of conviction and not of fear. This could not be permitted, and the deputy assistente sentenced him to be garrotted and burnt, and his ashes scattered as usual. The pile was fired at 5 P.M.; it took until day-break to reduce the body to ashes, and it was observed that the customary stench was absent. Then the Hermandad de la Caridad asked to have the ashes to give them Christian burial, as he had died a Christian, but the assistente refused and ordered them to be{206} scattered over the fields, in obedience to the royal pragmáticas and apostolical constitutions—all of which, we are told, was done, to the great honor of the holy Catholic faith.[605]

Yet, notwithstanding the canons that prohibited mercy to the relapsed and withheld, even from the inquisitor-general, the power to pardon, cases, as has been stated above (p. 148), are not infrequent, in which the relapsed were admitted to a second reconciliation. Even as early as 1486, we hear of Micer Gonzalo de Santa María, of the great converso family of Burgos, who was thrice penanced by the Inquisition and who finally died, not at the stake, but in gaol, under a sentence of perpetual prison.[606] Some scattering cases of penances subsequent to reconciliation occur at Barcelona between 1491 and 1502, mingled with others in which the full penalty of relaxation was inflicted, though no reasons are alleged for the distinction.[607] In 1511, at Cuenca, Leonor and Juana Rodríguez who had been reconciled in time of Grace, were reconciled again for fresh delinquencies.[608] In the later period, instances of the same benignity occur more frequently, although accompanied with punishment severe enough to show that the trivial evidence required to prove persistency was far exceeded. Thus, in the Toledo auto of December 27, 1654, Gaspar de los Reyes was sentenced, as a relapsed observer of the Law of Moses, to abjure de vehementi, to six years of galleys and a fine of a thousand ducats, while his wife, Isabel Rodríguez, and his mother, María López, both relapsed, had the same sentence, save that exile replaced the galleys and the fine was six hundred ducats each. A more unusual case was that of Manuel Rodríguez Moreira, who was relaxed for relapse in the Toledo auto of September 8, 1704, after rejecting an offer of mercy. There is even an instance, December 8, 1681, of a sentence of reconciliation, citra pœnam relapsi—without the punishment of relapse—but this is explained by the tender age of the culprit, Diego de Castro, who was but ten years old.[609]

Remembering the prudent intimation given to inquisitors that sometimes fines were more productive than confiscation, the heavy{207} mulcts inflicted on the relapsed who were admitted to mercy, suggest that possibly there may have been financial reasons, in special cases, for benignity. We have seen the number of executions for relapse in the Mallorquin autos of 1691. Besides these there were twenty-two cases of those who had been reconciled in 1679 who were not relaxed but penanced in various ways, including fines ranging from one to five hundred libras, and aggregating in all sixty-five hundred libras.[610] It is difficult not to recognize in this a speculative exercise of rigor or mercy.

As the eighteenth century wore on, it would seem that the canonical penalty of relaxation came to be enforced only on the relapsed who were pertinacious, or refused to confess and beg for mercy. In the Valladolid auto of June 13, 1745, there are three illustrative cases. Luis de la Vega, who had been reconciled in 1701, was relaxed as an impenitent relapsed, who persisted in denying his guilt. Miguel Gutiérrez, reconciled in 1699, and Franciso García, reconciled in 1706, were admitted again to reconciliation, with irremissible prison and sanbenito, ten years of galleys and two hundred lashes—a somewhat doubtful mercy but, if the sentence was justifiable, the offence unquestionably under the canons, called for relaxation.[611]

It was only in formal heresy that relapse entailed relaxation for, as we have seen, the stake was reserved for heretics. Where heresy was merely inferential, as in bigamy, blasphemy, solicitation in the confessional, reading prohibited books, and other offences reserved to the Inquisition, relapse was treated only as an aggravation, to be punished with such additional severity as the circumstances might indicate. Even relapse in the crime of administering the sacraments without being in orders, which the Roman Inquisition treated as the equivalent of heresy, was visited in Spain only with the ordinary penalties in somewhat rigorous measure. Thus Juan Vicente Esquirel y Morales—a man with a number of aliases who had been a foot-soldier—was penanced for this offence at Granada in 1727. He persisted in his evil courses and, in the Córdova auto of March 4, 1731, he was forbidden to wear clerical garments and was sentenced to two hundred lashes and ten years of galleys.[612]

{208}

The latter half of the eighteenth century witnessed the gradual disappearance of relaxation. Llorente tells us that during the reign of Carlos III (1759-1788) he has found accounts of only ten autos de fe, in which there were but four cases.[613] Probably the latest instance was that of Isabel María Herraiz, an impostor known as the Beata de Cuenca, who died in prison without confession and, being thus unable to recant and beg mercy, was burnt in effigy in 1802.[614] When it came to relaxing a living fellow-creature, however, the Inquisition by this time was honestly desirous of escaping the necessity. Padre Miguel Sorano, cura of Esco in Aragon, was an unmanageable heretic, who discarded tradition and the fathers and held that Scripture was the sole authority; purgatory and limbo were human inventions; fees for masses were simony; tithes were a fraud; the pope was not the vicar of Christ and his decretals were mere devices to raise money. All this he embodied in a book which he audaciously submitted to his bishop and other theologians. Tried by the Saragossa tribunal, he was pertinaciously impenitent, impervious alike to argument and threats, and there was no alternative but to vote for relaxation. Then the Suprema ordered fresh testimony to be sought and renewed efforts at conversion, but all proved fruitless and again relaxation was voted. As a last resource the Suprema ordered an investigation into his sanity. All the population of the vicinage was examined, and one doctor was found to say that some years before he had been dangerously sick, which might have affected his brain, and since then he had talked freely of these heretical doctrines. Taking advantage of this, renewed efforts were made to convert him without coming to a vote. While this was in progress he was attacked with mortal illness and, at the end of twenty days, he was told that the end was near. He merely said that he was in the hands of God; he refused all the consolations of religion and passed away unrepentant in 1805, to be buried in unconsecrated ground, when the Suprema ordered the case to be closed, without proceeding to conviction and burning in effigy.[615] We shall see that twenty years later the episcopal Inquisition was less merciful.{209}

CHAPTER V.

THE AUTO DE FE.

THE Act of Faith—the Auto de Fe—was the name by which the Spanish Holy Office dignified the Sermo of the Old Inquisition. In its full development it was an elaborate public solemnity, carefully devised to inspire awe for the mysterious authority of the Inquisition, and to impress the population with a wholesome abhorrence of heresy, by representing in so far as it could the tremendous drama of the Day of Judgement.[616] It was regarded as an eminently pious duty. Ferdinand, in 1499, congratulating the inquisitors of Saragossa on the reports of their autos, and the consequent edification of the people, exhorts them to continue to serve God and to discharge their consciences and his. In a similar mood Cardinal Adrian, in 1517, urged the tribunal of Sicily to celebrate one as early as possible for, besides the service to God, it would greatly edify the people.[617] The old designation of Sermo was derived from the sermon with which the proceedings commenced—originally preached by one of the inquisitors, but subsequently by some eloquent fraile, who dilated on the supreme importance of preserving the faith in its purity and of exterminating heresy and heretics. To insure a large attendance, an indulgence, usually of forty days, was granted to all present at the pious work.

At the height of its power the Inquisition spared no labor or expense to lend impressiveness to the auto publico general, as a demonstration of its authority and of the success with which it performed its functions. In the earlier and busier period, the exhibition was simpler, and confined to the practical work in hand. Thus in the first one celebrated in Toledo, August 16, 1486, the victims were marched on foot to the plaza, their hands tied with ropes across the breast, wearing sanbenitos of yellow linen with their names and the inscription “herege condenado,” and bearing{210} mitres on their heads. In the plaza they were ranged in tiers on a staging, while the inquisitors and their officials occupied another staging opposite. The sentence of each one was read and, although the culprits were numerous, the affair, commencing at 6 A.M., was over by noon, when the convicts were carried to the brasero or quemadero for burning. Apparently the exhibition consisted only of those condemned to the stake, to the exclusion of the reconciled or otherwise penanced.[618] The autos of the period, moreover, were not confined to the seats of the tribunals. We hear of them in the smaller towns, and, from a letter of Ferdinand, November 21, 1498, it appears that the convicts were distributed to their several bishoprics where the celebration and execution, though on a minor scale, would bring the terror of the Inquisition and the danger of heresy more directly home to the people.[619] By 1515, however, we may assume that they were centralized in the tribunal cities, for a royal cédula of that year orders the tribunal of Murcia to confine its autos to the city of Murcia and not to celebrate them in Orihuela.[620] It was evidently desired to render them more impressive, and this was further accomplished, about the same time, by requiring all penitents to appear in them for, in 1517, we find the Suprema instructing the tribunal of Navarre that, in future, abjurations de levi were not to be made privately, but in the public autos, which were to be celebrated with all solemnity.[621] There was cruelty in this, for appearance in an auto was in itself a severe punishment, and we shall see that subsequently autos particulares, or private autos, were instituted which enabled those guilty of lighter offences to escape without public humiliation.

Thus far autos were held at the discretion of the tribunals, which celebrated them whenever there was an accumulation of finished trials requiring relief to the prisons. A consulta de fe would be assembled, the sentences would be agreed upon, and a day would be appointed. It probably was not often that any external interference was apprehended, as at Cuenca, in 1520, where the tribunal had so excited popular passion by arresting the deputy corregidor, in some collision of jurisdictions, that it was obliged to procure a royal cédula instructing the corregidor{211} not to permit the inquisitors to be impeded in the performance of their functions.[622] Gradually, however, in this, as in so much else, the Suprema assumed control. A commencement of this is seen, in 1537, when it ordered that, whenever an auto was proposed, it should be apprised before any one else, but even the Instructions of 1561 leave as yet the determination with the tribunals.[623] It could not have been long after this, however, that the permission of the Suprema became requisite for, in 1585, we find the Inquisitor of Cuenca, Ximenes de Reynoso, writing, September 3d, for a decision of certain cases, and for authority to hold an auto, as there were thirty penitents, many of whom being poor were a charge on the fisc. The Suprema delayed its answer and, on October 14th, Reynoso sent a special courier, asking the reply to be returned by him; the auto was necessary for the benefit of the sick prisoners, as there was a pestilence raging, and also for the relief of the treasury; it was only by special entreaty that the receiver had paid the expenses of the last month, saying that there were no funds. This brought a speedy answer, with the desired permission.[624] Finally, the customary routine was for the tribunal to send a list of the cases in readiness and to ask for licence to hold an auto; if the Suprema approved, it ordered the auto to be celebrated without delay. Apparently in the active work of the eighteenth century there was an effort to regain control of the matter, for a carta acordada of June 5, 1720, orders that no auto be held without advising the Suprema and awaiting its commands.[625]

As public autos became less frequent, they lost the simplicity of the earlier period and grew to be imposing demonstrations of the authority of the Inquisition. Possession was taken of the principal square of the city, and two vast stagings were erected, one for the penitents and their ghostly attendants, and the other for the inquisitors with their officials and all the ecclesiastical and secular authorities, while the windows of the surrounding houses were filled with the notables of the place and their families. The participation of prelate and magistrate, in the processions and spectacle, was compulsory, for though, as a rule, they were proud to take their places, causes of quarrel were too frequent and bitter{212} not occasionally to render them unwilling thus to do honor to their imperious adversaries. In 1486, the local authorities of Valencia absented themselves from an auto and, when this was reported to Ferdinand, he rebuked them and ordered them in future always to be present, for nothing was so important as the service of God.[626] Similar commands had to be repeated not infrequently. About 1580, a royal cédula to the viceroy and officials of Majorca instructs them to lend the weight of their authority to the Inquisition, by accompanying the inquisitors in the procession to the staging, and then conducting them back to their palace. In 1588, the President of the Royal Council of Castile issued a general order to all the judges of the royal courts to march in the processions and, in 1598, the inquisitors were empowered to compel by excommunication the attendance of all public officials.[627]

The staging, on great occasions, was elaborate and costly, and the question of defraying the expense was variously decided. In 1553, we find the Suprema settling it, in Cuenca, by requiring the city to erect it, as was customary in Toledo. These two cities and Madrid remained charged with it, but elsewhere it was paid by the tribunals. At the great Madrid auto of 1632, Philip IV ordered the city to construct the staging in conformity with plans drawn by his chief architect, and the same course was followed in that of 1680, where we have long details of the complicated structure erected under the superintendence of commissioners of high rank, who esteemed the duty to be an honor.[628]

It was essential that both inquisitors should be present, and a single inquisitor was forbidden to celebrate a public auto in the absence of his colleague. The day selected must be a feast-day—ordinarily a Sunday—in order to insure a larger attendance. It sometimes chanced, however, in the eccentricities of spiritual jurisdiction, that the city lay under an interdict on the day appointed and, in such case, the Inquisition had to yield. In 1582 the Suprema instructed the tribunals that, when this occurred, they should endeavor to have the interdict lifted for the occasion, but, if those who had cast it refused, the inquisitors must not assume{213} to lift it of their own authority, and must postpone the auto or do the best they could.[629]

In all other respects the inquisitors were masters of the situation. Repeated royal cédulas, commencing in 1523, addressed to the authorities of the cities, made the inquisitors virtual rulers for the time. They were authorized to erect stagings in the public plazas, to regulate the police arrangements of the towns, and even to assign to the secular and clerical officials such seats and precedence as they saw fit. The climax would appear to be reached when Philip II empowered them to distribute at their will the windows of the private houses overlooking the scene. Against this, in 1595, the president and judges of the Audiencia of Granada protested, begging that house-owners should be allowed to rent their windows, and pointing out the hardship of a gentleman of high degree securing the use of a window for his family, and being turned out because the inquisitors chose to give it to a notary for the use of his wife. Philip, however, held good, except in so far that he gave the inquisitors instructions to have special consideration for the houses of the judges and alcaldes.[630] How the tribunals exercised the police power thus conferred on them is exemplified in the Seville auto of September 24, 1559, when they forbade any one, between the preceding midnight and the close of the solemnity, to carry arms or ride on horseback in the city, under penalty, for common folk, of a hundred lashes, and for gentlemen, of forfeiture of the horse or mule, thirty days of prison, and a fine of fifty thousand maravedís.[631]

Numerous relations are extant, in print and in MS., of the great autos publicos generales, giving in more or less detail the elaborate ceremonial which developed itself, in the effort to render impressive these crowning manifestations of the piety that regarded, as the highest service to God, the extermination of those who persisted in worshipping him according to their own consciences. These show that fashions varied somewhat with time and place; they give the point of view of the spectator, and we may preferably take as our guide a memoir of the seventeenth century showing the internal machinery, according to the custom of Toledo,{214} drawn up for the instruction of succeeding inquisitors.[632] The minuteness of the rules prescribed shows what importance was attached to rendering the spectacle imposing and to making manifest the subordination of the civil power, while the care taken to designate the exact place of every man or body of men indicates how fruitless was the authority granted to the tribunal in these matters to prevent the inveterate quarrels as to precedence. At the great Madrid auto of 1632, the Franciscans, indignant at the position assigned to them in the procession, after lively altercation, retired sullenly to their convent, for which the Suprema prosecuted them. These undignified squabbles were so much a matter of course that our author, in describing the report to be made to the Suprema, assumes that a place must be reserved in it for them, and for the reasons which governed the tribunal in its decisions.

When cases sufficient for an auto have accumulated, the tribunal reports them to the Suprema, which orders it to be held. Then the inquisitors determine on a feast-day, which should be at least a month off, in order to give sufficient time for the preparations. Word is then sent to the corregidor and the dean of the cathedral chapter to convene their respective bodies at nine o’clock the next morning, to receive a communication from the Inquisition and, at the appointed hour, some of the higher officials, with familiars, announce to them and to the bishop the expected celebration. Then in due time mounted familiars and notaries, with drums and trumpets and clarions and the standard of the Inquisition, move in procession through the streets, and at stated places a bell-man rings a bell and the town crier proclaims “Know all dwellers in this city that the Holy Office of the Inquisition, for the glory and honor of God and the exaltation of our holy Catholic faith, will celebrate a public auto de fe at such a place on such a day.”

No time is lost in making preparation. Commissioners are appointed for the erection and ornamentation of the staging, and wax is provided for the candles in the procession of the Green Cross on the evening before the auto. All the Mendicant Orders and the parish churches are invited to take part in the procession and the auto. Letters of convocation are despatched, summoning all familiars, notaries, commissioners, consultores and calificadores of the district, under penalties and censures, to come on the day{215} previous to the procession of the Green Cross.[633] The frailes, who are to assist the condemned during their last night on earth, are selected and notified. Corozas (conical mitres, about three quarters of an ell in height) are ordered, with flames for those who are to be relaxed, and in the ordinary form for bigamists, sorcerers and false-witnesses; also sanbenitos with flames for the relaxed, with two aspas for the reconciled, and with one aspa, behind and before, for those abjuring de vehementi; also halters for the relaxed and for those to be scourged. If there are effigies, they are made half length, to be carried on poles by porters; if there are bones, the boxes containing them are black, to be placed at the foot of those to which they belong; the effigies wear mitres with flames, and sanbenitos with flames on one side and, on the other, the name, residence and crime of the culprit.[634] Green crosses are also provided to be carried by the relaxed, yellow wax candles for the penitents and bundles of osiers for the reconciliation ceremonies. There must also be a box for carrying the sentences, of crimson velvet with gold fringe and a gilt lock and key, while a list of the relaxed and the effigies is given to the magistrates, so that they may have the sentences ready. Besides these there is the large green cross to be borne by the Dominican prior, and the white cross by the mayordomo of the Cofradia, in the procession of the preceding evening. The standard to be carried by the fiscal is to be made of crimson damask, richly embroidered on one side with the royal arms, a green cross rising from the crown, and the{216} sword and olive-branch to right and left, on the other side a shield with arms of San Pedro Martir; the staff is to be gilt, ending in a cross, with pendant cords bearing gold and silver tassels. Elaborate trappings are to be provided for the mules ridden by the officials, and silver-plated batons for the familiars who marshal the procession. The parish church usually supplies the carpets, hangings, and other adornments of the staging, and the singers for the evening procession and the reconciliation ceremonies. Then the preacher is appointed—usually a Dominican calificador—though in Galicia a bishop is generally selected and, in Madrid, the royal confessor. The day before the auto, the altar on the staging is decorated, and torches and candles are arranged around the place where the green cross is to be set. The inquisitors assign all the windows overlooking the plaza; they order that no coaches shall traverse the streets, and decide where the barriers are to be erected; the municipal authorities surrender the city to them and do whatever they require.

In the evening preceding the auto, the procession of the Green Cross takes place—a solemn affair in which the standard is borne by a crowd of familiars and gentlemen; the white cross follows with the religious Orders, the cross of the parish church with its clergy, the Green Cross carried by the Dominican prior and his frailes with torches and chanting the Miserere. The procession winds through the designated streets to the plaza, where the Green Cross is planted above the altar and is guarded by Dominicans during the night. The white cross is carried on to the brasero, where it is guarded by a body, existing in some cities, known as the soldiers of the Zarza, whose function is to guard the brasero and plaza and to furnish the wood for the burning.[635] The Inquisition itself is guarded during the night by soldiers who, before day-break, arouse the officials by beat of drum. Within the building, the sanbenitos and insignia are arranged in order and porters are assembled in readiness to carry the effigies and bones and such penitents as have been disabled from walking. At 9 P.M. the senior inquisitor, with a secretary, visits those who are to be relaxed and informs them of their approaching fate; with each of them he leaves two frailes to guide them. If any of the pertinacious or negativos are converted, they are to be heard immediately{217} and their confessions received, when the inquisitors with the Ordinary determine whether to admit them to reconciliation, and the same is done with those converted on the staging.

Before dawn mass is celebrated in the audience-chamber, and also at the altar of the Green Cross. By daylight breakfast is given to all who are to appear in the auto, and also to the frailes assigned to the relaxed.[636] They are not taken from their cells till the hour of forming the procession, when the penitents are ranged along the walls of the audience-chamber in the order of their marching; all are dressed in their sanbenitos with the requisite insignia.

The procession starts with the soldiers of the Zarza at its head; then the cross of the parish church, shrouded in black, with an acolyte who tolls a bell mournfully at intervals. Then come the penitents, one by one, each with a familiar on either side; first are the impostors, then personators of officials of the Inquisition, followed in order by blasphemers, bigamists, Judaizers, Protestants, the effigies and chests of bones and finally those to be relaxed, each with two frailes. Mounted officials follow, then familiars in pairs, the standard of the Inquisition, and finally the inquisitors bring up the rear. Thus the procession moves through the designated streets, filled with a densely packed crowd, kept off by railings, to the plaza, where the culprits are seated in the same order, the lightest offenders on the lowest benches.

The staging is provided with two pulpits, from which the sentences are read alternatively. Between them is a bench elevated on two steps, on which the penitents are brought successively, to sit with their faces to the tribunal and hear their sentences read; the bench is furnished with a rail, kindly provided for them to cling to, in case of fainting, for, with the exception of the relaxed, this is the first definite announcement to them of their fate. Below the seats of the tribunal there is a room handsomely fitted up for refreshments, to which the inquisitors, officials, municipal officers and clergy resort from time to time, and a similar one is provided{218} for the familiars and persons of note. To the former is brought any pertinacious convict who may be converted on the staging previous to hearing his sentence, and there an inquisitor and secretary take his confession, after which the inquisitors and Ordinary consider the case: if he is to be admitted to reconciliation he is sent back to the Inquisition in a coach or chair, or is replaced on the staging, to return with the rest of the penitents. If any culprit dies on the staging, if he is condemned to relaxation his sentence is read, and his body is delivered to the secular arm; if he is one of those to be reconciled, he is absolved and the parish church buries him in consecrated ground; if simply one penanced, he is absolved ad cautelam and the church buries him.

After the preaching of the sermon, a secretary mounts a pulpit and, in a loud voice, reads the customary oath, elaborately pledging all the officials and people present to obedience to the Holy Office, and to the active persecution of heretics and heresy, to which every one responds Amen! If the king is present, the senior inquisitor goes to his balcony and, on the cross and gospels, administers to him an oath to defend the faith, to persecute heretics and to show all necessary favor to the Inquisition.[637]

Then the sentences are read from the alternate pulpits, the alguazil mayor producing each culprit to hear his sentence. In this there must be no interruption, as all the sentences must be read, if it lasts till nightfall, for which torches and torch-bearers must{219} be in readiness.[638] Although the sentences of the relaxed are left to the last, yet, if the auto is prolonged into the night they are introduced earlier, as it is essential that the burning should be executed in broad day-light. As these sentences are read, the effigies and chests of bones are ranged on one side of the stage, and the living convicts on the other. They are then delivered to the secular arm, and the judge who utters the sentences does so, either on the stage, or at the table of the secretaries or outside of the staging. If there is a compañia de la Zarza, it marches in squadron into the plaza, when the sentences are read, and the men discharge their arquebuses. They surround the condemned and march with them to the brasero, to protect them from the populace which, in some places, is accustomed to maltreat and even to kill them, against which the inquisitors give special instructions. The magistrates provide the asses on which they ride and the wood to burn them. The frailes in charge attend them to the last breath and exhaust all effort to bring about their repentance and conversion.

The public solemnities conclude with the ceremonies of abjuration and reconciliation, after which the alguazil mayor and familiars conduct the penitents back to the Inquisition, where they have supper and are locked up, three or four in a cell. The priests of the parish church remove the black veil from their cross and take it back, while the Dominicans bear the green cross to the Inquisition, singing psalms and escorted by the municipal officials. The next morning the reconciled have the terms of their sentences read over to them; they and the other penitents take the oath of secrecy, and they are conveyed by the alcaide to the penitential prison. At ten o’clock the alguazil mayor, with a secretary and familiars, all mounted, with the public executioner and town-crier, take out those sentenced to scourging and vergüenza, and the punishment is duly administered through the customary streets. On their return, those whose sentences include the galleys are furnished a certificate of their length of service and are transferred to the royal prison, and with this concludes the stately ceremony{220} by which the Holy Office, at the height of its power, impressed its terror on the population.

The place of burning—the quemadero or brasero—as a rule was outside of the city. With this the tribunal had nothing to do, except that a secretary and alguazil were present to certify and report as to the execution of the sentences.[639] Consequently the documents of the Inquisition furnish no details, but some may be gleaned from a relation of the Madrid auto of 1632. For this occasion the city had constructed the brasero beyond the Puerta de Alcalá; as there were seven to be burnt, it was made fifty feet square, and had the requisite stakes with garrotes. The confusion and crowd were great, and so also was the fire, which lasted until eleven o’clock at night, by which time the bodies were reduced to ashes, so that the memory of the impious might vanish from the earth.[640] The scattering of the ashes over the fields, or into running water, was a prescription of old standing, to prevent disciples of heresiarchs from preserving fragments to be venerated as relics. This was not an easy matter, for the total calcination of a human skeleton requires a prolonged intensity of heat not likely to be maintained where wood was expensive, and the bones found with the cinders on the site of the old quemadero of Madrid, when, about 1868, the Calle de Carranza was cut through it, would indicate that part, at least, of the remains of the victims were allowed to lie where they had perished.

The auto público general, while looming large in popular imagination, represented, in truth, but a small part of inquisitorial activity. It was a solemnity on a grand scale, in which the Holy Office magnified its importance, but by far the greater number of cases were despatched in autos particulares or autillos, held in churches, or in the audience-chamber, or anywhere that circumstances might dictate. In the Toledo record, from 1575 to 1610, there are contained but twelve autos generales, in which three hundred and eighty-six culprits appeared, while seven hundred and eighty-six cases were settled in autos particulares.[641] As stated above, appearance in a public auto was, in itself, a severe punishment, and the sentence always specified whether the offender was{221} to be subjected to a humiliation entailing consequences on him and his family so greatly dreaded that, at a Toledo auto of December 13, 1627, Juan Nuñez Saravia, a wealthy Portuguese, vainly offered twelve thousand ducats to escape it.[642] The great majority of cases deserved no such severity. The jurisdiction of the Inquisition extended over a wide field; it was, in a certain sense, a custos morum and took cognizance of a vast number of comparatively trivial offences—careless speeches, blasphemies, propositions of all kinds, indecent writings and works of art, sorceries and conjurations more or less innocent and the like—which it disposed of without summoning the entire population as spectators. Clerical offenders, moreover, as we have seen, unless degraded for formal heresy, were shielded from the scandal of publicity in the audience chamber.

The auto particular, or private auto, was often celebrated in a church, to which the spiritual and civil authorities were not invited, but where such portion of the public as could find room were at liberty to be present. More frequently it was held in the sala, or audience-chamber, and here again there was a distinction, for the sentence defined whether it should be with open doors or closed and, in the former case, the bell was often tolled in order to invite a curious crowd of spectators. Even the apartments of the senior inquisitor were sometimes used in this manner, as when, March 23, 1680, three alguaziles of the corregidor of Toledo, for maltreating the purveyor of the tribunal, were sentenced in the apartments to various terms of exile. When nuns were the culprits, the autillo was customarily performed in their convent, as in the case, August 8, 1658, of Sor Josefa de Villegas, for superstitions and sorceries, who was sentenced to various penances, through the grating of the Augustinian nunnery of San Torquato, in presence of the nuns and, on February 13, 1685, Sor Dionisia de Rojas was sentenced in the choir of the Franciscan house of Santa Isabel, in the presence of the superior and four elderly sisters.[643]

As financial distress grew more and more acute, in the seventeenth century, the tribunals shrank from the heavy expenses attendant on the elaborate demonstrations of the great public autos which, however gratifying to their pride, bore too heavily{222} upon their diminishing resources, exposed as they were to the royal exactions. In Barcelona, there would seem to have been no public auto between 1627 and the revolt of 1640; in Valladolid, none between 1644 and 1667. In Toledo one was held, after prolonged consideration, January 1, 1651, in which the number of culprits shows that it relieved the prisons of a long accumulation; it was the last public auto celebrated in Toledo, and there was none even in a church, between 1656 and 1677.[644] Seville appears to have been less hampered and celebrated public autos generales in 1631, 1643, 1648, 1656, and a most impressive one in 1660 at which less fortunate tribunals unloaded their convicts, for there were seven relaxations in person, twenty-seven in effigy and fifty-two penitents, but this appears to be the last of its kind there.[645]

In fact, the public auto would have been abandoned ere this, but for the rule that judgements of blood must not be rendered in churches. As early as 1568 the Suprema had decreed that, when there was a relaxation, the auto must be held in the plaza and not in a church, which was in accordance with the ancient authorities.[646] When the public autos became an onerous burden, we can imagine that this led to hesitation in pronouncing death-sentences for, when this was unavoidable, the convict became a troublesome personage. A suggestive case was that of Juan López, condemned to relaxation for Judaism, at Valladolid, in 1633; after he lay in prison for thirty months with no prospect of getting rid of him, the Suprema ordered him to be tortured and another vote to be taken, which resulted, September 1, 1637, in a revised sentence of reconciliation, with severe punishments.[647] A device less damaging to the purity of faith was to transfer a convict from one tribunal to another for execution. Thus when, at Valencia, the Morisco Gerónimo Buenaventura was condemned for pertinacity, there was no auto in which to execute the sentence. On November 19, 1635, the Suprema ordered him to be sent to Valladolid, apparently{223} under the impression that he could be burnt there but, after two years, Valladolid reported that it had no public auto in which to despatch him, so, in 1638 the Suprema ordered his transfer to Saragossa.[648] Whether he met a speedy death there we have no means of knowing, but there is something peculiarly revolting in thus sending a poor wretch from one corner of Spain to another, in order to find some place in which to burn him economically.

When any tribunal managed to celebrate a public auto, it was utilized to disembarrass the others. Thus the Toledo auto of 1651 had effigies contributed by Cuenca, Córdova and Seville. In 1655 Santiago celebrated a public auto, to which Valladolid sent for relaxation one living person and four effigies, two of the latter having been kept waiting since 1644 and 1648. The consulta de fe of Murcia, on July 18, 1658, voted to relax nine fugitive Judaizers of Beas, but the formal sentence was delayed until December 5, 1659, in preparation for the great public auto at Seville, April 13, 1660, when the effigies were duly cremated.[649] The imposing Madrid auto of 1680—the last of its kind—was a general gaol delivery to which all the tribunals contributed their embarrassing convicts.

There was no prospect of an improvement in the situation, although it was supremely humiliating to the Inquisition that it could not afford to burn those whom it condemned, promptly and on the scene of their transgressions, under the alternative of exercising a compulsory mercy. Some relief must be found, and a partial attempt was made, in a carta acordada of September 4, 1657, permitting effigies to be relaxed at autos particulares in churches. Toledo promptly availed itself of this by relaxing, December 9th, eight effigies of fugitives in such an auto,[650] but the other tribunals seem to have discountenanced the device. The further step, of overthrowing the traditional prohibition of uttering sentences of blood in churches, appears to have been under consideration in 1664, when the Suprema called on the tribunals for information as to relaxations in person or in effigy in autos particulares. In reply, Valencia reported that the sentence of Gaspar López, to be relaxed in effigy, voted in 1641, had never been published, for lack of an auto, although the corresponding sentence of{224} confiscation had been executed—which the Suprema pronounced to be highly irregular.[651]

It required time to familiarise the conscience with so revolutionary a measure, and the project slumbered for a quarter of a century, but the pressure to escape the burden of public autos increased, and the Suprema finally conquered its scruples. A carta acordada, of September 23, 1689, pointed out that, in view of the diminished resources from confiscations and of the increased cost of celebrating these public functions with due solemnity, they were avoided as far as possible, and it was no longer practicable to reserve for them the relaxed, whose numbers unfortunately were daily increasing. They had to be fed while lying forgotten in their cells, after their cases were finished; even the expense of transferring them from one tribunal to another was considerable, and it was kindly added that there was risk to their souls in detaining them so long while in ignorance of their fate. Weighing all this and, in view of the fact that there were cases of relaxation in churches both before and after the Instructions of 1561, and that the Council of Constance, sitting in the cathedral, had condemned Jerome of Prague, the Suprema reached the conclusion that judgement of relaxation could be rendered in churches, provided the sentence of the civil magistrate was uttered outside. The tribunals were therefore instructed that they could relieve themselves of their convicts in autos particulares in churches, delivering them to the secular arm outside of the sacred limits. To such autos the civic and cathedral chapters were not to be invited, and the rule as to time was to be observed, so that the burning could be performed by daylight.[652]

Against this there arose a protest on the part of the secular magistrates, who felt slighted at not being invited and having seats allotted to them. To meet this, the Suprema, April 7, 1690, addressed to the king a consulta deploring the impossibility of celebrating the autos with the ceremonial and impressiveness of old. But great numbers of those deserving relaxation had accumulated in most of the tribunals; there were not funds to maintain{225} them in prison, or to despatch them in general autos, and to bring them together would excite horror, as occurred in the auto of 1680. It therefore proposed that the secular officials be stationed outside of the church, where the convicts could be delivered to them, but this was not acceptable to the civil authorities and a compromise was effected, July 20th, designating the single official who was to represent the secular arm. The tribunal was to send him a message, appointing time and place; he was to be at the church door when the procession arrived; he was to follow the inquisitors, the fiscal and the Ordinary, and have a seat near them and, after the sentences of relaxation were pronounced, he was to leave the church for a place agreed upon, where the convicts were to be brought to him, when he sentenced them and executed the sentences.[653]

Thus came to an end the gorgeous general public autos in which, during its more prosperous days, the Inquisition had made so profound an impression on the imaginations of men. Thenceforth, no matter how many living beings and effigies were consigned to the quemadero, the ceremony was conducted within the sacred precincts of a church, in a simpler and more economical fashion. The great autos of Majorca, in 1691, in which so many unfortunates perished, were held in the church of San Domingo. Yet still there was elaboration of display. A writer, in 1724, giving an account of the autos celebrated in Seville since 1719, is vastly more concerned with enumerating the names of officials and familiars, with describing the ceremonial and dilating upon the crimson velvet chairs and cushions and canopies embroidered in gold and silver and the diamond badges worn by the functionaries, than with the real work of the tribunal, grim and cruel though it continued to be.[654]

These gauds might gratify the vanity of the Inquisitors, but the old attractiveness of the imposing public ceremonial had vanished. The population no longer poured in from all the surrounding district, camping out in the fields, in the vast crowds described with so much pride in the relations of the great autos. When we remember the thousand familiars and officials in Logroño, and the grandees who eagerly competed for positions of honor in the processions, we can estimate the change that compelled the complaint of the Seville tribunal, in 1729. It denounced the luke-warmness{226} of the familiars in accompanying its processions, whereby it was losing the respect of the people, and compared unfavorably with the public demonstrations of the Audiencia and civic authorities. It was with this object that the familiars had been so greatly increased in numbers and had been favored with so many privileges and exemptions. Besides the occasional autos, the tribunal made salidas, or processions, on five principal feasts of the year, and it ordered the Hermandad de San Pedro Martir to nominate eight familiars, from among whom it would select four, two to accompany it on the regular salidas and two for the autos, with threats of fine and imprisonment for neglect of duty.[655]

Yet it would not be safe to conclude from this that fanaticism was extinct. At the Llerena auto of June 25, 1752, there were six effigies of fugitives to be burnt and one of a dead woman with her bones. It had always been the custom to have these borne in the procession and to the brasero by carriers of the lowest class, drawn from the hospital for vagrants, who were paid for the service but, on this occasion, it chanced that none of these could be had. The inquisitors were greatly exercised and, as a last expedient, they represented to the Lieutenant-governor, Don Manuel de la Fuente y Dávila, that this was an exalted religious duty which the noblest might be proud to perform, and they offered that the officials of the Inquisition would carry the effigies to the church and then to the secular magistrate, if Don Manuel and other nobles would bear them thence to the brasero. Don Manuel assented and his example was followed by the Governor, the Marquis of Torre Mexia and other nobles; the officials were persuaded to do their share, and thus, we are told, the old custom, so derogatory to the sacredness of the function, was successfully discarded. The procession to the brasero was a triumphal march, to the sound of trumpets, with the escort of all the troops that could be assembled.[656]

Notwithstanding such occasional bursts of zeal, the glory of the Inquisition was rapidly departing and, with the extermination of the few remaining Judaizers, its functions continuously dwindled. In the Toledo tribunal, the last auto held in a church was on March 7, 1778, for a single penitent condemned to vergüenza for sorcery. After that, to the close of the century, it had but nine autillos, all held in the audience-chamber, sometimes with open{227} and sometimes with closed doors, and in each of them there was but a single penitent. Five of the cases were for propositions, two for solicitation in the confessional, one for bigamy, and one for administering sacraments without priests’ orders.[657] To this had shrunk the activity of a once prominent tribunal and with this shrinkage the power to impress the popular imagination with its imposing demonstrations.

There is one aspect of the auto de fe which reflects the intensity of Spanish fanaticism in a most suggestive manner. When the Spaniard regarded it as a celebration fitted for a day of rejoicing, or as a spectacular entertainment acceptable to distinguished national guests, he did so in the conviction that it was the highest exhibition of piety, and a service to God, glorious to the land which organized it, and stimulating the devotion of all participants. Probably no autos were celebrated in honor of Ferdinand and Isabella, for the stern and rapid work of the period scarce admitted of the pageantry requisite to adapt the spectacle to royal courtliness, and the Burgundian fashions had not superseded the ancient Castilian simplicity. None of their successors, however, of the House of Hapsburg, were without such a testimonial of pious loyalty. When, in 1528, Charles V passed through Valencia, there was celebrated in his honor an auto, in which there were thirteen men and women relaxed in person, besides ten in effigy.[658] In 1560, the Toledo tribunal contributed an auto, with several relaxations, to the joyous celebration of the marriage of Philip II with Isabelle de Valois, daughter of Henry II of France. It was a notable spectacle, for the royal wedding and the meeting of the Córtes to swear allegiance to the young Don Carlos brought to Toledo all that was most distinguished in Spain.[659] When, in February, 1564, Philip was in Barcelona for the Catalan Córtes, an auto was arranged in his honor, in which there were eight relaxations in person and numerous condemnations to the galleys. They were mostly Frenchmen whom Saint-Sulpice, the French ambassador, had vainly sought to protect.[660]

The accession of Philip III was celebrated by an auto at Toledo, March 6, 1600, in the presence of the king, his queen, Margarita{228} of Austria, the Duke of Lerma and all the court, where Philip took the oath to protect and favor the Holy Office. Toledo had but few culprits, as it had held an auto the year before, but a total of forty-six were accumulated by drawing upon Córdoba, Granada, Cuenca, Llerena, Valladolid and Seville. There were but two relaxations in effigy and one in person—the latter being a Huguenot named Jacques Pinzon, whom the Granada tribunal had been leisurely endeavoring to wean from his heresy for a couple of years. He was needed to complete the attraction at Toledo, and his trial was concluded so hurriedly that the Suprema ordered his transfer thither before it had received for confirmation the vote condemning him, so the sentence was made out in blank and sent after him for the Toledan inquisitors to sign. As he is characterized as pertinacious he was probably burnt alive.[661] The great auto of Madrid, in 1632, was held there by the special order of the king, in celebration of the recovery from confinement of Isabelle de Bourbon, wife of Philip IV, and was graced with the presence of both and of their son Don Carlos. There were thirty-seven penitents besides seven relaxations in person and two in effigy.[662] The revolted Catalans, who had given themselves to France, took the same means of honoring the Viceroy Condé, on the eve of his departure for Paris, by an auto celebrated November 7, 1647, in which there were two relaxations in person and two in effigy.[663] The ostensible purpose of the crowning glory at Madrid, June 30, 1680, which fitly ended the long series of autos publicos generales, was to honor the marriage of the young Carlos II with Louise Marie d’Orléans. There were sixty-seven penitents and fifty-one relaxations, of which nineteen were in person. A compañia de la Zarza was formed, numbering two hundred and fifty members, with Francisco de Salcedo as captain. On June 28th they were taken to the puerta de Alcalá, where each man was furnished with a fagot. Then they marched to the royal palace, where Salcedo took a fagot, specially prepared for the purpose, and handed it to the Duke of Pastrana, who carried it to the king. Carlos with his own hands bore it to his queen and exhibited it and then sent it back by Pastrana with the message that it should be taken in his name to the brasero and be the first that was thrown{229} upon the fire.[664] The religious training of the young monarch had evidently not been neglected. It was an earnest of better things in store for Spain when, in 1701, Philip V refused to be present at an auto general proposed to be celebrated in honor of his accession, and the project was abandoned.[665]

We have thus considered the organization of the Inquisition and its general methods of action. It remains for us to examine the application of those methods to the various classes of offenders subjected to its extensive jurisdiction.

{230}

{231}

BOOK VIII.

SPHERES OF ACTION.

CHAPTER I.

JEWS.

AS the apostasy of the enforced converts from Judaism was the proximate cause of the establishment of the Spanish Holy Office, so they continued to be almost the exclusive object of its energies, until the similar treatment of the Moors created, in the Moriscos, a class with even greater claims on its solicitude. The rooting out of the latter, however, in the early years of the seventeenth century, was so complete that they virtually disappeared from the records of the tribunals, while the Jewish New Christians remained, and, for more than another century provided the major portion of their more serious work.

It had been easy, since 1391, to compel baptism by the alternatives of exile or death, but it had never been deemed necessary to supplement this by instruction in the new faith, or by efforts to effect a real conversion. When Ferdinand and Isabella were aroused to the fact that the Conversos were Christians only in name, terrorism was the sole method that suggested itself of accomplishing the great task of securing the desired unity of faith. So, when the expulsion of 1492, filled the land with a new multitude of neophytes, there was the same disregard of the duty of persuasion and instruction. The only utterances on the subject seem to assume that they would in some way instruct and fortify themselves in their new religion. When, in 1496, a royal pragmática forbade them for three years to farm the royal revenues, the reason alleged was that such occupation would distract them from obtaining due instruction in Christian doctrine. In 1499, the Suprema ordered that the Conversos anterior to 1492 should live scattered among Old Christians, while the recent ones should be separated from their rabbis, living by themselves in towns and strengthening their faith by punctual attendance on divine service.[666] It was not{232} until 1500 that it bethought itself to provide that all the banished Jews who returned, claiming to be baptized, must exhibit certificates of baptism for themselves and their children; they must observe the feasts and attend mass and sermons, and all children, over six years of age, must, within six months, know the four prayers, the seven mortal sins and the confession of faith.[667] When the enforced conversion of the Moriscos created an even greater multitude of nominal Christians, there were a few equally ineffective instructions issued as to both classes, to which little attention was paid. The simplicity of belief in the adequacy of these measures was apparently grounded on faith in the effectiveness of the inquisitorial process, of which we have incidentally seen so many illustrations during the early period.

That confidence continued unabated, and the enforcement of uniformity in this fashion was followed energetically, with only such intermissions as might arise from the lack of accessible material, or from indolence in searching for it. Where there was zeal there was little scruple, as appears from a letter addressed, about 1540, by the tribunal of Llerena to all the inquisitors of Spain and Portugal. It had arrested twenty-one persons, in addition to three fugitives and two deceased, on suspicion—probably because they were on their way to Portugal—and it now asked to have all the registers of the Peninsula ransacked for evidence to justify their prosecution.[668] We have had occasion to see how slender was the proof required for this—the slightest adherence to any of the ancestral customs of Judaism, whether of religious significance or not, sufficed, and lists of these observances were carefully drawn up for the guidance of inquisitors. The more obvious, such as the avoidance of pork and lard, the removal of fat from meat, the observance of the Sabbath by changing linen, lighting lamps and abstaining from work, the killing of fowls by decollation, the keeping of stated fasts, eating meat in Lent and the like, were known of all men, and perpetual watch was kept by Old Christians on the households of Conversos, so that all such lapses were eagerly reported to the tribunals, as required by the Edicts of Faith. They furnished ample ground for suspicion, justifying arrest and trial, when inquisitorial methods insured that no lurking Judaic tendencies could escape detection.{233}

An illustrative case was that of Elvira del Campo, tried at Toledo in 1567. She was of converso descent and was married to Alonso de Moya, a scrivener of Madridejos, who seems to have been an Old Christian. According to witnesses who had lived with her as servants, or were her near neighbors, she went to mass and confession and gave all outward sign of being a good Christian; she was kind and charitable, but she would not eat pork and, when she cooked it for the household, she handled it with a rag so as not to touch it, which she explained by saying that she had a throat-trouble which made it disagree with her, and that handling it made her hands smell. There was a little cumulative evidence about putting on clean linen on Saturdays and not working, but this was insignificant and the case rested on pork. The chief witnesses were two of her husband’s employees, Pedro de Liano and Alonso Collados, who lived in the house, and their evidence went much into detail as to their spying about the kitchen, peeping into cupboards, and watching all the details of her housekeeping. Liano testified that once he and Collados talked about her putting a leg of mutton into water to soak over night, when Collados said he thought there was some Jewish ceremony in this, and it would please him much to know it, for he would accuse her to the Inquisition, as he was on bad terms with her. Yet Collados, before the tribunal, concluded his testimony by saying that he wished her well for her good treatment of him, that he held her to be a good Christian, because she went to mass and spoke ill of no one and was very reserved, rarely leaving her home and talking with but few people.

Elvira was arrested early in July, and at first her trial was pushed with speed, as she was pregnant, but her confinement, August 31st, caused a delay of three months. She admitted not eating pork, but attributed this to medical advice, for a disease communicated to her by her husband, which she desired to conceal. Little stress was laid on the other charges and she strenuously asserted her orthodoxy. Of the twelve witnesses against her she identified six, but her effort to disable them for enmity failed, except as regarded the two most damaging ones, Collados and Diego Hernández. Of thirteen witnesses for character, consisting of ecclesiastics and neighbors, all but one—who professed ignorance—gave emphatic testimony as to her being a good Christian, attentive and regular in all religious duties, obedient to the precepts of the Church, and in no way the object of suspicion. There was evidently{234} nothing to do but to torture her. This, as we have seen above (p. 24) was administered twice, and resulted in her stating that when she was eleven years old her mother had told her not to eat pork and to observe the Sabbath, and she knew this to be against the Christian Law—but, as her mother had died when she was eleven years old, we can not unreasonably doubt its truth. The next day a ratification was obtained in the shape that her not eating pork, changing her chemise and observing the Sabbath, were in pursuance of the Law of Moses as taught her by her mother; she had never mentioned this to anyone, for her father would have killed her and she feared her husband.

On the strength of this, in the consulta de fe, there was one fanatic who voted her relaxation, but the rest agreed upon reconciliation with its disabilities, confiscation and three years of prison and sanbenito, which were duly imposed in an auto of June 13, 1568, but, in a little more than six months, the imprisonment was commuted to spiritual penances, and she was told to go where she chose. Thus, besides the horrors of her trial, she was beggared and ruined for life, and an ineffaceable stain was cast upon her kindred and descendants. What became of the infant born in prison is not recorded, but presumably it was fortunate enough to die. Trivial as may seem the details of such a trial, they are not without importance as a sample of what was occupying the tribunals of all Spain, and they raise the interesting question whether in truth the inquisitors believed what they assumed in the public sentence, that they had been laboring to rescue Elvira from the errors and darkness of her apostasy and to save her soul. The minute points on which the fate of the accused might depend are illustrated by the insistence with which they dwell on her abstinence from pork, on her refusal to eat buttered cakes, on her use of two stewing-pots, and on the time at which she changed her chemise and baked her bread.[669]

Subjected, on the one hand, to the ceaseless espionage of servants and neighbors and, on the other, to the pitiless zeal of the tribunals, even the heroic obstinacy of Judaism, which had triumphed over the countless miseries of the Dispersion, gradually succumbed to this all-pervading persecution, so ceaselessly and relentlessly applied. As generation succeeded generation, with no hope of relief, this unremitting pressure seemed gradually{235} to be attaining its object. The prosecutions for Judaism commenced to diminish sensibly. Valencia had a large converso population and, during the first quarter of the sixteenth century, the trials averaged between thirty and forty a year. Then came the enforced baptism of the Moors, who for some time furnished a predominant contingent. The latter were temporarily released from inquisitorial jurisdiction in 1540, and, during the three years, 1541, 1542 and 1543, there was not a single trial for heresy. In 1546 they were again relieved from the Inquisition and, in the following sixteen years, until 1562, the total number of trials for heresy was but forty-eight—in fact, in the ten years between 1550 and 1560, there were but two, showing that Judaism there had almost ceased to be the object of inquisitorial activity.[670] In Toledo, which included Madrid, during the sixteen years, 1575-1590 inclusive, there were but twenty-three cases.[671] In 1565, an auto at Seville presented seventy-four penitents without one Judaizer, and there were none in a Cuenca auto of 1585 in which figured twenty-one Moriscos.[672] Even as early as 1558, when the Suprema was magnifying its services to obtain from Paul IV the grant of prebends, it admitted that for some years there had been but few Judaizers found, but it alluded vaguely to some recent discoveries of them in Murcia, who would soon be punished.[673] In fact, not long afterward, Paolo Tiepolo, the Venetian envoy, alludes to the arrest in Murcia of a large number of Jews.[674]

Coincident with this diminution of material for persecution, there seems to have been a disposition to resort to milder methods, attributable perhaps to an expectation that Judaism would ere long disappear. In 1567, Pius V, at the request of Philip II, empowered Inquisitor-general Espinosa, for three years, to have the Judaizing New Christians of Murcia and Alcaraz absolved, either publicly or privately, with a salutary and benignant, but not pecuniary, penance; clerics, however, were not to be habilitated to obtain orders or benefices.[675] There is a story that Dom João Soares, Bishop of Coimbra, after the Council of Trent, made{236} a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, in the course of which, at Cyprus, he met many Spanish and Portuguese refugees, from whom he gathered information which he communicated to the tribunal of Llerena, resulting in the detection of many Judaizers in Extremadura.[676] They were treated like those of Murcia, for Philip, in 1573, obtained from Gregory XIII a brief similar to that of 1567, for the benefit of the Judaizers of the district of Llerena, except that the faculty was limited to one year.[677] Even greater privileges were granted, in a brief obtained by Philip, in 1597, to the Judaizers of Ecija and its district, for not only were they to be absolved like those of Murcia, but all prisoners under trial were to enjoy the benefit of the pardon, with no note of infamy on themselves or their descendants, and this time of grace was to endure for four years.[678] These may not have been the only instances of such favors, and they indicate a tendency towards an entire change of policy. That there was hopefulness that the Inquisition was accomplishing its work is seen in a careful state paper drawn up for the Suprema, in 1595, by a distinguished prelate, Juan Bautista Pérez, Bishop of Segorbe, who felt justified in assuming that the baptized Jews remaining in Spain, after the expulsion of 1492, had now become good Christians, except one here and there, and that their Law was forgotten.[679]

In this the good bishop was careful to limit his praise to the descendants of those who had been baptized a century before,{237} three full generations having passed under the chastening hands of the Holy Office. He evidently was aware that a new factor had been injected into the religious problem—a factor which was to give the Inquisition occupation for nearly a century and a half more. This was due to the conquest of Portugal by Philip II, in 1580. Although the union of the two kingdoms was merely dynastic, and their separate organizations were preserved, the facility of intercourse which followed led to a large emigration of New Christians from the poorer to the richer land. They had not been exposed as long as their Spanish brethren to inquisitorial rigor and, for the most part, they were crypto-Jews. The fresh justification which they afforded for the activity of the Inquisition, after the suppression of spasmodic Protestantism and the expulsion of the Moriscos, and the part which they played in Spanish Judaism seem to require a brief review of the curious history of the early Portuguese Inquisition. It also affords an insight into the relations between the New Christians and the Holy See, and thus throws a reflected light on the struggles of Ferdinand and Charles V with the curia.[680]

We have seen (Vol. I, pp. 137, 140) the reception by João II of the multitudes who flocked to Portugal at the time of the expulsion and their kindly treatment by King Manoel at his accession in 1495. In contracting marriage, however, with Isabella, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, the condition was imposed on him of expelling all refugees who had been condemned by the Spanish Inquisition and, under this impulsion, seconded by his confessor the Frade Jorje Vogado, he issued a general edict of expulsion, excepting children under fourteen, who were torn from their parents—a measure which caused the most deplorable distress, many of the Jews slaying their offspring rather than surrender them to be brought up as Christians. By various devices the departure of the exiled was delayed, until after the time when they incurred the alternative of slavery, and thus they were coerced to accept baptism. To temper this, Manoel granted, May 30, 1497, that for twenty years they should be exempt from persecution;{238} that subsequently all accusations of Judaism should be brought within twenty days of the acts charged; that the trial should be conducted under ordinary secular procedure, and that confiscations should enure to the heirs. Moreover, he promised never to legislate for them as a distinct race.[681]

This latter pledge was soon broken, by edicts of April 21 and 22, 1499, forbidding them to leave the kingdom without royal permission and prohibiting the purchase from them of lands or bills of exchange. Popular aversion increased and culminated in the awful Lisbon massacre of 1506. This wrought a revulsion of feeling; in 1507 the restrictive laws of 1499 were repealed; the New Christians were allowed freely to trade and to come and go; they were in all things assimilated to the natives, and were entitled to the common law of the land. In 1512 the twenty years’ exemption was extended to 1534, and although, in 1515, Dom Manoel applied to Leo X for the introduction of the Inquisition, on the request being delayed the matter was dropped and was not revived. Until Manoel’s death, in 1521, the New Christians thus enjoyed toleration and flourished accordingly. They grew rich and prosperous, they intermarried with the noblest houses, and they largely entered the Church. Externally their religious observance was unimpeachable, and Portugal naturally became a haven of refuge for Spanish Conversos, nor is it likely that the restrictions on such immigration, enacted in 1503, were rigidly observed.[682]

His successor, Dom João III, a youth of 20, was a fanatic of narrow mind and limited intelligence, but the influence of Manoel’s counsellors, who continued in the direction of affairs, procured, between 1522 and 1524, the confirmation of the privileges granted by the late king. Ecclesiastical pressure and popular prejudice, however, made themselves felt and, in 1524, a secret inquest brought the testimony of parish priests that the New Christians were suspected of being Christians only in name.[683] Then João’s marriage, in 1525, with Catalina, sister of Charles V—the only Portuguese queen admitted to a seat in the Council of State—brought a powerful influence to bear; the growing strength of{239} these tendencies gradually overcame considerations of plighted faith and, early in 1531, Dr. Brás Neto, the ambassador at Rome, was instructed to procure secretly from Clement VII briefs establishing in Portugal an Inquisition on the Spanish model. We have seen in Spain the objections of the Holy See to the royal control of the institution and to the abandonment of all share in the confiscations, and these probably explain the delays which postponed, until December 17th, the issue of a brief conferring on the royal nominee, Frade Diogo da Silva, the requisite faculties as inquisitor-general. This was followed, January 13, 1532 by one ordering him to assume the office; the two reached Lisbon in February, but it seems to have been feared that their publication would lead to an immediate exodus of the New Christians, and they were kept secret until laws could be framed reviving, with additional rigor, the edicts of 1499, prohibiting, for three years, departure from the kingdom, the sale of real estate and the negotiation of bills of exchange. These were issued June 14th, after which there was a pause, explicable only by the lavish employment of money in both Lisbon and Rome. The New Christians evidently had obtained knowledge of the threatened measure; much of the active capital of the kingdom was in their hands, and the danger called for energetic work and sacrifice. A fitting emissary to Rome was found in Duarte da Paz, a Converso of no ordinary ability, energy and audacity; the king was entrusting him with a mission beyond the borders, under cover of which he made his way to the papal court, where for ten years he continued to act as agent for his fellows. Then, in September, there came Marco della Rovere, Bishop of Sinigaglia, sent as nuncio on this special business, who was speedily bought by the New Christians, and they probably won over by the same means the Frade Diogo da Silva, who complicated matters irretrievably by refusing to accept the office of inquisitor-general. Duarte da Paz also was not idle, and the confusion became inextricable when, by a brief of October 17th, Clement VII suspended temporarily the one of the previous December, and prohibited not only da Silva but all bishops from proceeding inquisitorially against the New Christians.[684]

As we have seen in Spain, the curia recognized that here was a numerous and wealthy class of heretics, to whom it could sell{240} protection and then abandon them, until their fears or their sufferings should produce a new harvest. This speculation in human agony was all the more undisguised and lucrative that Portugal was a comparatively feeble kingdom, which could be treated with much less ceremony than Spain, and João III a man of wholly different type from Ferdinand or Charles V, while his invincible determination to have an Inquisition in his realm prolonged the struggle and rendered especially productive the game of inclining to either side by turns. This was so self-evident that João almost openly reproached Clement VII with it, and the committee of Cardinals entrusted with the conduct of the affair rejoined that inquisitors were ministers of Satan and inquisitorial procedure a denial of justice.[685]

João’s reproaches were justified when Clement, by a brief of April 7, 1533, granted what was virtually a pardon for all past offences, without disability to hold office in Church or State, while those defamed for heresy could justify themselves before the nuncio—a function which he turned to account for, when recalled in 1536, he was said to have carried with him to Rome some thirty thousand crowns. João threw obstacles in the way of the execution of this brief, which called forth from Clement, in July and October, strenuous orders for its enforcement, followed by another of December 18th suspending it. It became the subject of active negotiation and Cardinal Pucci or Santiquatro, the “protector” of Portugal, suggested that it might be modified and, in the guise of fines, some twenty or thirty thousand ducats be extorted from the New Christians, to be divided with the pope. In transmitting this proposal, Henrique de Meneses, the Portuguese ambassador, added that nothing could be done in the curia without money, for this was all they wanted, and that Clement was dissatisfied with João because he had received nothing from him. Clement, however, who was rapidly approaching his end, on July 26th, ordered the nuncio to overcome by excommunication all opposition to the pardon and forbade all prosecution for past heresies, moved to this, as Santiquatro told Paul III, by his confessor, who insisted that, as he had received the money of the New Christians, he was bound to protect them.[686]

Clement died, September 25, 1534, and the struggle was renewed{241} under Paul III, who referred the matter to a commission, and meanwhile suspended the pardon-brief but ordered that all prosecutions must cease, for an active episcopal inquisition had been organized, which continued its operations in spite of the papal commands. The commission reported in favor of the pardon-brief and of an Inquisition under limitations, with appeals to Rome. João refused to accept this, and a lull in the negotiations occurred, during which the nuncio della Rovere entered into a contract with the New Christians, dated April 24, 1535, under which they promised to pay to Paul III thirty thousand ducats if he would prohibit the Inquisition, confining prosecution to the bishops, who should be limited to ordinary criminal procedure; smaller sums moreover were provided for less desirable concessions. The curia honestly endeavored to earn the money, and made several propositions to João, which he rejected; then, on November 3d, a bull was solemnly published in Rome, renewing the pardon-brief, annulling all trials, releasing all prisoners, recalling all exiles, removing all disabilities, suspending all confiscations, prohibiting all future prosecutions for past offences, and enforcing these provisions by excommunication.[687]

In this Rome held that it had fulfilled its part of the bargain, but the New Christians thought otherwise; they declined to pay the full amount, and della Rovere was not able—at least so he said—to remit more than five thousand ducats. This parsimony came at an unfortunate moment. Charles V was in Rome, radiant with the glory of his Tunisian conquest, and warmly supporting the demands of his brother-in-law. The result of this was seen in a brief of May 23, 1536, which constituted an Inquisition on the Spanish model, except that for three years the forms of secular law were to be observed, and for ten years confiscations were to pass to the heirs of the convicts. Diogo da Silva was to be inquisitor-general, with the right of the king to appoint an associate. Diogo was solemnly invested with his office, October 5th, and the brief was published on the 22d.[688]

This probably taught the New Christians a lesson on the subject of ill-timed economy for a brief of January 9, 1537, addressed{242} to Girolamo Recanati Capodiferro, a new nuncio appointed for Portugal, gave him complete appellate power, even to evoking cases on trial and deciding them, while a supplementary brief of February 7th authorized him to suspend the Inquisition. His instructions also required him to labor vigorously for the repeal of the law prohibiting expatriation, and this was emphasized by a brief of August 31st threatening excommunication and suspension for any interference with those leaving the kingdom to carry their grievances and appeals to Rome.[689] These appeals were a source of large profit to the curia, which sold at round prices absolutions and exemptions to all applicants; the tribunals threw all possible obstacles in the way of this traffic and it was important to Rome to keep open the course of the golden stream. At the moment it was of less interest to the New Christians, for Capodiferro was as venal as his predecessor and exploited his large powers to the utmost, selling absolutions and pardons for what he could get. As João asserted, in a letter of August 4, 1539, his scandalous traffic had rendered the Judaizers so sure of impunity that they sinned with audacity. While demanding his recall, the king sought to curb him by appointing his brother Dom Henrique, a young man of 27, to the vacant post of additional inquisitor-general. Henrique was Archbishop of Braga, a post which he resigned in favor of Diogo da Silva, who retired from the inquisitor-generalship, and Henrique remained, until his death in 1580, at the head of the Inquisition. At the moment the plan was of little avail, as Capodiferro treated him with imperious arrogance, and even called in question his powers owing to defect in age, and Paul III refused to confirm him.[690]

Paul yielded in so far to João’s urgency as to promise that Capodiferro should leave Portugal on November 1st. At the same time, as the three years were about to expire during which the Inquisition was restricted to secular procedure, he listened to the supplications of the New Christians and in the bull Pastoris æterni, October 12, 1539, he modified in many ways the inquisitorial process, so as to limit its powers of injustice and to provide ample opportunity of appeals to Rome. A leading clause was that witnesses’ names were only to be suppressed when grave dangers to them were to be apprehended. Through the treachery{243} of a courier employed by the New Christians, this bull did not reach Lisbon until December 1st. Capodiferro delayed his departure until December 15th, and then left Lisbon without publishing it, because, as Mascarenhas the Portuguese ambassador reported, the New Christians refused to pay the extortionate price demanded for it. Mascarenhas intimates that the pope was privy to this, which is not unlikely, for Capodiferro was received with all favor. He and della Rovere were placed in charge of the affairs of the Portuguese Inquisition; he was soon afterwards promoted to the great office of Datary, and eventually reached the cardinalate. His nunciature had not proved as profitable as he had expected, for he lost fifteen thousand cruzados at sea, and brought with him to Rome only as much more. On his arrival in Portugal he had demanded of the New Christians two thousand cruzados to start with, and was regularly paid by them eighteen hundred per annum during his stay, and this in addition to his pardon traffic. There was nothing unusual in this. In 1554, Julius III, in a moment of wrathful candor, told the Portuguese ambassador that nuncios were sent there to enrich themselves as a reward for previous services.[691]

With the return of Capodiferro, after a little diplomatic sparring, Paul III dropped the whole question for nearly two years. João was quite content; the three years’ limitation to secular procedure had expired, the bull Pastoris æterni had not been published, the Inquisition had full swing, and its activity began to rival that of Spain. Its first auto de fe was celebrated in Lisbon, September 20, 1540, with twenty-three penitents and no relaxations and was speedily followed by others.[692] It is not until December{244} 2, 1541 that Christovão de Sousa, then ambassador, refers to the New Christians who, he says, were earnestly at work to have another nuncio sent, and he had had a thousand discussions over it with the pope whose intention was fixed, because so many were burnt and so many thousands more were in prison. The New Christians offered to pay eight or ten thousand cruzados to the pope, and two hundred and fifty a month to the nuncio. At a subsequent audience, Paul said that the nuncio would have a salary of a hundred cruzados a month, to which the New Christians could add a hundred and fifty, thus raising him above the temptation of bribery, to which Sousa rejoined that this would convert him from their judge to their advocate. Then, on a later occasion, he read a remonstrance from the king so vigorous that the pope walked up and down the room, crossing himself and saying that it was the work of the devil. Sousa replied by dwelling on the misdeeds of preceding nuncios, and even offered to let the Inquisition be withdrawn if it would relieve the kingdom from the evil of a nuncio.[693]

Further discussion was abruptly terminated by an explosion. Miguel da Silva, Bishop of Viseu and minister of João, a man of high culture, had been ambassador at Rome in the time of Leo X, and had formed lasting friendships with the future Clement VII and Paul III. He had recently fallen into disfavor at court and was about to be arrested, when he fled and found refuge in Italy. João tried to entice him back with flattering letters, while employing, as Silva says, bravos to follow and assassinate him. Paul could wound the king in no more sensitive spot than by announcing, as he did on December 2, 1541, Silva’s appointment as cardinal. João’s rage was unbounded; he promptly deprived the new cardinal not only of his offices and temporalities, but of his citizenship, thus rendering him an outlaw and, on January 24, 1542, a special courier carried to Sousa peremptory orders to leave Rome as soon as he could present his letters of recall. His report of the manner{245} in which this abrupt sundering of relations was received indicates that it gave rise to fears that Portugal was about to withdraw from the Roman obedience.[694]

This deprived the New Christians of such aid as they had purchased in Rome and left Henrique in peaceable possession of the inquisitorship, which he improved by establishing six tribunals—Lisbon, Evora, Coimbra, Lamego, Porto and Thomar—of which the first three remained permanent and the others were subsequently discontinued as superfluous.[695] On the other hand, Paul III persevered in his intention to inflict another nuncio on Portugal, and appointed to that post Luigi Lippomano, coadjutor-bishop of Bergamo. An intercepted letter of Diogo Fernandez, the Roman agent of the New Christians May 18, 1542, shows the anxiety with which his coming was awaited and throws light on their relations with the curia. He is expecting the money with which to pay the thousand cruzados to the nuncio, who demands it at once, although his orders were not to pay it until Lippomano was outside the walls of Rome. Every one is clamoring for money, until he is near losing his senses. He has agreed to pay a hundred and forty cruzados apiece for the pardons of Pero de Noronha and Maria Thomaz, which he sends, and asks for an immediate remittance. Then, on the 19th, he adds that he has that day been compelled to pay the thousand cruzados to the nuncio; he has raised the amount by giving security and, though he has disobeyed orders, he prays that the money be sent, as without it all their labor and expense would be wasted. A postscript on the 20th alludes to a general pardon which the pope had agreed to grant at a future time. People, he says, are wasting their money in getting special letters; the pope prefers that it should all be done in a general provision, to which all should contribute, and it is the most important of all things to accomplish. It would appear from the case of Antonio Fernandez of Coimbra that, when letters of exemption were obtained, the king promptly banished the recipients, who then procured fresh letters requiring the king to grant them safe-conducts and permission to sell their property, real and personal.[696]

João wrote to Lippomano not to come, and he persisted in this{246} against the entreaties of Charles V. Nevertheless the nuncio set out, and we hear of him in Aragon in August, where he encountered the Portuguese treasurer sent to detain him. The latter was fully aware of the payment of the thousand ducats and of the monthly stipend, as to all of which the nuncio professed the most innocent ignorance, and he further stated that the intercepted letters showed that Cardinal Silva was to receive two hundred and fifty crowns a month to act as “protector” of the Jews. Nevertheless the treasurer was finally persuaded to write favorably to his master, and Lippomano resumed his journey towards Valladolid.[697] João refused to be placated. On learning that the nuncio had reached Castile he wrote ordering him to advance no further until he should hear from the pope, to whom, on September 18th, he addressed a vigorous letter, demanding that no nuncio should be sent to interfere with the Inquisition; he was not actuated, he said, by greed, for there was no confiscation, and indeed, from another source we have the assertion that the maintenance of the Inquisition was costing him ten or eleven thousand ducats a year.[698]

Lippomano had assured the Portuguese treasurer that he did not come to interfere with the Inquisition; that his orders were only to see whether the inquisitors observed justice; if they did not, conscience would require the pope to make the necessary provisions. His secret instructions, however, were of a very different tenor. He was told that he need not hesitate to act with energy, though observing external courtesy, for Portugal was fatally weakened and approaching ruin; the king was completely impoverished, oppressed with debt, at home and abroad, hated by his people, and wholly under the influence of the friars, while his relations with France and with the emperor were unfriendly. As for the Infante Henrique, if he was not to be deprived of the inquisitor-generalship, he must at least seek a dispensation for lack of age, ask absolution for the past and ratify or annul all the preceding trials. As for the Inquisition, it would be a most holy thing to abolish it and commit the jurisdiction to the bishops; the nuncio was furnished with faculties to do this, or to suspend it, and these he was to show openly, that it might be known that this was at his discretion. Meanwhile he could issue letters to all{247} who asked for them, on their making payment, and even if the price was small the aggregate would be large, as there were fifty thousand of them. The declaratory bull of November 13, (sic) 1539, suppressed by Capodiferro, was to be published without consulting the king; it need not be affixed to the church-doors, but copies could be given to all who asked, so that they could use it when on trial, and Henrique was to be notified that all procedure must conform to it; if he protested, he was to be told that such was the papal will and he could write to the pope if he so chose. Lippomano was finally told that pressure of all kinds would be brought to bear on him, but he must be firm and remind them that he had power to abolish the whole institution. Whatever we may think of João’s blind fanaticism, we cannot wonder at his objection to admitting in his kingdom an emissary who came to set him at defiance and to upset all his most cherished plans. On the other hand, a letter in December, from the spokesman of the New Christians to their Roman agent, remitting to him two thousand cruzados, depicts their agonized anxiety for the coming of the nuncio; it will be their salvation and his absence is their destruction; it is useless to spend money on briefs when there is no one to enforce them.[699] They might well feel desperate, for the Inquisition was active and unsparing. At an auto held in Lisbon, October 14, 1542, there appeared a hundred culprits, of whom twenty were relaxed and João de Mello, in reporting this to the king, complained that it left the prisons still crowded with those on trial. Nor was this all, for Herculano gives a terrible picture, full of revolting details, of the atrocities perpetrated everywhere, such as we have seen set forth in the memorials of Llerena and Jaen.[700]

Although ignorant of the nuncio’s instructions, João persisted in refusing him admittance, until he should have an answer to his letter of September 18th. This was long in coming, and Lippomano vainly complained of the disrespect to the Holy See shown in making him wander from one tavern to another. For awhile he remained in Salamanca and then, on false news that he would be received, he went to Badajoz, only to find the frontier closed to him, and there he was forced to stay, for some months, hopeless and querulous.[701] Meanwhile, Francisco Botelho, who had been{248} sent with João’s letter, was conferring with the pope, who blandly assured him that Lippomano’s mission was only to notify the king of the approaching convocation of the Council of Trent. At length it was arranged that he should confine himself to this, and to such other matters as the king should permit. A brief to this effect, satisfactory to the Portuguese agents, was framed and despatched from Rome November 3d. It can scarce have reached Portugal before the early months of 1543 for a letter of João of March 2d mentions its arrival and his satisfaction at the settlement, in which he hopes that the pope’s acts may correspond with his words. Lippomano, thus shorn of his powers and with no financial prospect before him, was anxious for his recall, but he was not permitted to return until the close of 1544; he obeyed the final instructions and abstained from aiding the New Christians.[702]

Possibly Paul’s yielding in this may be explained by a negotiation on foot early in 1543. Through the Cardinal of Burgos, it was proposed to João that the pope would concede to Portugal an Inquisition identical with that of Castile, if, for a term of years, one half of the confiscations should belong to the Holy See. This cold-blooded offer to sell out the New Christians shows how purely mercantile had been the fluctuating protection accorded to them hitherto, and it was met by João in the same spirit. Protesting that he had never sought for gain in his efforts to serve God, he instructed his envoy that he might agree to three years, but must endeavor to reduce the papal share to a quarter.[703] The attempted bargain came to naught, but Rome was apprehensive that Portugal might follow the example of England, and João was propitiated with a renewed offer of a cardinal’s hat for the Infante Henrique. To this he at first replied surlily, that when he had asked for it, it had been given to Silva, and now that he had not asked, it did not seem fitting to accept it. Subsequently, however, he assented and, in December, 1545, Henrique received the honor. Moreover, in October, 1543, a signal favor was granted to the Inquisition, by a perpetual brief empowering the officials to enjoy the fruits of benefices in absentia, although, as we have seen, in Spain the grant was only quinquennial. It is true that this was not wholly gratuitous, for it cost two hundred and fifty cruzados in addition to the regular fees of seventy.[704]

{249}

The Inquisition was assisted in another way. Through the subsidized Cardinal of Paris, the Portuguese ambassador, Balthasar de Faria, was enabled to inspect all papal letters granted to New Christians. In a letter of February 18, 1544, he describes the use made of this information, for he opposed each one, and it was fought over bitterly, the unfortunate pope being assailed on both sides and driven to change his decisions repeatedly, as the rival influences prevailed. Information, moreover, was sent in advance to Henrique, so as to enable him to forestall the papal graces or render them ineffective. Henrique was instructed to disregard as surreptitious everything that Faria had not seen, to appeal to the pope and to report to Faria, for this was the way that the Castilian inquisitors managed. It was a kind of guerrilla warfare, in the interval of the greater struggles.[705]

One of these conflicts was close at hand. Paul III resolved to send another nuncio, charged with the duty of wrenching from the king Cardinal Silva’s temporalities and of moderating the severity of the Inquisition. For this he selected Giovanni Ricci da Montepulciano who, at the same time, was advanced to the archbishopric of Siponto. Faria flattered himself that he had succeeded in postponing the nuncio’s departure till the king should be heard from, but in spite of this Ricci started July 17, 1544.[706] He travelled leisurely and did not reach Valladolid until November 5th, where he found awaiting him Christovão de Castro with letters from the king forbidding his admittance. He succeeded in making de Castro believe that he had no instructions concerning Silva or the Inquisition that would offend the king, who accordingly wrote November 28th, cautiously admitting him under these presumptions. It so chanced however that, before the courier started with this letter, Lippomano, who was still acting as nuncio, received and affixed at the church doors a papal brief of September 22d, inhibiting all inquisitors and ecclesiastical judges from executing any sentences pronounced on New Christians, or from proceeding to sentence in any cases, until Ricci should arrive, investigate and report as to the conduct of the Inquisition, after which the papal pleasure should be made known. This settled the question; copies of the brief were sent to de Castro to justify to the Spanish court the absolute refusal to admit Ricci until{250} João should have an answer to letters demanding explanation and reparation, despatched by a special courier. At the same time the brief was obeyed, for there were no more autos after June, 1544, until 1548.[707]

Considering all that had occurred during the past ten years, there was an inexcusable aggravation about all this, which it is difficult to understand in the absence of information as to the secret working of the New Christians in Rome, unless it was to convince João that he would have to pay roundly for the pleasure of persecuting his subjects. He exhaled his wrath in one or two letters to Balthasar de Faria and, on January 13, 1545, he despatched Simão da Veiga in hot haste with instructions to demand the installation of the Inquisition in satisfaction of the royal grievances; the recent brief must be revoked, and Ricci must come under the limitations imposed on his predecessor and must say nothing about Cardinal Silva. A prolix letter to the pope, to be read in consistory, was free-spoken but not intemperate and, considering the provocation, was much more moderate than the papal duplicity had deserved.[708]

This letter remained unanswered for nearly six months, during which another experiment was tried on João’s credulity. Cardinal Sforza, one of the papal grandsons, wrote in the name of the pope that, if the nuncio was admitted, all that he asked for the Inquisition would be conceded, and Cardinal Crescenzio confirmed this verbally. With natural distrust, however, the king asked to have Paul himself ratify this to Faria, and then he would admit Ricci. As late as June 22, 1545, he was writing in this sense, not knowing that on June 16th the pope had responded to his letter in a brief in which, with exasperating affectation of benignity, he pardoned João’s asperity; against João’s assertions of the wickedness of the New Christians and the mildness of the Inquisition, he set the constant complaints reaching him of its cruelty and injustice, and the numerous burnings of the innocent; as it was under his jurisdiction, he was responsible and he could not forego the duty of investigating the truth of these conflicting statements; there was also the spoliation of Cardinal Silva which must be redressed. The brief closed with the significant threat{251} that, if these matters were not remedied, he could not expose himself before Almighty God to the charge of negligence in an affair of such moment.[709]

The devious ways of the papal court are hard to follow. Four days before the date of this brief, on June 12th, Cardinal Sforza sent to João the written assurance that was demanded, promising that if he would admit the nuncio, the pope would grant all that he desired as to the Inquisition. On receiving this in August, the king at once replied that, in reliance on the cardinal’s assurances, he would permit Ricci to enter Portugal and he asked to have the necessary bull made out and sent by Simão da Veiga. At the same time he gave Ricci permission to come, cautiously adding that it must be under the limitations imposed on Lippomano. Ricci, detained by sickness, did not arrive until September 9th, and then he was the bearer of the minatory brief of June 16th. That João was thunderstruck may well be believed and he wrote to his envoys that he knew not what to say.[710]

The pope sought a compromise, offering to revoke the brief of September 22, 1544, and that, after the nuncio had reported, he would leave everything in the king’s hands, but he refused to carry out the promises of Cardinal Sforza. No answer was given to this, but the brief of revocation was made out and reached Ricci, January 18, 1546, accompanied with one empowering him to act in case he discovered abuses in the Inquisition, but the only investigation that João would permit was that he should examine the papers in four or five cases and interrogate the inquisitor concerning them. The first case submitted was that of a septuagenarian, burnt some years before. He was one of those who had been converted by force; he had at once confessed more than had been testified against him, and had begged for mercy. Ricci asked the inquisitor, João de Mello, why he had burnt him, as this was not a case of relapse, to which Mello replied that his repentance was simulated because he had varied in the three examinations, but on investigating the record the variations were found to be trifling. Ricci asked for a copy of the process to send to Rome, and it was promised but not given. His report was naturally adverse to the Inquisition and the pope, assuming that the brief of 1536 had established it for ten years only, notified João that{252} the term had expired: in deference to him it was prolonged for a year, but he was told that, within that time, the question as to the New Christians must be definitely settled; it was suggested that a general pardon could be granted, or that he could banish them all from his kingdom.[711]

We may fairly assume that, in such a crisis as this, the gold of the New Christians had not been spared in Lisbon or in Rome. João evidently felt that the turning-point had come and that some supreme effort must be made to outbid his subjects. He had not been niggardly, on his side, in responding to the urgent calls of his ambassadors for liberality towards the cardinals. Cardinal Farnese, the favorite grandson of Paul III, and the most influential member of the Sacred College, had a pension from him of thirty-two hundred cruzados, assigned in 1544 equally on the sees of Braga and Coimbra to assure its continuance: at a critical moment, in 1545, the arrearages and two years in advance were paid to him, in a lump sum of thirteen thousand cruzados. So little reserve was there in these matters that, after the death of Cardinal Santiquatro, the “protector” of Portugal, João actually suggested the employment of Paul III as his successor, pointing out the large “propinas” that would enure to him from certain provisions as to bishops which the king was soliciting. For these and for the payment to Farnese, he forwarded bills of exchange for thirty-three thousand cruzados. Julius III was as mercenary as his predecessor. In 1551 João, in response to a hint that a present was desirable, sent him a magnificent diamond, valued by the Roman jewellers at a hundred thousand cruzados. Julius was greatly pleased and declared that he would make it an heirloom in his family, but when the next year he intimated that another gift would be acceptable, João, who was dissatisfied with him at the time, refused to respond, saying that when the pope acceded to his demands to make Henrique perpetual legate it would be time to think of giving him something. This brought Julius to terms; in 1553 the appointment was made and in 1554 João sent him a brooch.[712]

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In such matters it was difficult for subjects to compete with their monarch. Under the pressure so skilfully applied by Rome, a brilliant idea occurred to João and, in a letter of February 20, 1546, to Balthazar de Faria, he suggested that, in return for a free Inquisition, he would grant to Cardinal Farnese the administration and revenues of the see of Viseu, which he had been withholding from Cardinal Silva, thus at once obtaining the object of his desires and gratifying his rancor against that unfortunate prelate by depriving him of papal support.[713] This dazzling bribe overcame Paul’s scruples as to his responsibility to the Almighty and his friendship for Silva. The Holy See has been stained with many examples of nepotism and rapacity, but its history has furnished few transactions of more shameless effrontery in sacrificing those whom it was pledged to protect. Still, Paul strove to maintain some semblance of decency in abandoning the New Christians, and he advanced a demand that there should be a general pardon for past offences and the granting of a term during which those desiring to emigrate could leave Portugal. João was determined to get all that he could, and a series of intricate negotiations took place, occupying the whole of 1546 and 1547, in which each side endeavored to outwit the other with little regard to consistency. Matters were complicated by the question of the accrued revenues of Viseu, which João was loath to refund, and which Paul demanded, for the convenient receptacle of the fabric of St. Peter’s. Ignatius Loyola took a hand in the fray and so did two members of the Council of Trent, Frade Jorje de Santiago, an inquisitor, and the Carmelite Balthazar Limpo, Bishop of Porto, an honest and free-spoken fanatic, who was much scandalized by ascertaining that a brief of safe-conduct had been secretly issued, inviting the Portuguese New Christians to Italy, with assurance of not being disturbed on account of their religion. Thus, as the bishop said, those who had been baptized at birth came and were immediately circumcised and filled the synagogues under the very eyes of the pope—the inference being that he desired free emigration from Portugal, in order that Italy might benefit by the intelligence and industry of the apostates,{254} an argument which was freely used and was not easy to answer.[714]

In the spring of 1547, as matters seemed to approach a settlement, the necessary briefs were successively drafted. One of May 11th granted a general pardon for past offences; all prisoners were to be released, all confiscations returned, all disabilities removed, and reincidence was not to incur the penalty of relapse. One of July 1st addressed to Cardinal Henrique announced to him that the pope had granted the Inquisition, with full powers{255} of procedure. One of July 5th, to João informed him that the bearer, Cav. Giovanni Ugolino (a nephew of the late Cardinal Santiquatro) carried the bull for the Inquisition and exhorted him to see that the inquisitors exercised their powers with moderation. Ugolino was also empowered to take possession for Farnese of the see of Viseu and the other benefices of Silva, and to collect the arrears of revenue for the fabric of St. Peter’s. There were two briefs of July 15th, one appointing Farnese administrator for life of the see and the benefices; the other withdrew and annulled all the letters of exemption from the Inquisition which the New Christians had been for so many years purchasing at heavy cost. Finally, under date of July 16th, came the long sought-for bull, Meditatio cordis, instituting for Portugal a free and untrammelled Inquisition. It declared that the pope, desiring the rigorous punishment of the atrocious crime of heresy, revoked all previous limitations on its powers, and conferred on it all faculties at any time granted to inquisitors. To render effective the withdrawal of the letters of exemption, it evoked to the pope all cases pending before other judges than Cardinal Henrique, and committed them to him and his deputies with full powers. That Paul did not, without some qualms of conscience, thus abandon the New Christians who had contributed so liberally to the curia, is suggested by a subsequent brief of November 15th, in which he told the king that, as he had granted to Portugal a free Inquisition, he earnestly exhorted him to see that the inquisitors acted with charity and not with judicial severity, in consideration of the weakness of the neophytes, for this would be most gratifying to him.[715]

The pope’s anxiety to save appearances is visible in the instructions to Ugolino. Those from Paul bore that his wishes were that, under the pardon brief, all prisoners were to be discharged; those who had to abjure should do so before a notary and not in an auto de fe; that for a year no one was to be relaxed, no arrests were to be made save for public and scandalous offences, and prosecutions were to be conducted as in other crimes, while, if the law prohibiting emigration could not be repealed, it should be kept quiet for a year—thus hiding for a twelvemonth his betrayal of the friendless.[716] The instructions from Farnese were more openly{256} cynical. To disarm João’s distrust, he had agreed not to take possession of Silva’s temporalities until the affair of the Inquisition should be settled, while Ambassador Faria and the Bishop of Porto had pledged that João should raise no difficulties; it was on that condition that the pope had granted the Inquisition, in the confidence that both should be settled together. João was to be persuaded to accede to the general pardon and graces asked for, in lieu of the permission to emigrate, for that would enable the pope to answer the appeals and complaints of the New Christians, by telling them that these were sufficient. The pope was anxious that, for a year, the Inquisition should not employ rigor and that procedure be that of secular law; this was of slender importance but it would seem to them a great matter. They were also to be told that, as in previous cases, the pope could have had from them twenty thousand cruzados for the pardon, while he had granted it without getting a single farthing. It was further significant that both Ugolino and the nuncio Ricci were warned to be specially careful to exact nothing from the New Christians.[717]

How João regarded these pleadings for the victims is seen in a letter to Faria after the settlement. He had accepted, he said, the conditions as to the Inquisition, knowing that further protests would only bring worse terms, but he intended that the Inquisition should proceed in the form conceded by the bull. Those pardoned under the pardon brief, if they committed heresy during the year, could be arrested and prosecuted at once, but should not be sentenced or relaxed until after the expiration of the year. For a year the inquisitors should be directed to proceed mildly, but, as for treating heresy like other crimes, it would be unreasonable, because the pope ordered otherwise in the bull itself. As for the prohibition of emigration, it was not for the service of God to repeal the law as the pope desired. The pardon should be published and the prisoners released; those who had to abjure should not so do on a staging but publicly at the church doors.[718] Thus brutally was brushed aside the mask under which Paul had sought to disguise his abandonment of the New Christians.

Since May, 1547, Ugolino waited in daily expectation of orders to start, but it was not until December 1st that he left Rome with the bulls that decided the fate of Portugal. It was probably in January, 1548, that he reached Lisbon, where fresh delays occurred{257} in settling details, and only on March 24th was the agreement respecting Silva’s temporalities signed; João grumbled at the assignment of the accrued revenues to the fabric of St. Peter’s; he had not agreed to surrender them and did not intend to do so, but he finally submitted. The pardon was published in Lisbon, June 10th, the prisons were emptied and the abjurations, we are told, for the most part were private.[719] Thus, after a contest lasting through seventeen years, the Inquisition was fastened upon Portugal and, in reviewing the kaleidoscopic vicissitudes of the struggle, we cannot trace, in any act of the Holy See, a higher motive than the sordid one of making, out of human misery, a market for the power of the keys and selling it to the highest bidder.

The New Christians promptly sought to save a fragment from the wreck, by obtaining the publication of the names of witnesses, based on the canonical provision that they were to be suppressed only in the case of powerful delinquents, who could wreak vengeance on accusers. With this view they procured from Paul III a brief of January 8, 1549, defining that New Christians and others could only be deemed powerful men, in respect to the communication of witnesses’ names, provided they were nobles exercising jurisdiction over vassals, public magistrates, or officers in the royal palace. There seems to have been some delay in the publication of this but, when it came to the knowledge of the king, he sent, August 13, 1550, a copy of it to Julius III, with an urgent{258} request for its revocation as it would prove the total destruction of the Inquisition.[720] A long struggle ensued between the Portuguese ambassadors and the New Christians, in which, for some time, the latter were successful. Into these details it is not worth while to enter, but the final incidents are too illustrative of the course of business in the papal court to be passed over. Paul IV succeeded to the pontificate May 23, 1555; while yet a cardinal he had expressed opposition to the brief, and the ambassador, Affonso de Lencastro, with the assistance of the Grand Inquisitor, Cardinal Alessandrino—the future Pius V—had not much difficulty in winning him over. The brief of revocation was drafted and approved and sent to the dataria for despatch. The deputy there chanced to be a Castilian New Christian and, when the ambassador’s secretary called for the brief, he was told that Paul III had done a just and holy thing, and that in Portugal the inquisitors wanted to burn everybody. The brief was withheld and, when complaint was made to the pope that his datary refused to obey orders, he promised to look into it. Nothing more could be got from him at the time, and his reckless war with Philip II gave him ample occupation for the next few years. Lencastro however continued his efforts until replaced, in April, 1559, by Lourenço Pirez de Tavora, who brought urgent instructions to procure the brief of revocation. Peace with Philip was proclaimed April 5, 1559, but Paul IV, in his 84th year, was broken and was moreover engrossed with his prosecution of Cardinal Morone. Lencastro and Pirez, however, labored with the Congregation of the Inquisition which, on July 22, approved of the revocatory brief. They carried it at once to the pope and, with the aid of Cardinal Alessandrino, obtained the promise of his signature. To their dismay they learned the next day that it had not been signed. Paul had called for his signet-ring, had drawn it from its bag and was about to append it, when he glanced over the brief; the preamble did not suit him, for it was not easy to give a reason for revocation without inferring blame. He laid it aside, and this was almost his last act, for he died August 18th and for three weeks no briefs had been expedited. The conclave was prolonged and Pius IV was not elected till December 26th. Pirez lost no time and, on his visit of congratulation, January 2, 1560, before the coronation, he urged the matter on the pope. Cardinal Alessandrino was sent for and gave his approval. The secretary Aragonia{259} was instructed to draft the brief and it was, as Pirez thought, the first one signed after the coronation. Pirez attributed his success to the profound secrecy which kept the measure from the knowledge of its opponents and, in the midst of his self-congratulation, he twice solemnly warned Cardinal Henrique to use his powers with moderation for, under the brief, it would be easy to burn the New Christians. It was in vain that they sought to obtain its revocation; their agents and their memorials were alike disregarded, and the suppression of the names of witnesses became the established practice in Portugal as in Spain. All hope of relief, moreover, was extinguished when, in September, Prospero de Santa Croce was sent as nuncio, Cardinal Henrique was reappointed legate a latere, in all matters concerning the faith, thus cutting off all appeal and all interference with the Holy Office.[721] The earnest persistence with which permission to withhold the names of witnesses was sought shows how great a hindrance to condemnation their publication proved, and this probably explains the fact that, during the continuance of the prohibition, the activity of the Inquisition was restricted. A list of autos de fe, as complete as research could compile, indicates that of the three established tribunals, Lisbon celebrated no auto prior to 1559, nor Coimbra until 1567. There may be some defect in the archives to account for this, and they may have been better preserved in Evora, for there we find autos recorded in 1551, 1552, 1555 and 1560. After this they became more frequent and increased in severity, but, up to the time of the conquest by Philip II, in 1580, the whole number of autos recorded in the three tribunals was only thirty-four, in which there were a hundred and sixty-nine relaxations in person, fifty-one in effigy and nineteen hundred and ninety-eight penitents.[722] The insignificant number{260} of relaxations in effigy, when compared with the multitudes that figure in the early Spanish autos, would seem to indicate that they were merely those who escaped from prison or died during trial and that, in the absence of confiscation, the Portuguese inquisitors were not earnest in tracing the heresies of ancestors or in following up the records of fugitives.

The question of confiscation, in fact, had been left by Paul III in the hands of the king, who found in it a financial resource for his bankrupt treasury by granting, for a consideration, decennial periods of exemption—a practice continued by the Regency after João’s death. Probably in 1568, the New Christians hesitated to pay the price demanded, for a brief of Pius V, dated July 10th of that year, recites that the last term had expired on June 7th, and that King Sebastian had not renewed it, finding that it served as an incentive to heresy, and that he had asked the pope not to listen to appeals. This Pius willingly promised and withdrew all privileges which the New Christians might enjoy. Doubtless this induced them to come to terms, for the exemption was renewed. After this decennium, Sebastian again granted it in his efforts to provide for his ill-starred African expedition, but Henrique, on succeeding to the throne, felt his conscience much disturbed at this concession to apostasy. He applied to Gregory XIII who, by a brief of October 6, 1579, renewed the one of 1568, and permitted Henrique to revoke the grant made by Sebastian.[723] As Portugal the next year passed into the hands of Philip II, we hear nothing more of exemption from confiscation.

It is somewhat remarkable that João neglected to extend to his colonial possessions the blessings of the Inquisition. The New Christians had largely availed themselves of the opportunities presented by the colonial trade, and had established themselves in Goa and its dependencies. The comparative freedom there had doubtless encouraged them to observe less caution than at home, for St. Francis Xavier had scarce begun his missionary labors when he was scandalized by what he saw and, on November 30,{261} 1545, he wrote urgently to the king as to the necessity of an inquisitorial tribunal. No response was made to his appeal. João died June 11, 1557, leaving the crown to his grandson Dom Sebastian, a child in his third year, under the regency of the dowager Queen Catalina, who resigned it, in 1562, in favor of Cardinal Henrique. The Regency was more mindful of the spiritual needs of the Indies than the late king and, in March, 1560, Henrique sent to Goa as inquisitor Aleixo Diaz Falcão who, by the end of the year, founded a tribunal which in time earned a sinister renown as the most pitiless in Christendom.[724] When Lourenço Pirez, the ambassador at Rome, learned through Egypt of this establishment, he expressed to the Regency his apprehension that this zeal for religion would prove a disservice to God and to the kingdom, for it would drive to Bassorah and Cairo many who would aid the enemy in both finance and war.[725] His prevision was justified more fully than he anticipated for, to the activity of the tribunal was largely attributable the decay of the once flourishing Indian possessions of Portugal. After exhausting the New Christians, it turned its attention to the native Christians, who rewarded so abundantly the missionary labors of the Jesuits, for Portugal did not follow the wise example of Spain in exempting native converts from the Inquisition. It was impossible for these poor folk to abandon completely the superstitious practices of their ancestors, and any relapse into these, however trifling, was visited with the rigor with which were treated similar lapses by the Conversos of the Peninsula. Even Philip II recognized the impolicy of this and, in 1599, he procured from Clement VIII a brief empowering the inquisitors to commute the penalties of relaxation and confiscation for relapse, up to a third relapse but no further, and the faculty was limited to the term of five years.[726]

It is not a little remarkable that no tribunal was established in Brazil, although the New Christians who abounded there proved a very troublesome element, from the encouragement which they{262} gave to the Dutch in their efforts to obtain a foothold.[727] There was a commissioner there, but his powers were limited to collecting evidence and transmitting it with the accused to Lisbon, where they were tried and punished.[728] It may be worth noting that, in the treaty of 1810 with England, Portugal bound itself never to establish the Inquisition in its American possessions.[729]

In general, it may be said that the Portuguese Inquisition was modelled on that of Castile. A series of edicts issued by Dom Sebastian and Dom Henrique and confirmed by later kings, granted to officials and familiars the privileges, exemptions and immunities which they enjoyed in the sister kingdom. This gave rise to similar quarrels and competencias, and to a multiplication of the privileged class even greater than in Spain. In 1699 we find Dom Pedro II endeavoring to enforce a decree of 1693, which limited to six hundred and four the familiars allowed in the larger towns, while small places were to be reduced to one or two each.[730] The main difference in the organization of the Inquisitions of the two kingdoms was in the Portuguese officials known as deputados, of whom at least four were appointed by the inquisitor-general, as assistants to the three inquisitors constituting each tribunal. They were required to possess qualifications entitling them to promotion as inquisitors; they performed such duties as might be assigned to them and, in the consulta de fe, they replaced the Spanish consultores, with the distinction that they cast decisive and not merely consultative votes. To render a sentence legal at least five votes were required besides that of the Ordinary.[731] There was no appeal from a definitive sentence, for the reason that it was not made known to the culprit before the auto in{263} which it was pronounced, but all interlocutory sentences and intermediate proceedings were subject to appeal, and the Supreme Council came to exercise minute supervision over every act of the tribunals even earlier than we have seen was the case in Spain.[732] The minuteness, indeed, of the details prescribed in the Regimento of Inquisitor-general de Castro, printed in 1640, left little to the discretion of the inquisitor, and their systematic arrangement, in an authoritative code of procedure, affords a strong contrast to the cumbersome and often contradictory cartas acordadas, which lumbered up the secreto of the Spanish tribunals.

Although the object of the Inquisition was the purification of the land from Judaism, it was not confined to this, and it early proved that it could exercise its blighting influence on the intellectual development as well as on the material prosperity of Portugal. Among the learned foreigners whom André de Gouvêa, at the request of João III, brought to Portugal, in 1547, to found a college of arts in his University of Coimbra, was George Buchanan, as professor of Greek. Gouvêa died within a year, and soon afterwards the foreigners were driven out to be replaced by Jesuits, who were becoming the dominant power in the land. The process was a simple one. Buchanan and two others were prosecuted by the Inquisition and thrown in prison. The accusation against the former was that he had written a poem against the Franciscans, that he had spoken disrespectfully of the friars, that he had eaten meat in Lent, that he had said that St. Augustin’s views on the Eucharist were akin to those condemned by Rome, and generally that he was thought to be ill-affected towards the Holy See. After incarceration for eighteen months, he was sentenced to reclusion in a monastery for instruction by the monks, whom he describes as good-natured enough but wholly ignorant. On his liberation João offered to retain him, but he took the earliest opportunity to escape to England.[733]

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A still more effective deadening of intellectual aspiration was the persecution of Damião de Goes, the foremost scholar of Portugal in the sixteenth century. When a youth of 22, he had been sent to Flanders as secretary to the Portuguese factory. It was not until 1528 that his thirst for learning was awakened, he studied Latin, went to Padua, and speedily made himself known to scholars throughout Europe. In 1545, João recalled him to Portugal, where rivalry arose between him and Simon Rodríguez the Jesuit Provincial, who had met him in Padua and now accused him to the Inquisition for heretical utterances made there nine years before, the details of which he could not remember, but had a general impression that they were Lutheran. Nothing came of this and, in 1550, Rodríguez repeated his accusation, with the same result. Goes made enemies in his literary career and, in 1571, the denunciation of Rodríguez, made twenty-six years before, was resuscitated. He was now seventy years old, he had been an invalid for twenty years, and was scarce able to stand, but he was cast into a dungeon, April 4, 1571, while his trial dragged on. No further evidence of any account could be found against him, but he freely confessed that, when he went to Flanders, he fell into the errors of considering indulgences of little value, and that general confession sufficed, that after learning Latin and studying, he had abandoned these errors and had since been strictly orthodox, at the request of Cardinal Sadoleto he had written to Melanchthon, in hopes of winning him over, and he had given a letter of introduction to Luther to Frei Roque de Almeida, whose object was to acquire a knowledge of the heresy so as to confute it. On this confession exclusively was based the sentence, which declared him to be a Lutheran heretic, but considering that it was when he was an ignorant youth of 21 and that, on learning Latin, he had abandoned his errors, he was mercifully condemned only to reconciliation, confiscation, and perpetual prison, the abjuration to be private in view of his quality and his reputation abroad. The monastery da Batalha was assigned as his prison, and the certificate of his delivery there is dated December 16, 1572; on the 9th the juez do fisco had already received the certificate of confiscation. The “perpetual” prison of the Portuguese Inquisition must have been temporary, like the Spanish, for Goes is said to have died in his own house, either by apoplexy or killed by his own servants, at a date which is not{265} known.[734] If forty years of orthodoxy could not atone for a youthful vacillation on one or two points of faith, it can readily be estimated how potent an instrumentality was the Holy Office in stunting the development of Portuguese intellect.

When, in August, 1578, Cardinal Henrique succeeded to the crown of his grand-nephew Sebastian, he did not resign the inquisitor-generalship for fifteen months. He had previously, however, on February 24, 1578, on account of age and infirmity, procured the appointment as coadjutor, with the right of succession, of Manoel Bishop of Coimbra, but the latter disappeared with his sovereign in the disastrous rout of Alcazar-Quibir, and it was not until December 27, 1579 that, at Henrique’s request, Gregory XIII replaced him with Jorje de Almeida, Archbishop of Lisbon.[735] Henrique’s death soon followed, January 31, 1580, when he passed away, universally detested and only regretted because, in the rivalry of claimants to the throne, and in the exhaustion of the land through famine and pestilence, the way was open to the easy conquest by Philip II. In the reorganization under the Spanish crown, the Inquisition was not merged with that of Castile, but was left as an independent institution under the Archbishop of Lisbon, for Gregory XIII refused the request of Philip II for a brief adding it to the jurisdiction of the Spanish inquisitor-general.[736] The nomination, however, accrued to the Spanish crown and, in 1586, on Almeida’s death, the post was given to the Cardinal-Archduke Albrecht of Austria, who was also Governor of Portugal.[737] With his advent, the activity of the Inquisition increased. In the twenty years, 1581-1600, the three tribunals held in all fifty autos de fe. Of these the records of five are lost, but in the other forty-five there were a hundred and sixty-two relaxations in person, fifty-nine in effigy, and twenty-nine hundred and{266} seventy-nine penitents.[738] As the penitents, for the most part, must have suffered confiscation, we can estimate the severity of the persecution in a population so limited.

Large as must have been the receipts, from the beginning, derived from the confiscations of the wealthy New Christians, they were insufficient to satisfy its exigencies, diverted as they had been by the compositions paid to the crown. Sebastian, in continuing this practice, satisfied his conscience by representing to Gregory XIII that the income of the Inquisition did not exceed 5000 cruzados, which was insufficient for its support, wherefore the pope granted to it two-thirds of the fruits of the first prebend falling vacant in each of the Cathedrals of Lisbon, Evora and Coimbra and one-half of one in each of the other sees of the kingdom. It is probable that this evoked a sturdy resistance on the part of the churches, for it was never carried into effect and, when Philip II became master of Portugal, although the confiscations were no longer compounded for, he renewed the request, stating that 14,000 cruzados a year were requisite while the revenues did not exceed 10,000 ducats. Gregory responded with a brief of June 28, 1583 in which he renewed the grant, at the same time reducing it to one-half of a prebend in Lisbon, Evora and Coimbra and one-third in the other sees, nor is it likely that, under the stern rule of Philip, the grant was allowed to be nugatory.[739]

It is not difficult to apprehend the impulses which led to a wholesale emigration to Spain of those who felt themselves aliens in the land of their birth. Under Spanish rule the condition of Portugal was deplorable, as described, in 1595, by the Venetian envoy Francesco Vendramini. Lisbon, which had been a rich and populous city, was almost uninhabited; it formerly owned seven hundred ships, but five hundred had been captured by the enemy (mostly by the English) and but two hundred remained. All{267} this was not, he says, displeasing to the king, who desired to keep them impoverished, because they were unwilling subjects.[740] Thus the rewards of commercial enterprise were more promising in Spain, and the emigrant might hope that, in the absence of knowledge of his antecedents, the danger of persecution would be less. The immigration thus was large, and before long its effects began to show themselves in the records of the Spanish Inquisition. Convictions for Judaism, which had become comparatively few, increased rapidly and, where the nativity of the delinquents happens to be specified, the term Portuguese occurs with ominous frequency. In 1593, Toledo had seven Portuguese on trial but, as there was but a single witness and they did not confess under torture, their cases were suspended. The next year the same tribunal held an auto in which appeared five Portuguese in person and nine effigies were burnt of others, either fugitive or dead.[741] In 1595, at Seville, there was an auto in which were punished eighty-nine Judaizers, besides four burnt in effigy, and soon afterwards, in Quintanar del Rey (Cuenca), there were thirty discovered, of whom the obstinate ones were burnt and the rest were reconciled.[742]

The Portuguese New Christians, both at home and in Spain, were growing restive under increasing pressure; they were wealthy and could afford to pay for a respite in the shape of a general pardon for past offences, including cases on trial. In 1602 negotiations were opened with Philip III for a papal brief to that effect; Portuguese orthodoxy took the alarm, and the Archbishops of Lisbon, Braga and Evora hastened to Valladolid, where the court lay, to present remonstrances. Spanish piety, to which such transactions were a novelty, was no less exercised, and direful predictions were made as to the evils that it would bring upon the land. Philip and his favorite Lerma, however, were desperately in need of cash, and all scruples were overcome by the dazzling bribe of 1,860,000 ducats to the king, besides fifty thousand cruzados to Lerma, forty thousand to João de Borja and thirty thousand to Pedro Alvarez Pereira, members of the Suprema Council, and thirty thousand to its secretary Fernão de Mattos. The papal brief was issued, August 23, 1604 but, at the last moment, the bargain came near being wrecked by the demand of the New{268} Christians to have eight years in which to raise the sum. A threat, however, to suspend the execution of the brief sufficed to bring them to reason.[743]

It empowered the Portuguese inquisitor-general, the Archbishop of Lisbon and the papal collector, or any two of them or their deputies, to reconcile all Portuguese New Christians, whereever they might be settled, with the injunction only of spiritual penances. It included all who were on trial, or who had been condemned provided their sentences had not been published. It released all confiscations that had not been covered into the fisc, and it gave to the Portuguese in Europe a year and to those outside of Europe two years, in which to come forward and avail themselves of its provisions. The reconciliation thus obtained was not to entail relaxation in case of relapse, and all inquisitors were forbidden to interfere.[744]

The brief was received in Valladolid about October 1st, but was not published in Lisbon until January 16, 1605. A royal cédula, however, was obtained, prohibiting the publication or execution of any sentences until this brief should take effect, thus including in its benefits all Portuguese who were in the hands of the Spanish tribunals, as well as in those of Portugal.[745] The effect of this was dramatically exhibited without delay. On October 20th the Seville tribunal announced a great auto de fe for November 7th. The stagings erected were on an unusually large scale; on the evening of the 6th took place the procession of the Green Cross, in which more than five hundred familiars participated; the people{269} flocked in from the country in numbers beyond the capacity of the city to accommodate them. At night the confessors were introduced in the cells of those condemned to relaxation and, after completing all the preparations for the solemnity, the junior inquisitor, Fernando de Acebedo, sought his bed about eleven o’clock. Suddenly a courier arrived, armed with an order to admit him to the inquisitors, wherever they might be, whether in their houses or their beds, in consulta de fe or on the staging at the auto. He had left Valladolid at midnight on the 3d and, at break-neck speed, had made the distance to Seville in seventy-two hours, getting through the closed gates of the towns on the road, and arriving in time to serve on the inquisitors a royal cédula forbidding the celebration of the auto. Some there were who held that a royal decree was not to be obeyed unless rubricated by the Suprema, but this was an opinion not as yet established and, after a brief consultation, measures were hurriedly taken to suspend the celebration, to the blank astonishment of all Seville. Surmises were various, some explained it by the recent treaty with England, under which Englishmen in Spain were not to be troubled on account of heresy; others attributed it to the planets; others thought that among the condemned there was some one of lofty station and influence, whose friends had been able to save him, but the suggestion which found the widest acceptance was that it was due to the Portuguese New Christians, numerous and wealthy, who had offered large sums, estimated at eight hundred thousand ducats, to stave it off, and this was supported by the fact that the midnight horseman, before going to the Inquisition, had stopped at the house of Etor Autunez, a wealthy Portuguese merchant, who had given him fifty ducats for his good news.[746]

Under this perdon general, the three tribunals in Portugal liberated four hundred and ten prisoners simultaneously on January 16, 1605,[747] and there can be no doubt that the great body of Portuguese Judaizers in Spain obtained valid absolution for all past{270} sins during the twelvemonth of its duration, although the Inquisition threw what obstacles it could in their way. In 1605, at Toledo, Antonio Fernández Paredes, a Portuguese on trial with three witnesses against him, was obliged to insist on his right under the pardon, and to argue that his wife Isabel Díaz had been released at Coimbra in virtue of it, until the tribunal referred the matter to the Suprema, which ordered his discharge, although subsequently, during the same year six other Portuguese were tried and sentenced without any reference being made to it.[748] Still, the hands of the Inquisition were tied and it lent its energies to detecting the Portuguese in new delinquencies. It sent out the brief to the tribunals, April 15th and, on April 20, 1606, it called their attention to the fact that the year had expired on January 16th, wherefore they were immediately to examine their records as to the Portuguese who had been discharged in virtue of the brief and to proceed against all who had not taken advantage of it as well as against those who had been guilty of heresy after its expiration.[749] Notwithstanding this, there must have been for some years a marked interruption of persecution. A writer remarks, in 1611, that in Seville the Castle of Triana was used as a penitential prison, for there was no one on trial, the Judaizers having all been pardoned, the Moriscos expelled and the Protestants suppressed.[750]

This episode, however could have no permanent influence and its chief interest lies in its manifestation of the numbers and wealth of the new class of offenders coming forward to replace the expelled Moriscos in furnishing material for autos de fe and in stimulating activity with the prospect of fines and confiscations. After this we hear little of the old Spanish Conversos; nearly all Judaizers are Portuguese and all Portuguese are presumably Judaizers—suspects who existed only on sufferance. In 1625, at Salamanca, the corregidor, in his nightly round, entered a tavern to arrest a priest who had committed murder. He had words with a party of Portuguese and forthwith arrested them all, charging them with being fugitives from the Portuguese Inquisition. He reported this to the Suprema, which communicated with the tribunal of Coimbra and they were all sent to it for trial.[751] When, in 1633,{271} an effort was made to remove the disabilities under which the New Christians labored, the Licenciate Juan Adan de la Parra, in an argument against it, urged as his principal reason the obstinacy of the Portuguese neophytes: even the advocates of the measure admitted that it would be inapplicable to them, and Parra pointed out the impossibility of distinguishing between them and the Castilians.[752]

Some efforts were made to check this influx and to prevent transit through Spain to France and Holland, where the refugees were of material assistance to the national enemies. In 1567, during the minority of Dom Sebastian, the old laws were revived forbidding New Christians to leave the kingdom, or to seek the colonies, or to sell real estate without a special royal licence. Sebastian subsequently repealed this, but it was renewed by Philip II, in 1587, and remained at least nominally in force, though difficult of execution. Partial relief was obtained, in 1601, when they paid Philip III two hundred thousand ducats for an irrevocable free permission to go to the colonies of both crowns, and to sell landed property but, with the faithlessness customary in dealing with the proscribed race, this irrevocable permission was withdrawn in 1610 and, in 1611 and 1612, the Suprema forwarded to the viceroy of Goa a royal provision ordering him to expel all of Jewish blood, to which he refused obedience, saying that all commerce was in their hands and the colonies would be ruined by their expulsion.[753]

Another decree of Philip III, April 20, 1619, called the attention of the inquisitor-general to the evils resulting from the multitudes of Portuguese passing, with their families and property, to France. All who could not show a licence under the Portuguese crown to leave that kingdom were to be seized and their property sequestrated without further orders, in accordance with which the Suprema promptly issued the necessary instructions to its commissioners in the sea-ports and frontier towns.[754] This doubtless led to increased restrictions in Portugal on emigration, and to it we may probably attribute an eloquent memorial, without date, from{272} the Portuguese New Christians, asking for the removal of all limitations. Gentlemen of the noblest houses, they stated, had intermarried with them, both in Portugal and the colonies, and they had lavished their substance in the good work of founding churches, embellishing cofradías, endowing chapels, and liberal almsgiving. Free permission to enter Spain would work no harm to religion, for the Inquisition was everywhere, and the benefit arising from unrestricted intercourse was manifested in the revenues derived from the frontier towns, which were formerly farmed out for thirteen millions of maravedís, irregularly paid, and now were farmed for thirty-six millions, attributable to the spices, perfumes, porcelains, stuffs and other wares brought in by them. It was the same with the Spanish manufactures exported through Biscay—the wools and cloths of Segovia, the silks and other goods. The only objection to free intercourse was that they might take advantage of it to seek other prohibited lands, and this was sufficiently answered elsewhere, in addition to the fact that Portugal had so many ports that emigration could not be prevented, as two hours sufficed to reach the sea and embark, while land travel was slow and expensive, and could be stopped at the frontier towns. The New Christians had greatly enriched the kingdom and the colonies by their labors. In Brazil, where they could hold real estate, nearly all the sugar plantations were in their hands, and these they were constantly increasing, to the great profit of the colony and of the revenue. As by law they were excluded from all offices and dignities, commerce was their only resource.[755] Possibly these representations may have been convincing, for the prohibition was withdrawn, to be subsequently renewed as we shall see.

If they desired to escape from Portugal, Portugal was quite as anxious to get rid of them, by extermination or otherwise. The pious intensity of hatred towards them finds expression, in 1621, in a ferocious work by Vicente da Costa Mattos, of which the declared object was to drive them from the land. All the old stories of their malice to Christians were raked together and set forth as uncontradicted truths. They were enemies of mankind, wandering like gypsies through the world and living on the sweat of others. They had possessed themselves of all trade, farming{273} the lands of individuals and the royal patrimony, with no capital but industry and lack of conscience. They live only for the perdition of the world; of old, God punished those who ill-treated them, but now he punishes those who endure them; the decline of the Spanish kingdoms was the punishment sent by God for tolerating them. They were all idolators and sodomites, and wherever they went they infected the land with their abominations, and were constantly seeking to convert Christians to their foul belief. Luther commenced by Judaizing; all heretics were either Jews or descendants of Judaizers, as was seen in England, Germany and other parts where they flourished; Calvin called himself the Father of Jews, like many other deniers of the Trinity, and Bucer in his will declared that Christ was not the Savior promised. Their perverse obstinacy was sufficiently proved, by the numbers who were every day burnt, and the still greater numbers who escaped by penance after conviction.[756] This crazy ebullition of ignorant hate accorded so well with the prejudices of the time that a second edition was called for in 1633; in 1629 it was translated into Castilian by Fray Diego Gavilan Vera, and this was reprinted in 1680.

The hatred, indeed, was quenchless which was not satisfied with what the Inquisition was doing. In 1623 we chance to hear of the tribunal of Evora arresting a hundred New Christians of the little town of Montemor o Novo.[757] The autos de fe were frequently conducted on a scale unknown in contemporary Castile. The tribunal of Coimbra held one, August 16, 1626, with two hundred and forty-seven penitents and relaxados, another on May 6, 1629, with two hundred and eighteen and another on August 17, 1631 with two hundred and forty-seven. The statistics between 1620 and 1640 are not complete, for there were ten autos of which the details have not been preserved but, even without these, the fearful aggregate is two hundred and thirty relaxed in person, a hundred and sixty-one in effigy and forty-nine hundred and ninety-five penanced—and this is in addition to several hundred prisoners discharged under two pardons granted in 1627 and 1630, which{274} no doubt were heavily paid for.[758] Besides these pardons an Edict of Grace was published in 1622 but, as we have seen, such mercies were burdened with intolerable conditions, and only sixteen persons came forward under it—twelve in Lisbon and four in Evora—and all these had already been testified against.[759] In 1630, the royal confessor Sotomayor reported that, in interviewing the deputies of the New Christians, he found that they wanted no more Edicts of Grace; the last one, they said, had done them no good but much harm, as it brought infinite denunciations against them and filled the prisons.[760] There is very likely exaggeration, but nothing more than exaggeration, in the assertion of Luys de Melo that, in this period, the activity of the Inquisition had virtually depopulated the cities of Coimbra, Oporto, Braga, Lamego, Braganza, Evora, Beja and part of Lisbon, and the towns of Santarem, Tomar, Trancoso, Avero, Guimaraens, Vinais, Villaflor, Fundan, Montemor o Velho and o Novo and many other places, while the prisons of the three tribunals were always full and the autos so frequent that each tribunal celebrated one almost every year. One in Coimbra occupied two days, there being more than a hundred each day, and among them professors, canons, priests, curas with cure of souls, vicars-general, frailes, nuns, knights, including some of the Military Orders of kin with the highest of the land, and there was even a discalced Franciscan so pertinacious that he was burnt alive.[761]

{275}

Notwithstanding these superhuman exertions the inquisitors complained that their labors were unavailing; Judaism was steadily increasing; the misfortunes of the land were attributable to the idolatry of this evil rabble, and they clamored for more drastic measures. The Supreme Council, January 17, 1619, addressed to Philip III a consulta urging that prompt action was necessary in view of the contamination, and of the infinite sacrileges committed, to the scandal of the faithful. The king, it said, did not want vassals only, but good vassals, and it therefore suggested that, when a penitent was condemned to confiscation, he should also be banished; he would thus be stripped of everything and would not take wealth to enrich the enemy as now was the case. It also said that a general visitation was on foot which had already produced much result; presumably there were many in Madrid who should be investigated, and the king was asked to order a visitation there. One member of the council, Mendo de la Mota, went even further, and wanted banishment for all required to abjure for vehement suspicion. Philip responded to this with chilling indifference; if those who abjured for suspicion were banished, they would take their money with them; it was a doubtful measure and he wished the council to consider it further; as regarded the Portuguese in Castile, if a list was furnished, with notes as to grounds for suspicion, he would have them investigated. The list was duly supplied, but the investigation was not made.[762]

The effort was resumed the next year. On April 30, 1620, the tribunals of Lisbon and Evora sent to Philip relations of the autos held by them on the previous September 29th, so that he might see the large numbers punished on those occasions, and recognize the necessity of more active measures of repression. Among them were three canons of Coimbra, three frailes and several lawyers. Six canons of Coimbra, all New Christians, had been arrested; they were all appointees of the pope, and the king was prayed to ask him to close the door on all applicants for benefices of that race; also to order that none should be admitted to the Church, either as seculars or regulars, and none to public office—which indicates how little the prohibitory laws were respected.[763]

The youthful Philip IV was scarce more than seated on the throne when, in 1622, Fernando Mascarenhas, Bishop of Faro,{276} urged him to provide some remedy for the political dangers apprehended from the New Christians. It was in evidence, he said, that they were all secretly Jews and the state was in great peril from them as they were very numerous. There was no city in which they were not powerful through their wealth and the important positions held by them, while the danger of detection and punishment might lead them to cause serious trouble through alliance with enemies. It was found that they secretly invested their capital in dealings with the Dutch, and in Dutch commercial companies and, if they ventured their wealth with these rebels, they would conspire with them, especially as the Inquisition was pushing them hard, arresting them all and they had no other remedy.[764] Israel has rarely had a more flattering tribute to its intellectual superiority than the fears excited by this remnant surviving through near a century of pitiless persecution.

Doubtless there were other urgent warnings which have not reached us and, in 1628, Philip called for a formal expression of opinion from his Portuguese prelates. By his order they assembled at Tomar and summoned to their aid all who were most distinguished in the kingdom for learning and virtue. After prolonged debates they submitted to him a series of suggestions to which he replied seriatim. In view of the failure of all previous efforts to abate the evils wrought and threatened by the New Christians, the remedy they preferred was the thorough expulsion of the whole race; if this were not practicable, at least those who were full-blooded Jews, excepting such as could prove their Christianity, should be banished, and their property be confiscated; as for those of half or quarter blood, all should go who had been, or who in future should be reconciled, or sentenced to abjure de vehementi, unless inquisitors were satisfied of their true repentance and conversion. To this Philip replied, proposing delay in the case of the full-blooded Conversos, and assenting to the exile of the reconciled and vehemently suspect. For the further relief of the kingdom, the bishops proposed that all who desired could, within a year, irrevocably expatriate themselves, selling their property and taking with them the proceeds, but not in jewels or the precious metals. To this the royal answer was that already there was unrestricted liberty to go, but as evils had arisen from their return, in future it should be prohibited. The next suggestion was significant; to check the spread of Judaic infection,{277} by intermarriage, which was destroying the lustre of the nobility, no dower in such unions should exceed two thousand cruzados, and the husband should be disabled from holding positions of honor and dignity. To the first clause the king assented; to the latter he said that the existing laws in favor of the nobility should be enforced. To prevent the constant profanation of the sacraments it was proposed that papal briefs should be procured prohibiting all entrance into the Church of all who were New Christians, even in the tenth degree. To this the king promised to apply for such briefs and meanwhile the bishops should refuse to install persons bearing dispensations and report to him, and also represent to the pope the evils attendant on such preferment. The next suggestion was that the king should ratify and enforce the prohibition to hold secular offices and dignities, to which he replied that it should be strictly enforced. Finally, the bishops proposed that the New Christians should be wholly excluded from trade and commerce or, if this was not possible, at least from that which concerned the royal revenues, but to this Philip answered rather curtly that it was none of their business.[765]

Such were the views of Christian prelates, and even the partial concessions of the king seemed sufficient to threaten the New Christians with virtual extinction, but the whole portentous transaction served only to put on record the extremes to which bigotry could reach. As Luys de Melo suggestively says, after giving the documents in full, the orders issued by the king were not executed, and it would be superfluous to explain the cause of this to any one acquainted with the methods of government of the period. Yet it had one result, for the New Christians, in fear of the threatened consequences, paid to King Philip eighty thousand ducats for the privilege of leaving Portugal and, under this, some five thousand families emigrated to Castile, besides a countless number of individual stragglers, so that it would be a wonder to find any place in Spain not filled with Portuguese Jews.[766] They{278} felt themselves in perfect safety, for the Castilian tribunals refused to honor requisitions from those of Portugal.[767] Efforts were also made to obtain modification of procedure, but in vain. By a cédula of December 20, 1633, Philip expressed his approbation of the existing rules and refused all change; moreover, he gave to Inquisitor-general de Castro all the memorials, petitions and arguments presented to him, thus furnishing to the Inquisition the names of those upon whom to wreak its vengeance.[768]

The question of transit to France came up again in 1632, when the Suprema notified Philip that the commissioner at Pampeluna reported that troops of Portuguese families were passing into France, many of them people of wealth, with litters and coaches, and the Inquisition did not interfere with them, as the last instructions were that they should not be impeded. The result of this representation was that the orders of 1619 were repeated.[769] Not content with retaining those who wished to expatriate themselves, when the Admiral of Castile, in 1636, captured Saint-Jean de Luz, and there were hopes of conquering Guienne, which was ripe for revolt, the Inquisition took steps to seize the refugees who might have settled there, though it had no evidence that they were Judaizers. It assumed that they were apostates and as such not included in the promises held out to the inhabitants at large, and that anyhow the cause of the faith was privileged. The king was therefore asked to order the admiral to send to the border all whom its agents might designate, so that they could be seized without attracting attention.[770] It is possible that some victims{279} may thus have been procured during the brief time in which the Spaniards held their advantage.

The refugees, however, mainly bent their steps to Holland, where they enjoyed free toleration and could work for their own advancement and the detriment of their oppressors. This was the leading cause of the effort to prevent emigration, and it was a matter of much concern. Luys de Melo says that there had passed to Holland more than two thousand families and, in those rebel states, they had purchased the right to establish synagogues. Those who publicly Judaized there were the same as those who, quitting Portugal as sanbenitados, published that their confession of Judaism was under coercion of the Inquisition. Many who had lived in misery in Portugal were rich in Holland; they paid contributions to those rebel states, and assisted to maintain their fleets and armies; they invested largely in the East India Company, and thus were absorbing a great part of Spanish commerce and, under feigned names and in vessels of the United Provinces, they did a large trade in contraband goods.[771] In short, their commercial aptitudes were impoverishing Spain and enriching her enemies. The writer unconsciously points out how large a part intolerance played in the decadence of the state.

Nor was this the only mischief wrought by their hostility to the land that had driven them forth. In 1634, the Capitan Esteban de Ares Fonseca, in a memorial to the Suprema, represents the refugees in Holland as aiding actively the enemies of Spain, and as holding constant correspondence with spies residing there in the guise of merchants. The Dutch West India Company, he says, was controlled by Jews, who were large stockholders, and its chief profits were derived from piracy in the colonies, especially those of Portugal on the Brazilian coast, where the New Christians were numerous and were in correspondence with the enemy. It was two Jews, Nuño Alvarez Franco and Manuel Fernandez Drago, residents of Bahía, who planned and executed the capture of that place by the Dutch in 1625. Franco, he adds, now lives in Lisbon as a spy, under orders from Holland, and his brother Jacob Franco carries intelligence back and forth disguised as a Fleming of Antwerp. Drago is still in Bahía; he is a great rabbi and teacher of the Jews, and moreover is a spy who last year sent word to the Dutch to return there. The capture of Pernambuco{280} was the work of the Jews of Amsterdam, chief among whom was Antonio Vaez Henriquez, known as Cohen, who had lived there, who arranged the plans and accompanied the expedition; he is now residing in Seville as a merchant, but is nothing but a spy. Last year he went to Amsterdam with a plan for the capture of Havana, where he has a correspondent named Manuel de Torres. At present a large fleet of eighteen sail is fitting out for the relief of Pernambuco, under command of David Peixoto, a Jew, who proposes to call at Buarcos and penetrate to Coimbra, where the Inquisition is to be burnt and the prisoners are to be liberated. It was a Jew of Amsterdam, named Francisco de Campos, who took the island of Fernando de Noronha; it could readily be recaptured, as it has a garrison of only thirty-four men with four cannon. In San Sebastian, there is a Jew named Abraham Ger, who calls himself Juan Gilles, under Dutch pay; he works much mischief to Spain and keeps a man named Rafael Mendez, who is constantly travelling back and forth.[772]

We need not accept all this as literally true, but it had an undoubted substratum of fact. In 1640, the tribunals of Lima and Cartagena de las Indias reported that in recent autos de fe it had been discovered that many Judaizing Portuguese in the colonies had correspondence with the synagogues in Holland and the Levant, assisting the Dutch and the Turks with information and money. To verify this, orders were given to open, on a certain day, all letters addressed to Portuguese throughout Spain. The information was found to be true; a cypher was discovered, used in correspondence with the synagogues of Holland, and further, that a million and a half of money had been pledged from Spain. The matter was appropriately referred for investigation to the inquisitor-general and two inquisitors.[773] What was the result, we have no means of knowing, but we may be reasonably sure that the rumors, which attributed to the New Christians of Portugal a share in the rebellion of 1640, were not wholly without foundation.

They certainly benefited at first by the change of masters. It is true that João IV conciliated the Inquisition by intervening in its favor in a quarrel which it had, in 1643, with the Jesuits of Evora, and by attending, with his family and court, two autos de fe held in Lisbon, April 6, 1642 and June 25, 1645, in one of{281} which there were six relaxations in person and four in effigy, with seventy-five penitents, and in the other eleven relaxations in person and two in effigy, with sixty-one penitents,[774] but this we may assume to have been a matter of policy rather than of conviction, for his tendencies were towards liberality. He is even said to have contemplated granting freedom of conscience and liberty of residence to Jews, but to have been forced to abandon the purpose by the stubborn resistance of the inquisitor-general Francisco de Castro, Bishop of Guarda,[775] but this is probably a Spanish exaggeration of an intention to modify the rigor of inquisitorial procedure, which he was obliged to forego through the impossibility of obtaining the requisite papal confirmation.[776] Spanish influence in Italy sufficed to prevent the Holy See from recognizing or holding relations with the House of Braganza, until, by the treaty of Lisbon in 1668, Spain abandoned her futile efforts at reconquest—a position which resulted in the vacancy of the Portuguese sees, as the bishops dropped off, until there was but one left, Francisco de Sotomayor, a Dominican who chanced to be bishop of Targa in partibus and who was made Bishop of Lamego in 1659.[777]

This impossibility of negotiating with Rome rendered necessary an indirect method of accomplishing his desire to abolish confiscation, which he recognized as a serious impediment to commercial credit and prosperity, especially through the sequestration of property at arrest. As it was provided by the canons it could only be abrogated by a papal rescript, and to evade this difficulty,{282} in his decree of February 6, 1649, he disclaimed all intention of interfering with the functions of the Holy Office, which should continue to include confiscation in its sentences but, after this declaration, he made to the culprits a free gift of their forfeited property, which they could dispose of at will, provided it was in favor of Catholics, and he also abolished sequestration at arrest. But this was not only a free gift but a binding contract, under which the merchants engaged to form a trading company to enrich the country with colonial commerce and to provide, at its own expense, thirty-six war ships to serve as convoys for the merchantmen, all of which was impossible so long as the capital of the company was liable to be imperilled by sequestration and confiscation imposed on the shareholders. The inquisitor-general was ordered to have this decree filed in the secreto of the tribunals, and to enforce its observance, while João obligated himself never to revoke it.[778] The Inquisition subsequently boasted that it had excommunicated all who advised the king to this measure, and it actually succeeded in obtaining from Innocent X a brief of October 25, 1650, thanking God for what it had done and urging it to persevere.[779] Notwithstanding this, the Companhia da Bolsa was organized and, through its means, Pernambuco was recovered from the Dutch. There was flattering prospect of restoring Portuguese commerce but, when João IV died, in 1656, leaving the kingdom under the regency of his widow Lucía de Guzman, during the minority of Affonso VI, the Inquisition not only resumed confiscation but proceeded to collect the arrears since 1649. Altogether, Padre Vieira tells us, about 1680, they had gathered in up to that time some twenty-five millions, of which not more than half a million cruzados reached the royal treasury.[780]

When Bishop de Castro died, in 1653, the attitude of the Holy See towards Portugal precluded the appointment of a successor, and the General Council acted from that date until 1672, when{283} D. Pedro de Lencastre, Archbishop of Side, in partibus, was appointed. The lack of a head seems rather to have stimulated than to have repressed its energies, and one can scarce comprehend how, after a century of such earnest work, so small a territory can have furnished so unfailing a supply of victims. Autos were held in each tribunal nearly every year, with so copious a number of culprits that occasionally they occupied two days, and one at Coimbra, in February, 1677, required three days to despatch its nine personal relaxations and its two hundred and sixty-four penitents. Peace or war seems to have made no difference. Evora celebrated an auto, June 23, 1663, with a hundred and forty-two penitents, although Don John of Austria, with a hostile Spanish army, was occupying the city.[781]

The explanation of this exhaustless reservoir of material for autos is to be found in the strictness with which the infection of blood was reckoned, without limit of generations; all who had the slightest admixture were reckoned as New Christians and were held to be Jews at heart. Intermarriages had been frequent, and so large a portion of the population was thus contaminated that foreigners generally regarded the Portuguese as all Jews.[782] Thus the field of operation of the Inquisition was almost unlimited, and every one whom it penanced became a source of stronger infection. The death of João IV removed what little restraint he may have ventured to exercise and, in 1662, the oppressed population, comprising so large a portion of the wealth and intelligence of the kingdom, made an attempt to purchase alleviation of suffering. A New Christian named Duarte, who had been penanced, in the name of his fellows, made a liberal offer of money and troops for the defence of the land, in return for a general pardon, the publication of witnesses’ names and permission to found a synagogue in which professing Jews might worship. Considering that in Rome there was a synagogue, there is some inconsistency in the{284} energetic brief of Alexander VII, February 17, 1663, denouncing the project and urging the Inquisition to resist it to the utmost.[783] Of course the attempt was abortive. Then, in 1671, the New Christians were suddenly threatened with a catastrophe. In the church of Orivellas, a pyx with a consecrated host was stolen. We have seen with what equanimity the Roman Inquisition regarded this offence, but in Portugal the whole kingdom was thrown into consternation. The Regent Pedro and the court put on mourning; an edict ordered that for some days no one should leave his house, so that everybody might be compelled to give an account of himself on the fatal night. All efforts to identify the sacrilegious thief proving fruitless, it was assumed that the New Christians must be guilty, and the regent signed an edict banishing them all from Portugal—a measure opposed by the Inquisition, doubtless because its occupation would be gone. Before the expulsion could be enforced, however, it happened that a young thief near Coimbra, named Antonio Ferreira, was arrested, and in his possession was found the pyx with its contents. The most searching investigation failed to discover in him a trace of Jewish blood; he was duly burnt and the New Christians were saved.[784]

After this narrow escape, there came a gleam of promise. Few members of the Society of Jesus, at that time, were more distinguished than Antonio Vieira, who had earned the name of the Apostle of Brazil. He had long regarded the New Christians with compassion and had urged João IV not only to abolish confiscation but to remove the distinctions between them and the Old Christians. He had made enemies and the Inquisition readily undertook his punishment; his writings in favor of the oppressed were condemned as rash, scandalous, erroneous, savoring of heresy and well adapted to pervert the ignorant.[785] After three years of incarceration, he was penanced in the audience-chamber of Coimbra, December 23, 1667, and his sympathy for the victims of the Holy Office was sharpened by his experience of its unwholesome prisons, where he tells us that five unfortunates were not uncommonly herded in a cell nine feet by eleven, where the only light came from a narrow opening near the ceiling, where the vessels were changed only once a week, and all spiritual consolation was{285} denied.[786] Then, in the safe refuge of Rome, he raised his voice for the relief of the oppressed, in numerous writings in which he characterized the Holy Office of Portugal as a tribunal which served only to deprive men of their fortunes, their honor and their lives, while unable to discriminate between guilt and innocence; it was known to be holy only in name, while its works were cruelty and injustice, unworthy of rational beings, although it was always proclaiming its superior piety.[787]

The Society of Jesus could scarce fail to resent the affront put upon one of its most distinguished members; it was still a power in Portugal, and it made its influence felt. The New Christians took heart and, in 1673, they made an organized effort to gain relief. They asked to have the procedure of the Inquisition modified to that of Rome and, in order that the new system might have a fair start, that a general pardon be granted to those under trial.[788] The extent of the considerations offered for these very moderate{286} concessions shows how desperate was the condition of the sufferers, for they proposed to place within a year four thousand troops in India, and then yearly to send twelve hundred men, or fifteen hundred in case of war, besides an annual payment of twenty thousand cruzados and various other considerable contributions, including some important matters which there were reasons for keeping secret.[789] Against this proposal the Inquisition protested in two elaborate remonstrances, revealing the temper in which it habitually exercised its powers. It could find no words too strong to describe the wickedness of the New Christians, whose invincible adherence to their errors showed that punishment and not pardon was the only means to be employed; in place of mitigating the laws they should be sharpened, as heresy was steadily increasing, and to ask for the Roman procedure was scandalous, and in itself worthy of punishment. The regent was told that he had no power to overthrow the laws and he was threatened, on the one hand, with an uprising of the people, and, on the other, with an appeal to the pope. In fine, the proposed reform would bring desolation on the land and result in Portugal becoming a Judea. On the other side, the arrangement was warmly supported by many ecclesiastics, to which Jesuit influence doubtless contributed. Not only did the Archbishop of Lisbon favor it, but also thirty masters and doctors of theology, the professors of the University of Coimbra, seven ministers of the Inquisition, and many men of high position among both the regular and the secular clergy. The regent and his council gave it their approval and the matter was referred to the pope for his decision.[790]

The debate was thus transferred to Rome where, in 1674, both sides submitted their arguments to the commission of Cardinals formed for the purpose. The advocates of the New Christians presented a scathing indictment of the Inquisition, doubtless one-sided and exaggerated and yet affording an insight into the abuses inevitable when secret and irresponsible power fell into unworthy hands. The great mass of victims, they asserted, were fervent and loyal Christians, who either were burnt for denying Judaism or obtained reconciliation by falsely confessing. A case occurring only the year previous, 1673, at Evora, was that of two{287} nuns, burnt as negativas. One of them had lived for forty years in her nunnery, with unblemished reputation and filling all the official positions in turn; the confessors who heard her before the auto were overcome by the fervent piety which she manifested and, when the procession was formed, she recognized among the penitents her own sister and nieces, who had saved their lives by denouncing her. She pardoned them and made a most exemplary end, invoking Christ with her last breath as the garrote was applied. Indeed, it was the evidence of many confessors that the greater part of those to whom they ministered at the autos were true and fervent Christians, and this was confirmed by the University of Evora, by Padre Manoel Diaz, S. J., confessor of the crown-prince, and numerous ecclesiastics of high standing.[791]

The trade of false witness was a thriving one, both for gain and the gratification of enmity. There were regular associations of perjurers, who made a living by levying black-mail on rich New Christians, accusing those who refused their demands, so that the unfortunate class lived in perpetual terror and purchased temporary safety by compliance. The matter was reduced to a fine art. The accusing witness would give a fictitious name and address, so that the accused could never recognize and disable him. Sometimes, indeed, when additional evidence was necessary, a witness would change his name and garments and give the required corroborative testimony.[792]

As an illustration of the arbitrary abuse of power, allusion was made to a notorious case occurring at Evora, in 1643. According to custom, a student of the Jesuit college was appointed to superintend the market. The servant of an inquisitor desired to buy a load of honey, in order to retail it at an advance, but the student interposed, because it had already been purchased for the use of the college, and would only let the servant have enough to supply his master’s table. For this he was imprisoned, tried, required to abjure and penanced as unsound in the faith. When the sentence was read in the presence of a number of ecclesiastics, the professor of theology, a Jesuit of high standing, appealed to the Holy See, to which one of the inquisitors replied that from{288} that holy tribunal the only appeal was to the Holy Trinity, and the unlucky appellant was gaoled and severely handled. Jesuits were not accustomed to such treatment; the matter was laid before Urban VIII, who summoned the inquisitors to appear before him but, in the confusion of the war with Spain, the affair blew over.[793]

The statements as to confiscation explain the tenacity of the Inquisition in maintaining its position. The crown supported the Inquisition and was entitled to the results of its industry, but obtained little. The sequestrations were in the hands of the tribunals during the trials, which were protracted for five, ten or twelve years to the intense distress of the prisoners. During this time the management of the property was irresponsible; no accounts were rendered and, of the immense sums received, only occasional trifling payments were made to the state. The inquisitor-general had authority to make donations to the inquisitors, and this was liberally exercised in granting them sums of six, or eight, or even fourteen thousand crowns at a time. Commerce was most disastrously affected for, when a merchant with foreign correspondents was arrested and his property was sequestrated, his foreign consignors or creditors clamored in vain for the goods or debts belonging to them and, as this was a fate overhanging every man, Portuguese trade suffered accordingly. In short, while we may not accept literally the assertion that the Inquisition brought irreparable ruin upon Portugal, we cannot but regard it as one of the largely contributing factors to the rapid decadence of the kingdom.[794]

The contest in Rome was stubborn, but the New Christians gradually gained the advantage and, on October 3, 1674, Clement X, as a preliminary, issued a brief reciting their complaints, in view of which he evoked to himself all pending cases and committed them to the Roman Inquisition, inhibiting further action in Portugal, under pain of deprivation of office and other penalties, for all officials, including the inquisitor-general. Coimbra treated this as a general pardon and, on November 18th, discharged all those under trial, but the other tribunals seem to have detained their prisoners. It was probably with the object of releasing them that, in 1676, Innocent XI instructed his nuncio to permit the inquisitors to finish the trials, but not to inflict sentences of relaxation, confiscation, or perpetual galleys. If this was the object,{289} it was unsuccessful. The Inquisition was sullen and celebrated no auto de fe between the years 1674 and 1682, save three private ones in the Lisbon audience-chamber, in each of which there was but a single penitent.[795]

The inquisitorial agents in Rome denied the assertions as to the arbitrary injustice of procedure and the coercion of good Christians to confess Judaism by the terrible alternative of relaxation as negativos. In the conflict of statement, it was proposed that the truth could be ascertained by the examination of the records, and Innocent consequently ordered the transmission to Rome of the papers in some specimen cases of convicted negativos. The inquisitor-general, Verissimo de Lencastre, Archbishop of Braga, refused obedience, on the ground that it would reveal the secrets of procedure. The pope naturally pronounced the reason to be frivolous, and treated this imitation of Arce y Reynoso’s course in the Villanueva affair with greater decision than his predecessor. After meeting repeated refusals, he peremptorily ordered, by a brief of December 24, 1678, that, within ten days after notice, four or five of the prescribed cases should be delivered to the Nuncio Marcello, under pain of ipso-facto suspension of the inquisitor-general and all his subordinates; if they continued to act, the inquisitor-general was interdicted from entering a church, and the others incurred excommunication removable only by the Holy See, while, during suspension, the episcopal Ordinaries were restored to their jurisdiction with full powers. Even this did not break down inquisitorial contumacy and, on May 27, 1679, another brief formally suspended them, while letters of the same date to the nuncio instructed him to prosecute them and report the result. This decisive action at length brought the partial submission that two processes were sent to the Portuguese ambassador to be delivered to the pope, but evidently this was deemed insufficient, for the suspension was not removed until 1681, when a brief of August 22d gave as a reason that the episcopal Ordinaries, owing to various impediments, had not been able to exercise jurisdiction and the prisoners were suffering through the delay. The raising of the suspension, however, was conditioned on the future observance of numerous modifications of procedure, under threat of reincidence of the penalties previously prescribed. The New Christians had especially asked for a change in the rule respecting{290} negativos but this, as we have seen, was unfortunately an essential part of the system and their desire was ungratified. The changes granted were of minor importance, and are interesting only as evidence of some specially iniquitous practices against which they were directed, and better treatment of prisoners was enjoined.[796]

Whether these modifications were observed and mitigated the rigor of procedure; whether the Inquisition was humbled and weakened by its defeat in the struggle with the papacy, or whether the material for its autos was becoming exhausted, it would be impossible now to determine, but there is no question that, after its resumption in 1681, the number of its victims diminished notably. The renewal of operations was celebrated by autos de fe held in the early months of 1682, with processions and illuminations and other demonstrations of rejoicing, but, in the nineteen years including 1682 and 1700, there were but fifty-nine relaxed in person, sixty-one in effigy and thirteen hundred and fifty-one penanced—an aggregate deplorable in itself, yet encouraging in comparison with its predecessors.[797]

From this sketch of the Portuguese Inquisition, we can readily estimate its efficiency in keeping the Spanish institution supplied with material as the native stock grew Christianized. Not the least unfortunate effect of this was its influence in maintaining the prejudice that might otherwise have subsided, and that consequently became one of race as much as of religion. The venom which we have seen in the work of da Costa Mattos was, if possible, exceeded in the Centinela contra Judíos of Padre Fray Francisco de Torrejoncillos, published as late as 1673 and reprinted in 1728 and 1731. In this popular exposition of Christian rancor, no story is too wild and unnatural to be unworthy of credence, if it illustrates the innate and ineradicable depravity of the Jew, and his quenchless desire to work evil to the Christian. The fables{291} of the Fortalicium Fidei are repeated as incontestable truths, and new ones are invented to prove that the virus is as active as ever. It makes no difference if the Jew is baptized, for this does not change his nature and his faith, and he remains the same implacable enemy.[798] The same temper is manifested in a memorial, drawn up about this time by an inquisitor, in answer to a proposition for moderating the harshness of inquisitorial procedure. The writer was evidently a man of learning and culture, but his paper is a bitter tirade against the Jews, insisting upon their diabolical nature and asserting them to be much worse now than when they crucified Christ. The evil is in their blood, forcing them to hate and rage against Christ, the Virgin and all who profess the Christian faith.[799] Popular beliefs that they had tails, and that they were distinguishable by a peculiar odor which they exhaled and that, as physicians, they killed one out of five of their Christian patients, were persistent outgrowths of the hatred thus inculcated.[800] Even to call a man a Jew was an offence justiciable by the Inquisition, for when, in 1646, Padre Boil, a royal preacher, in a sermon stigmatized as a Jew Fray Enríquez, of his own Mercenarian Order, the tribunal of Toledo promptly sent for him and, after detaining him for six months, sentenced him to two years’ exile from the court, during which he was forbidden to preach.[801]

When, about 1632, the New Christians made an effort to procure a removal of their disabilities, Juan Adan de la Parra who, though an inquisitor was a poet and a man of culture, opposed it in an elaborate essay, cautiously couched in Latin, for the matter was too delicate for popular discussion. He did not pander to vulgar prejudice, but addressed himself to arguments of state policy, which are a curious illustration of what, on such a subject, an intelligent man regarded as conclusive. He deplores the decline of population, of agriculture, of shipping and of the mechanic arts, which he attributes to the insidious practices of the Jews, their avoidance of manual labor and their addiction to usury. Look at Portugal, he says, where this traitorous race stimulated the ardor of foreign conquest, until it embraced the East and{292} West Indies, and then cunningly corrupted the native virtue with the wealth and luxury thus acquired, until they have succeeded in eliminating the heroes and destroying the heroic spirit which rendered Portugal so formidable. It is this craving for oriental luxuries, shrewdly stimulated by the New Christians, which is undermining the robustness of Spanish virtue; the useful is neglected for the superfluous, and thus agriculture declines. He scarcely seems to recognize the tribute which he pays to the superior endowment of the Jew, when he winds up by foretelling that, if the restrictions and disabilities imposed on the New Christians are removed, they will acquire such power that they will reduce the Old Christians to subjection.[802]

There was some foundation for the fear that the barriers between the races would be removed. In the exhaustion of Spanish finance, Olivares, in 1634, opened negotiations with the Jews of Africa and the Levant, and royal licences were granted for the admission of individuals. In 1641, relations were resumed; they sent representatives whom he received and kept with him for a considerable time, silencing the remonstrances of the Suprema with the assertion that they were there on the service of the king. It was proposed that they should be allowed to reside in the suburbs of Madrid, in a separate quarter, with a synagogue, as in Rome. He won over some members of the Royal Council and some theologians to his plans, but the Inquisition was inexorable, and Cardinal Monti, the nuncio, told the king, in public audience, that Olivares must be dismissed if the harvest of the Lord was to be cleansed of tares and the risk be averted of ruining the faith of Spain. Incidentally Olivares interfered with the Inquisition, by demanding the papers in certain cases; Inquisitor-general Sotomayor refused but, finding himself powerless to resist, placed the documents at the foot of a crucifix, whence they were carried to Olivares, who burnt them and released a number of prisoners. It is even said that he contemplated abolishing the Inquisition, but Philip IV was too profoundly convinced of its necessity to both Church and State to entertain the project, and there may well be truth in the assertion that his quarrel with the Holy Office was contributory to his downfall. This put an end to all negotiations{293} and, in 1643, we find the Suprema instructing the Valencia tribunal to forbid the landing of the Jews who were coming from Oran.[803]

Some stir was caused, in 1645, by two Jews, Salamon Zaportas and Bale Zaportas, who presented themselves in Valencia with a royal licence, dated in 1634, and one from the Marquis of Viana, Governor of Oran. They applied to the tribunal for permission to attend to their business in the city and to wear Christian garments, so as not to be mobbed. The tribunal was puzzled and ordered them not to leave the city under pain of two hundred pesos, while it consulted the Suprema. The latter represented to the king the danger impending on the faith from this disregard of his orders by ministers who issued licences, to which he responded with instructions to send them back to Oran: the causes leading to the cédula of 1634 no longer existed; if in future their coming were considered necessary, the Governor of Oran must report and await the royal decision and a special licence.[804] There is no reason to suppose that the venturesome Israelites had anything more important in view than private business.

One of the most prominent reasons urged for the establishment and perpetuation of the Inquisition was the zeal of the crypto-Jews in proselyting and the danger to which the purity of religion was thus exposed—an argument which served its purpose, however discrediting to the firmness of Spanish faith. Cases, however, were never cited in proof, nor could they be, for Judaism is a matter of race as much as of dogma; the Jews have never sought to convert the Gentiles and, in Spain of all lands, it was clearly preposterous that men, who could only exist by concealing their belief, would incur the certainty of detection and of pitiless punishment, by the unpardonable offence of seeking the apostasy of their Christian neighbors. What conversions there were were spontaneous, and these served to intensify the horror of Judaism and to keep alive the sense of danger arising from the presence of those suspected of cherishing the ancient faith. Fray Diogo da Assumpçao, burnt in Lisbon, in 1603, as a convert to the Law{294} of Moses, is said to have been led to this fatal step by witnessing the constancy in martyrdom of those who suffered for their belief.[805] A more remarkable case was that of Lope de Vera, which aroused universal interest throughout Spain, and pointed the moral that the safety of religion lay in the ignorance of the faithful, thus justifying the prescience of Valdés, when he placed on the first Spanish Index a translation of Josephus’s Antiquities of the Jews.[806]

Lope de Vera was the son of a gentleman of San Clemente, of gentle blood and limpieza. At the age of nineteen he was a student at Salamanca, so deeply learned in Hebrew and Arabic that, in July, 1638, he competed for a chair of Hebrew. His studies led him to embrace Judaism and, with the zeal of a convert, he sought to win over a fellow student, who denounced him to the Inquisition. There was a second witness, and yet the consulta de fe of Valladolid was not unanimous in voting his arrest; it had to be ordered by the Suprema, and was executed June 24, 1639. He freely admitted the truth of the accusation and much more, but denied intention, assuming that what he had said was for the sake of argument, and asserting that he went to confession and communion and carried a rosary. There was variation and equivocation in his successive audiences; there was delay and doubt on the part of the Inquisition, and the trial dragged on. On April 16th and May 23, 1641, he revoked all that he had confessed and then suddenly, on May 29th, he announced that he wished to be a Jew and to hold all that the Jews believed, for this was the truth revealed to them by God, which he would defend with his life. Hitherto he had believed what the Church taught, but now he adhered to the Law given by God to Israel; the religion of Rome and all other religions were false; he had never practised the Jewish observances but would do so in the future; no one had taught him this, but God, in his mercy, had brought him to the truth. Learned men were called in to wean him from his errors, but they declared his pertinacity to be terrible and that, with his knowledge of Hebrew, he would be most dangerous. He refused to have an advocate or to make defence, persisting that he was a Jew and would die for the Law of Moses. On August 8th the alcaide reported that he had circumcised himself with a bone, and the physician sent to examine him verified this and{295} reported that he said he hoped to be burnt alive, for he sought the honor of martyrdom and would go to paradise.

Earnest and protracted efforts were made to reclaim him but in vain. Then he was asked to set forth the Hebrew texts on which he relied, so that the calificadores could confute them. To enable him to do this he was furnished, December 23d, with a Bible, paper, ink and a goose-quill, but the latter he rejected, saying that it was forbidden by the Law of Moses, and a bronze pen (pluma de bronce) was given to him. Further conferences followed, and much patience was manifested, until he refused absolutely to speak in the audiences. The baffled tribunal appealed to the Suprema, which ordered fifty lashes; he endured them unflinchingly on June 17, 1642, and maintained his unbroken silence. This was most obstructive, for his ratification of his confessions was necessary but, when they and the evidence were read to him, he closed his ears with his fingers and refused even to listen. It was proposed to torture him, but the Suprema humanely discarded formalities and ordered the case to be closed and voted upon. The vote was taken, January 27, 1643, to relax him with confiscation, but in confirming it the Suprema ordered further efforts for his conversion. There was no haste in executing the sentence. In January, 1644, he was still persisting in silence, except that, when the inquisitors made their weekly visits, he would cry “Viva la ley de Moisen,” after which not another word could be extracted from him. At length, on June 25, 1644, he was burnt alive, maintaining to the end his unalterable constancy. The inquisitor Moscoso, in a letter to the Countess of Monterey, declared that he had never witnessed so ardent a desire for death, such perfect assurance of salvation, or such unconquerable firmness. His fate made a profound impression on his co-religionists. Some years later, Juan Pereira, a youth on trial before the Valladolid tribunal, referred to him repeatedly and declared that he had seen him after death, riding on a mule and glistening with the sweat that was on him when he was taken to the quemadero.[807]

Lope de Vera was a most undesirable convert, for his case could not fail to arouse afresh the dread of infection and to stimulate the Inquisition to increased activity. Yet such stimulus was scarce needed, for it was incessantly vigilant and was troubled with{296} few scruples when on the track of a suspect. An illustrative case offers itself when, in September, 1642, the tribunal of Galicia wrote to Valladolid that a prisoner on trial testified that Antonio López, in Manzaneda de Tribes, had practised Judaism, and it asked for his arrest. An Antonio López was readily found in Valladolid and was promptly thrown in prison, September 16th. He denied the accusation; no other testimony could be found against him and his trial dragged on until, February 3, 1644, there was a vote in discordia. The case went to the Suprema, which ordered further inquiry to be made of the Galician tribunal, when it was discovered that the prisoner had never been in Manzaneda. This should have been conclusive but, when another vote was reached, August 13th, it was again in discordia, and the Suprema again ordered investigations which proved fruitless. A third inconclusive vote was taken in 1645, and then the Suprema ordered the arrest of a second Antonio López, a painter, who had been discovered in Sanabria. He was arrested in December, 1645, and easily proved himself to be an Old Christian of strict observance, but to no purpose, for the blundering consulta de fe voted in discordia, April 30, 1646, and the Suprema ordered him to be exposed to threatened torture. He was stripped and bound on the trestle, but his nerves did not give way and he steadily asserted his orthodoxy. The resources of the baffled tribunal were now exhausted and, on July 14th, the Suprema ordered the cases to be suspended, when the two Antonio López were released—not acquitted—after one had been in prison nearly four years, and the other had been subjected to the agony of impending torture, merely because they bore a name which chanced to be mentioned in a distant tribunal as that of a Judaizer. Not quite so hard was the case of Gaspar Rodríguez, arrested by the tribunal of Valladolid, October 4, 1648, on the strength of advices from Cuenca, and discharged October 2, 1649, because it was tardily recognized that he did not correspond with the description of the real culprit.[808]

How slender was the evidence required when a Portuguese was concerned is seen in another case at Valladolid. When the inquisitor Pedro Múñoz made a visitation of Oviedo in 1619-20, two women testified that Lucía Núñez, a Portuguese settled in Benavente, put on clean chemises on Saturdays. When, March 5, 1620, the tribunal voted on the cases brought in by Múñoz, this{297} was suspended, but the Suprema ordered the papers to be sent to it and, on August 17, 1621, it instructed the tribunal to arrest Lucía and sequestrate her property. She was accordingly brought to Valladolid, October 30, 1621, and thrown into the secret prison. On her first audience, in reply to the ordinary question whether she knew the cause of her arrest, she said that it was because she changed her linen on Fridays and Saturdays, as she did every day, for the sake of cleanliness, especially when she was suckling her children, and she did not know that she was committing any offence. It was true that she was born in Portugal, but both her parents were Castilians and Old Christians. The trial went through its regular course; nothing else could be found against her and, on March 15, 1622, the consulta de fe voted to acquit her and lift the sequestration, which was done accordingly the next day, after nearly five months of incarceration.[809]

When this kind of work was on foot throughout Spain, it is easy to realize how the unfortunate Portuguese were tracked, from one refuge to another, by the implacable vigilance of the Inquisition, with its net-work of tribunals, in constant correspondence, and its commissioners and familiars everywhere on the watch. That vigilance was kept alive by the frequent discovery of communities of Judaizers, more or less numerous, whose trials revealed the names of abundant accomplices. The tribunal of Llerena was busy, from 1635 to 1638, with the “complicidad de Badajoz,” a group of Portuguese, whom it had unearthed at Badajoz and, when the Suprema called for a list of those inculpated by the prisoners, whom it had not been able to arrest, they amounted to a hundred and fifty.[810]

In 1647, Juan del Cerro, of Ciudad Rodrigo, was a prisoner in the royal gaol of Valladolid. Apparently hoping for release, he denounced himself to the Inquisition and told a story of a congregation of Jews at Ciudad Rodrigo, which met every Friday in the house of the president, Pablo de Herrera, paymaster of the army on the Portuguese frontier, when the ceremony of scourging images of Christ and the Virgin was performed and then, during Holy week, they were burnt. Numerous arrests were made and the trials dragged on until 1651; torture was employed, parents and children, brothers and sisters testified against each other,{298} but there were no pertinacious impenitents or negativos and none were relaxed. That Juan del Cerro’s story of the outrages on the sacred images was recognized as fictitious is evident from the suspension of ten of the cases, including those of the so-called officers of the congregation, but the tribunal secured a satisfactory number of convictions, as well as fines amounting to thirty-seven hundred ducats. Juan del Cerro made nothing by his device for, though he was not prosecuted for false-witness, when the trials were over in 1651, he was handed back to the royal court.[811] Toledo was equally active for, in an auto held the same year, it had thirty-two Judaizers in person and thirty effigies of fugitives.[812] Nearly the whole of these were Portuguese for, by this time, Castilian Judaizers were of comparatively rare occurrence. In the great Seville auto of 1660, out of eighty-one Judaizers, nearly all Portuguese, a group of thirty-seven were from Osuna and another of eight from Utrera. There were forty-seven reconciled, seven relaxed in person and twenty-seven in effigy.[813]

The numerous effigies which figure in the autos indicate those who were compromised in the confessions of the penitents, and who succeeded for a time in eluding arrest. As a rule it may be said that this was but a temporary reprieve from the all-pervading vigilance of the Inquisition. Sooner or later, it gathered them in despite change of residence and name, and all the precautions of the hunted against the hunter. This is well illustrated in the vicissitudes of a colony of Portuguese, some twenty or thirty in number, in the little town of Beas (Jaen), which throw a vivid light on the miseries of these unfortunates. They had succeeded in living there obscurely for ten years or more, supporting themselves by such industries as they could follow, when some imprudence, or the watchfulness of some neighbor, drew upon them the attention of the tribunal of Cuenca, which arrested thirteen of them. From these the names of nine others were obtained, for whom warrants of arrest were issued but, when these were sent for execution, in April, 1656, it was found that they had left Beas secretly in February, abandoning their property. Five of them were traced to Málaga; the other four were said to have gone to Pietrabuena, but there the track was lost. All were duly{299} prosecuted in absentia and their effigies formed part of the Seville auto of 1660.

The party that went towards Portugal was a family group of five—Diego Rodríguez Silva, his wife Ana Enríquez, her father Antonio Enríquez Francia, and her brother and sister-in-law, Diego Enríquez and Isabel Rodríguez. They pushed through without stopping to Rioseco, where they rested four days and then, hiring a guide, they traversed the mountains of Portugal, travelling only by night. Settling in Villa Pinhel, they tried to mend their broken fortunes, Ana Enríquez by keeping a shop and Diego Rodríguez by turning his hand to whatever he could find to do—at one time we hear of him as driving a thousand sheep to Lisbon for sale. Apparently by way of precaution, they appeared spontaneously before the tribunal of Coimbra, which treated them mercifully, imposing no fines but ordering them not to leave Pinhel without permission. Misfortune pursued Diego and, in 1671, he returned to Spain, stopping at Talavera de la Reina, whence he sent for his wife and children and father-in-law, telling the rest to remain. He took the name of del Aguila for himself and de los Rios for his wife, and settled for two years in Seville, where his father-in-law died. Thence they removed to Daimiel, where the Inquisition found them at last and arrested them, February 18, 1677, some seventeen years after they had been burnt in effigy in Seville. As two or three of the Beas fugitives, who had gone to Málaga, were on trial at Toledo in 1667, it is probable that none escaped save those who remained in Portugal. Two years and a half were spent on the trials of Diego and Ana, ending with a sentence of irremissible prison and sanbenito. Ana had broken down under this wandering life of incessant vicissitudes and anxiety; she had become the victim of epilepsy, melancholia and hypochondria, when her pitiless judges sent her to prison for life in vindication of a religion of infinite love and charity.[814]

An even more pitiful illustration of the miseries endured by these unfortunates, under the implacable vigilance of the Inquisition, is afforded by the case of Isabel, wife of Francisco Palos, of Ciudad Rodrigo. In 1608, when 22 years of age, she was tried by the Valladolid tribunal. Subsequently she was tried twice, in 1621 and 1626, at Llerena, twice at Cuenca, in 1653 and 1655, and finally in 1665 at Toledo. Altogether, about eighteen years{300} were spent in these trials; the last one, in which she was thrice tortured, continued until 1670, when she was in her eighty-fourth year and eluded her tormentors by dying in prison, to be burnt in effigy with her bones as a difunta.[815]

Little colonies of Portuguese, like that of Beas, were frequently discovered. Simon Múñoz of Pastrana, on trial at Toledo, in 1679, gave the names of twenty-nine accomplices residing there, nearly all of whom figured in an auto particular of December 21, 1680. They had long succeeded in eluding inquisitorial vigilance, for one of them, María Enríquez, then sixty years old, testified that she had been brought thither from Lisbon by her parents, when a little child and had always lived there.[816] A similar group of Portuguese, in the little town of Berin (Orense) were tried between 1676 and 1678, by the tribunal of Santiago, and furnished to the Madrid auto of 1680 two victims relaxed as pertinacious Jews—Baltasar López Cardoso and Feliz López his cousin. There were more than twenty of them in all, and they had long been settled there; Antonio López, one of them, said, in 1677, that he was thirty-two years old and had been born in Berin.[817]

It was only by the most stringent caution that existence could be maintained under these conditions. Gaspar de Campos, one of the Pastrana group, gives, in his confession, some account of the devices adopted for concealment. On the Sabbath the mother and girls would sit with reels or spinning wheels before them and, if any one came in, would pretend to be at work. On fast days the servant-girl would be sent out on an errand; during her absence food would be taken out of the olla and plates and spoons would be greased, they would then go to the house of a neighbor Jewess and, when the servant followed them, she would be sent back to get her dinner, telling her that they had dined, and then the neighbor would do the same. Even in the closest family circle the utmost reserve was often practised. Children were not allowed to know anything of Judaism until of an age at which their discretion could be trusted. Parents, indeed, frequently brought up their children as Catholics, and left it to others to convert them{301} fortuitously. Pedro Núñez Marques, tried in Madrid in 1679, testified that he had been inducted into Judaism in Villaflor (Portugal) by María Pinto, wife of Alvaro de Morales. After he returned to his father’s house, in Torre de Moncorvo, he hesitated for months to let his parents know of his conversion, At last, in 1653, he told his mother, when she approved of it and said that both she and his father, Francisco Núñez Ramos, were Jews. There were eight children of them; he knew them all to be Jews but could give no details, except as to three sisters: they all assumed each other to be so, but each one attended to his own affairs, to earn a living, and to live with the utmost precaution. As his sister Angela Núñez Marques expressed it, they all knew each other to be Portuguese; that was sufficient, and further confidences were superfluous.[818]

As a matter of course, punctilious regard was paid to all Catholic observances—mass, confession and communion, feast-days and fasts. The dying were duly shriven and had the viaticum, the dead had Christian burial in the churches. Living thus scattered in small groups or isolated families, concealing their secret faith with the utmost care, and in perpetual dread of betrayal, it is not surprising that distinctive Jewish observances were gradually reduced to a minimum, and were becoming to a great degree forgotten. They had no rabbis to keep them instructed in the countless prescriptions of the Oral Law and the incidence of days of observance. Circumcision, of course, was out of the question; it was too compromising and there was no one to perform it, unless some specially zealous youth might betake himself to France or to Italy for the purpose. We hear nothing in the trials of abstinence from pork, or the removal of fat from meat, or the mortuary laying-out of the dead. There was an attempt to fast on the day of Queen Esther, when that was known, and perhaps on other days of no special note, as a spiritual exercise; we hear of washing the hands before meals and giving thanks to the God of Israel; lamps might be lighted on Friday night, but it sufficed to light one and let it burn till it went out. The Sabbath was to be kept by cessation from work, but even this was not always observed, and the changing of body-linen is rarely alluded to. Angela Núñez Marques said that Ana de Niebes and María de{302} Murcia had taught her the Law of Moses and its ceremonies, which were to rest on the Sabbath and to observe fasts of four and twenty hours without food or drink, yet, during the twenty years of her residence in Pastrana, she had kept only fifteen Sabbaths, for fear of discovery by her husband and servants. Isabel Mendes Correa, who appeared in the Madrid auto of 1680, when sick some years before, had vowed that, if she recovered, she would rest on Saturdays and light lamps on Fridays, for she deemed her illness a punishment for neglecting the Law of Moses. In short, Judaism seems to have resolved itself into Sabbath-keeping with occasional fasting, and into hoping to be saved in the Law of Moses and denying Christ and Christian doctrine.[819]

All this increased the difficulty of detection and vexed the souls of the inquisitors, in both Spain and Portugal. An exhortation addressed to the New Christians, in 1640, in Granada, by Maestro Gabriel Rodríguez de Escabias, denounces them roundly for thus betraying their faith. So at the Lisbon auto of September 6, 1705, where the sermon was preached by Diogo da Annunciasam, Archbishop of Cranganor, he commenced by addressing the sixty-six penitents before him—“Miserable relics of Judaism! Unhappy fragments of the synagogue! Last remains of Judea! Scandal of the Catholics and detestable objects of scorn even to the Jews themselves!... You are the detestable objects of scorn to the Jews, for you are so ignorant that you cannot observe the very law under which you live”—a truly Christian welcome to repentant sinners, which was deemed worthy of perpetuation by the printing-press.[820] Yet in this duplicity, so reprehensible in inquisitorial eyes, there was promise of the final success of the work so unremittingly prosecuted for two centuries. The hammer was gradually wearing away the anvil; only the marvellous constancy of Judaism had enabled it to maintain itself under such conditions, and eventually the Portuguese Judaizers were to be incorporated in the Church as, for the most part, their Spanish brethren had been already.

Still, the activity of the Inquisition continued to be rewarded with abundant success, and indeed we may say that but for Judaism{303} it would have found little to do. In the public autos of Córdova, from 1655 to 1700, out of three hundred and ninety-nine persons and effigies brought forward, three hundred and twenty-four were for Judaizing. In Toledo, from 1651 to 1700, there were eight hundred and fifty-five cases tried of every kind, trivial and important, of which five hundred and fifty-six were for the same offence. Towards the closing years of the century, there seems to be a decided falling off in the numbers, as though vigilance were becoming relaxed, or the efforts of the tribunals were being crowned with success; but, in a report of pending cases in Valladolid, made July 8, 1699, out of eighty-five, seventy-eight were Judaizers.[821] This activity however seems to be largely confined to Castile, as though the Portuguese had not found the kingdoms of Aragon attractive. Reports of cases pending in Valencia in 1694-5-6, show in all but sixteen, among which there is not a single Judaizer.[822] It is perhaps worthy of passing remark that, in the treaty of 1668, by which Spain recognized the independence of Portugal, Article 4 provides that the subjects of each power, in the territories of the other, shall enjoy the privileges and immunities granted to British subjects by the treaties of 1630 and 1667.[823] These guaranteed them against molestation for matters of conscience, so long as they gave no occasion for scandal, but, from what we have seen above, it does not appear that the Inquisition of either country paid any attention to this, nor is it likely that either government complained of infraction.

During this period, the laws restricting the emigration of the New Christians seem to have been mostly in abeyance, but when, in 1666, the false Messiah, Zabathia Tzevi, appeared in Palestine and drew a large following of misguided Jews, the Suprema took the alarm. The sea-port tribunals were warned that some of the Portuguese would seek to join him, so that if any Portuguese should come and endeavor to embark, they were to be detained under some pretext, their property was to be seized and examined and a report be sent to the Suprema. Some four months later, Barcelona forwarded the testimony taken in the case of four Portuguese thus detained, when the Suprema ordered their release{304} and that in future, when the evidence showed that they were not fugitives or bound for some suspicious place, they should be allowed to proceed. In this same year a muleteer named Francisco Núñez Redondo was punished at Toledo as a Judaizer, and for conducting Judaizers out of the country, the two hundred lashes added, in his sentence to reconciliation and prison, being evidently the penalty for this special offence.[824] In 1672, there was another similar alarm. The Suprema informed the tribunals that many families of Portuguese were arranging to pass by way of Bayonne to France. All the roads and paths were therefore to be guarded, and all Portuguese who seemed to be seeking to leave the kingdom were to be seized with their property. Each individual was to be closely examined, his genealogy taken, his past life recorded, his destination and the motives of his journey to be stated, with all other details necessary for a thorough knowledge of his antecedents and purposes, and this information was to be forwarded to the Suprema with the opinion of the tribunal. Similar precautions were ordered at the Mediterranean sea-ports, but the object of this action was not stated.[825]

Valladares, who was inquisitor-general from 1669 to 1695, seems to have taken a different view of this curiously perverse policy of preventing the emigration of disaffected apostates. August 12, 1681, he sent, to some one near the king, an anonymous memorial setting forth the invincible obstinacy of the Jews; penance and punishment left them as wicked as before, resulting in many evils, such as the engagement in noble houses of Jewish wet-nurses, who infect the children with their milk, the employment by Conversos of young children whom they pervert, the sacrilege of the sacraments administered to them, and the like. The remedy for this was the immediate exile of all who were penanced or, if they were allowed to remain, the branding of them on the forehead with the arms of the Inquisition. Valladares was probably the author of the memorial, for he makes this hideous suggestion his own, urging it with all the authority of the Inquisition, and invoking the judgement of heaven on his correspondent if he fails to lay the paper before the king. Carlos sent it to the Suprema for its opinion, and the matter went no further, but the{305} document is not without interest as a revelation of the methods which persecutors were willing to adopt to escape from the consequences of their own acts.[826]

Although it was the Portuguese immigration which supplied the apparently inexhaustible harvest of culprits throughout the seventeenth century, there was one corner of Spain which escaped the influx and where the old Conversos continued to cherish their secret faith with little or no molestation. Allusion has more than once been made above to the Majorca catastrophe of 1691 and, as an episode of Spanish Judaism, its details deserve consideration. In the massacre of 1391, some of the Mallorquin Jews escaped to Barbary, but the majority remained. The governor, Francisco Sagariga, had been wounded in endeavoring to protect them; they were won over to conversion by the terror of death, and the promise of the authorities to give them twenty thousand libras wherewith to pay their debts,—a promise which seems never to have been fulfilled. They continued to inhabit the call, or Jewish quarter and, although the aljama came to an end in 1410, its members remained as a separate community.[827] The conversion was as superficial as was to be anticipated and though, as nominal Christians, they were not affected by the expulsion of 1492, when the Inquisition was introduced we have seen, from the numbers who came in under Edicts of Grace, that they must all have been Jews at heart for, between 1488 and 1491, there were no less than five hundred and sixty-eight reconciliations, besides those who, by special mercy, were reconciled twice. After this, for awhile the tribunal was fairly active. Between 1489, when it commenced operations, and 1535 it sentenced a hundred and sixty-four to reconciliation, ninety-nine to relaxation in person, and four hundred and sixty to relaxation in effigy, all of whom presumably were Judaizers except, in 1535, five Moriscos who were relaxed.[828] After this, persecution grew inert, relaxations disappear and reconciliations become few. So insignificant had the tribunal become that when, in 1549, the offices of fiscal and receiver fell vacant, Valdés wrote to ask what was the necessity of filling them.[829] He might well ask the question: between 1552{306} and 1567 the tribunal had but two reconciliations to show and, during the remainder of the century, only thirty, together with a single relaxation, and of these few culprits the majority were not Judaizers. In the seventeenth century, the record was even slenderer. Engaged, for the most part as we have seen, in unappeaseable conflicts with the ecclesiastical authorities, the duties of persecution were neglected, and heretic and apostate breathed in comparative peace. The reconciliation of María Díez, September 6, 1579, was followed by a century in which not a single Judaizer was reconciled, although, in 1675, one from Madrid was relaxed. The inhabitants of the call might well deem themselves secure, especially as the churchmen were free in their denunciations of the tribunal. In 1668 the inquisitor complained to the Suprema that the priests of the episcopal party talked of the Inquisition as a secret heresy, and that it was a den of robbers which should be abolished, all of which led to much licence of speech among the suspected persons who dwelt “in the separate barrio.”[830]

From this sense of security there was a rude awakening. In 1677 or 1678 a meeting, held in a garden outside of the city, attracted the inquisitor’s attention. It was designated as a synagogue, and doubtless there was some imprudence. Secret investigation developed evidence justifying wholesale arrests, and the prison was soon crowded. The result appeared in four autos celebrated in 1679, in which there were no less than two hundred and nineteen reconciliations. There was no spirit of martyrdom; in all cases it was a first conviction, and when all confessed and begged for mercy there was no opportunity for relaxation. A noteworthy feature was the absence of prosecutions of the dead, which could have been numerous had the tribunal been disposed to take the trouble, but this is doubtless explicable by the fact that as the whole community of New Christians was involved, all its property was confiscated, and there would have been no profit in looking up ancestral heresies. The confiscations were enormous; the culprits were merchants and traders and bankers, whose houses and lands, censos and merchandise and credits were swept away. The sum realized is stated at 1,496,276 pesos, which is probably far below the real value of the assets seized. We have seen how the king was gradually shouldered out of his{307} share of the spoils; the tribunal secured a goodly portion with which it rebuilt the palace of the Inquisition in a style so sumptuous that it passed for one of the finest in Spain, until it was demolished, in 1822, and its site converted into a public plaza.[831]

The tribunal ordered all New Christians to dwell in the call and required them, on all feasts of precept, to attend mass in the cathedral in a body, preceded by a minister of the Inquisition and in charge of an alguazil. Impoverished, dishonored and watched, the position became intolerable. A number resolved to expatriate themselves and secretly made arrangements with an English ship lying in the harbor to carry them away. The passage-money was paid and they succeeded in embarking, but rough weather detained the ship; they had not procured the necessary licences to leave Spain, they were seized and cast into prison with the members of their families. This occurred in 1688 and three years were consumed in their trials. The result was seen in the four autos held in March, May and July, 1691. For those who had been reconciled in 1679 and were now convicted of relapse there could be no pardon. A huge brasero, eighty feet square and eight feet high, with twenty-five stakes, was prepared on the sea-shore, two miles from the city, in order that the people might not be incommoded by the stench. In all thirty-seven were relaxed in person, of whom only three were pertinacious to the last and were burnt alive. Eight were relaxed in effigy, of whom four were fugitives and four were dead—three of the latter having died in prison. There were fifteen reconciliations in person and three in effigy. Finally there were twenty-four who, although among the reconciled of 1679, escaped with abjuration de levi and fines amounting to sixty-four hundred libras.[832] This shows that the little community had already begun to repair its shattered fortunes, and renders it probable that the confiscations of the relaxed and reconciled rewarded the tribunal abundantly for its labors. The lesson seems to have been sufficiently severe to serve its purpose. We hear nothing more of Judaism in Majorca; during the height of persecution elsewhere, the tribunal celebrated two autos, May 31, 1722 and July 2, 1724, in which{308} nine penitents appeared, but none of them were Judaizers.[833] Although the New Christians were still confined to their separate quarter, in time, as we have seen, they became thoroughly Catholic.

With the opening of the eighteenth century it looked as though the victory over Judaism had been virtually won. The War of Succession must of course have interfered with the operations of the Inquisition, but this does not suffice to explain the marked falling off in the number of Judaizers in the autos, so far as manifested by the records before me. In Catalonia, which held out long after the rest of Spain was pacified, the Inquisition was fairly re-established in 1715, after which, for three years, the Barcelona tribunal, out of a total of twenty-five cases, had but three of Jews—a mother and two daughters who had fled from Seville and had been traced to Catalonia.[834] In Córdova the records are imperfect but, as far as they go, from 1700 to 1720, they show but five cases.[835] In Toledo, during the same twenty-one years, out of a total of eighty-eight trials, only twenty-three were for Judaism.[836]

The fires of persecution, however, were only slumbering and broke out again suddenly with renewed fierceness. Possibly this may be attributable to the discovery in Madrid of an organized synagogue, composed of twenty families who, since 1707, had been accustomed to meet for their devotions and, in 1714, had elected a rabbi, whose name they sent to Leghorn for confirmation. Comparative immunity had brought recklessness and we are told that they observed the Christian fast-days with dancing and guitar-playing. Five of them were relaxed in the auto of April 7, 1720.[837] It was probably this discovery that aroused the other{309} tribunals to renewed activity, which was abundantly rewarded, for there seems at this time to have been little concealment by Judaizers. In the Toledo auto of March 19, 1721, Sebastian Antonio de Paz, administrador del tabaco, is asserted to have married the daughter of his wife, and Francisco de Mendoza y Rodríguez his first cousin, “according to the Law of Moses.”[838]

For some years this revival of persecution raged with a virulence rivalling that of the earlier period. In a collection of sixty-four autos, held between 1721 and 1727, there were in all eight hundred and sixty-eight cases, of which eight hundred and twenty were for Judaism, nor did the tribunals err on the side of mercy. There were seventy-five relaxations in person and seventy-four in effigy, while scourging, the galleys and imprisonment were lavishly imposed.[839] The geographical distribution of the culprits is worthy of note. The kingdoms of the crown of Aragon show few traces of Judaism. Valencia contributed but twenty cases, Barcelona five, Saragossa one and Majorca none—or twenty-six in all. Among the tribunals of the crown of Castile, Logroño held no auto during these years; Santiago furnished only four cases, while Granada had two hundred and twenty-nine, Seville a hundred and sixty-seven and Córdova seventy-eight. The years 1722 and 1723 were those in which persecution was most active, the number diminishing rapidly afterwards.[840] It still, however, continued at intervals. In Córdova there were autos in 1728, 1730 and 1731, in which there were in all twenty-six cases of Judaism; then there was an interval until 1745, when only two cases occurred.[841] In Toledo, after 1726, there was no case of Judaism until{310} 1738, when there were fourteen. This seems to have exhausted the material for prosecution, for until the Toledan record ends in 1794, there was but a single subsequent case, which occurred in 1756.[842] In Madrid there were several Jews relaxed in 1732, charged with scourging and burning an image of Christ, in a house in the calle de las Infantas.[843] In Valladolid, at an auto, June 13, 1745, there was one Judaizer relaxed and four reconciled, while in Seville, July 4, although there were four Moslems there was not a single Jew.[844] At Llerena, in 1752, we hear of the relaxation of six effigies of fugitives and one of a dead woman, which must evidently have been cases of Judaism.[845]

{311}

These scattering details can make no pretension to completeness, and yet they suffice to show that Judaism at last was substantially rooted out of Spanish soil, after a continuous struggle of three centuries. How complete was this eradication is manifested by a summarized list of all cases of every kind, coming before all the tribunals, from 1780 until the suppression of the Inquisition in 1820, embracing an aggregate of over five thousand. In these forty years, the whole number of prosecutions connected with Judaism was but sixteen, and of these ten were foreigners who had evaded the laws prohibiting entrance to Jews while, of the six natives, four were prosecuted for suspicions and propositions. The latest case was at Córdova, in 1818, of Manuel Santiago Vivar for Judaizing acts—the final scene in the long tragedy which had secured uniformity of faith at the cost of so much blood and suffering.[846]

During this later period, the exclusion of foreign Jews was exercising the Holy Office much more than the detection of native ones. The savage law will be remembered by which, in 1499, Ferdinand and Isabella prohibited the return of the expelled Jews or the entrance of foreigners under pain of death and confiscation.[847] Although this law was retained on the statute-book, it probably was not enforced in all its ferocity, but the maintenance of the exclusion was inevitable when such unremitting pains were taken to exterminate Judaism. When the visitas de navíos, or examination{312} of all ships arriving at Spanish ports, were organized, the keeping out of Jews was held in view as much as that of Lutheran heretics and books; if a Jew were found on board, he was to be examined; if he admitted baptism he was to be seized and his goods were to be confiscated; if unbaptized and he made no attempt to land, he was to be allowed to depart with the ship.[848] Still, the indefatigable mercantile energy of the Jews and the venality of officials, to a limited extent, neutralized these precautions. In 1656, the trial at Murcia of Enrique Pereira, whose domicile was in Lucca and who was arrested while trading at Beas, shows that there was intercourse between the Portuguese in Spain and their brethren in Italy; those of Spain would go by sea to Nice or elsewhere to enjoy freedom of worship, while Italian Jews came to Spain to trade, in spite of inquisitorial vigilance.[849] These furtive attempts, with their perils, were but tantalizing to those who looked with longing on the tempting Spanish market; licences to come were much more desirable and we have seen that, in 1634, under Olivares, they were sometimes issued. They were grudgingly recognized by the tribunals, as in the case mentioned above in 1645. More unlucky, in 1679, was Samuel de Jacob, who was thrown in prison, although he held a licence, and we are told that, although those who held licences could not be prosecuted as heretics, still, if they blasphemed or derided the faith, they could be chastised with fines, scourging or the galleys, according to the resultant scandal, while attempts to proselyte incurred capital punishment.[850] In 1689, special orders were issued to disregard an agreement which Don Pedro Ronquillo, under powers from the king, had made with an English Jew, enabling him to land at any port in Spain.[851]

Such care was exercised to avert any danger of polluting the Spanish soil by a Jewish foot that when, in 1713, by the treaty of Utrecht, Gibraltar was ceded to England, it was under the condition that no Jews or Moors should be permitted to reside there.[852] The inobservance of this by England was the subject of complaint, but it is not likely that many intruders risked the dangers{313} that attended an attempt of a foreign Jew to enter Spain. In January, 1697, Abraham Rodríguez, travelling from France to Portugal under the name of Antonio Mazedo, was arrested at Ledesma and brought to the tribunal of Valladolid. Two years and a half later his trial was still in progress, but, though we do not know the result, the experience was not such as to invite imitation.[853]

When, in the general relaxation of the eighteenth century, the sternness of these laws was tacitly abandoned, embarrassing precautions rendered sojourn uninviting. In 1756, Abraham Salusox, a Jew of Jerusalem, ventured to Valencia with a lion for sale. The shipmaster reported him and a familiar was deputed to accompany him day and night, on board and on shore, never to let him out of his sight or to communicate with any one. The Count of Almenara bought the lion and Salusox was permitted to be in the count’s house for a few days, until a cage was constructed for the beast, after which he re-embarked. The same course was followed in 1759, with a Jew who came with merchandise from Gibraltar; a familiar never left him till his goods were sold and he departed, while his books and papers were carefully scrutinized to see that they contained nothing prejudicial. There were others who came in 1761 and 1762, who were treated in the same fashion. Then, in 1795 a royal order was issued through the Suprema, to the effect that a Jewish subject of the Bey of Morocco would come to Valencia and remain for eight or ten days, who was not to be troubled in any way; the tribunal consequently took no notice of his coming and going.[854]

These were all the cases that search through the records of Valencia could find, from 1645 to 1800, and their paucity shows how rarely Jews braved the dangers of visiting Spain. Those who tried to do so in secret took the chances of detection. In 1781, Jacobo Pereira landed at Cadiz under a false name and concealing his faith, but he was found out, arrested and the Seville tribunal at once commenced his prosecution.[855] It is true that a royal order of April 25, 1786, permitted the entrance of Jews who bore licence from the king, but these were sparingly granted and only on special occasions. The question of greater liberality came up, in 1797,{314} when the finance minister, Don Pedro de Varela, as a means of reviving the commerce and industry of Spain, proposed that Jews might be allowed to establish factories in Cadiz and other ports, but the Council of ministers rejected the project as contrary to the laws.[856] Apparently the discussion continued and, in 1800, the Suprema called on all the tribunals for reports as to their treatment of Jews seeking admission, and the result appears in a royal cédula of June 8, 1802, declaring in full force all laws and pragmáticas theretofore issued, and ordering the rigorous execution of the penalties therein provided, while any default in lending to the Inquisition due assistance for this holy purpose was threatened with the royal indignation.[857]

The confusion of the Napoleonic wars afforded opportunities for enterprising Jews, which were not likely to be overlooked, and Fernando VII deemed it necessary, August 16, 1816, to issue a decree renewing and confirming the cédula of 1802.[858] It was easier to publish the decree than to enforce it. The tribunal of Seville, June 12, 1819, represented to the Suprema its perplexities arising from the influx of Jews at Algeciras, Cadiz and Seville, who came to the tribunal begging for baptism. They were indigent beggars and probably fugitive criminals but, as occasionally there might be one whose object was really salvation, to deprive him of this would be a heavy burden on the conscience, and consequently the tribunal asked for instructions.[859] This resulted in an order of the inquisitor-general, July 10th, to all the tribunals, insisting on the strict enforcement of the decrees of 1786 and 1802; such Jews as obtained a royal licence were to be vigilantly watched and, if the secular officials manifested lack of zeal in coöperation, the inquisitor-general was to be notified.[860]

At the same time orders were sent, to the commissioners at all the ports, to observe strictly the old instructions as to the visitas de navíos and to report as to the current practice. Barcelona replied that the visits were made only when there were Jews on board. Alicante reported that the disuse of the visits had led to a rapid immigration of Jews into Murcia. Cartagena said that no visits were made but that, if suspicious persons arrived, the custom-house{315} officers notified the commissioner. Cadiz and Algeciras answered that the health-officer notified the commissioner of the arrival of Jews, renegades and other forbidden persons, when he took the necessary steps to avert the evil. Motril said that visits were made only when there was a Jew on board. Santiago merely responded that it had the royal decrees of 1786 and 1802 and the recent instructions of the Suprema.[861] Evidently there was little attention paid to the enforcement of the laws by both the royal and inquisitorial officials, but the Government was determined to enforce the exclusion of Jews, and an order was promptly sent to all the royal officials that no Jew was to be allowed to set foot on Spanish territory, unless he bore a royal licence; if he had one, he was to present himself to the Inquisition or its commissioner, so that a record could be made of him, and the tribunal was instructed to keep him under strict supervision. The ministry of Gracia y Justicia communicated this, August 31, 1819, to the Suprema, which in turn forwarded it, September 6th, to all the tribunals with orders for its strict observance.[862]

The Inquisition came to an end a few months after this, but the prejudices which it had done so much to foster postponed the removal from the statute-book of the laws representing the fierce intolerance of the earlier time. In 1848 we are told that, although unrepealed, they were not enforced and that Jews could travel and trade in Spain without molestation,[863] but when, in 1854, Constitutional Córtes were assembled to frame a new constitution, and the German Jews sent Dr. Ludwig Philipson, Rabbi of Magdeburg, on a mission to procure free admission of their race, his eloquence was unavailing. It was not until fifteen years later, when the revolution, which drove Isabella II from the throne, called for a new organic law, that the Constitution of 1869 proclaimed freedom of belief and guaranteed it to all residents in Spain, and this was likewise applicable to natives professing other religions than the Catholic. This principle was preserved in the Constitution of 1876, which forbade all interference with religious belief, while not allowing public ceremonies other than those of Catholicism.[864] It was a remarkable proof of conversion{316} from ancient error when, in 1883, the Jewish refugees from Russia, sent by the organizing committees of Germany, were enthusiastically received, although the experiment ended in disastrous failure.[865] The ancestral antipathy which they had to encounter was, however, still active, as expressed by a pious Franciscan, who declared that bringing them was a sin of moral and political treason, and that they would devour the whole Spanish nation.[866]

{317}

CHAPTER II.

MORISCOS.[867]

WE have seen that, in the progress of the Reconquest, as Moorish territories were successively won, the inhabitants were largely allowed to remain, under guarantees for the free enjoyment of their religion and customs. These Mudéjares, as they were called, formed a most useful portion of the population, through their industry and skill in the arts and crafts. When, in 1368, Charles le Mauvais of Navarre granted to the Mudéjares of Tudela a remission of half their taxes for three years, in reward of their assistance during his wars, especially in fortification and engineering, it shows that the conquering race depended on them not merely for manual labor but for the higher branches of applied knowledge.[868] As a rule they were faithful in peace and war, during the long centuries of internal strife between the Christians, and of struggles with their co-religionists.

It was the Jews against whom was directed the growing intolerance of the fifteenth century and, in the massacres that occurred, there appears to have been no hostility manifested against the Mudéjares. When Alfonso de Borja, Archbishop of Valencia (afterwards Calixtus III), supported by Cardinal Juan de Torquemada, urged their expulsion on Juan II of Aragon, although he appointed a term for their exile, he reconsidered the matter and left them undisturbed.[869] So when, in 1480, Isabella ordered the expulsion from Andalusia of all Jews who refused baptism and{318} when, in 1486, Ferdinand did the same in Aragon, they both respected the old capitulations and left the Mudéjares alone.[870] The time-honored policy was followed in the conquest of Granada, and nothing could be more liberal than the terms conceded to the cities and districts that surrendered. The final capitulation of the city of Granada was a solemn agreement, signed November 25, 1491, in which Ferdinand and Isabella, for themselves, for their son the Infante Juan and for all their successors, received the Moors of all places that should come into the agreement as vassals and natural subjects under the royal protection, and as such to be honored and respected. Religion, property, freedom to trade, laws and customs were all guaranteed, and even renegades from Christianity among them were not to be maltreated, while Christian women marrying Moors were free to choose their religion. For three years, those desiring expatriation were to be transported to Barbary at the royal expense, and refugees in Barbary were allowed to return. When, after the execution of this agreement, the Moors, with not unnatural distrust, wanted further guarantees, the sovereigns made a solemn declaration in which they swore by God that all Moors should have full liberty to work on their lands, or to go wherever they desired through the kingdoms, and to maintain their mosques and religious observances as heretofore, while those who desired to emigrate to Barbary could sell their property and depart.[871] It was the wise traditional policy of incorporating the conquered population in the state, on an equal footing with other subjects, and trusting to time to merge them all into a common mass, holding one faith and owing allegiance to one country.

Whether it was distrust of Christian good faith that impelled them, or a natural desire to leave the scene of their defeat, a large portion of the Granadan Moors, including most of the nobles, promptly availed themselves of the right of expatriation. Before the year 1492 was out, it was reported to the sovereigns that the Abencerrages had gone, almost in a body, and that, in the Alpujarras, few were left save laborers and officials. The emigration{319} continued and, in 1498, a letter of Ferdinand indicates that he was inclined to stimulate it.[872] While there might be good reasons for diminishing the large population of those recently vanquished, who presumably might cherish hopes of independence and had not forgotten the bitterness of unsuccessful struggle, this was accompanied with a readiness to increase the number of Mudéjares, who had adapted themselves to the situation, and who were regarded as in every way a desirable element in the community. When Manoel of Portugal expelled the Moors who refused baptism, Ferdinand and Isabella welcomed them to Spain. Royal letters were issued, April 20, 1497, permitting their entrance with all their property, either to settle or in transit to other lands; they were taken under the royal protection and all molestation of them was forbidden.[873] Up to this time, at least, there was no recognition of the political necessity of unity of faith, which subsequently served as justification for cruel intolerance and unwise statesmanship.

Yet the statesmanship of the day, if not yet prepared to regard unity of faith as a political necessity, considered it politically advantageous, while pious zeal inevitably sought the salvation of the multitudes of souls thus brought under Christian rule. The “third king of Spain,” González de Mendoza, Cardinal-archbishop of Toledo, and other prelates at the court urged upon the sovereigns that gratitude to God required them to give to their new subjects the alternative of baptism or exile. Ferdinand and Isabella, however, turned a deaf ear to this advice, either not caring to break the faith so recently pledged, or to provoke another war; the work of conversion had already been commenced with fair prospects of success and it could safely be left to time.[874] Isabella’s confessor, the saintly Hernando de Talavera, had been made Archbishop of Granada; he was devoting his revenues and his tireless labors to missionary work, inculcating Christianity by example more potent than precept. He relieved suffering, he preached and he taught all who would listen to him; he required his assistants to learn Arabic and he acquired it himself. He won{320} many converts and there was a flattering prospect that his apostolic methods would bring the mass of the population into the fold.[875]

The process however was too slow for the impatience that looked for immediate results. Ferdinand and Isabella were in Granada from July until November, 1499, and called in Ximenes to the aid of Talavera. His extraordinary energy and imperious temper soon made themselves felt; with liberal presents he gained the favor of the principal Moors; he held conferences with the alfaquíes, whom he induced to instruct their people and, it is said that, on December 18th, three thousand were baptized and the mosque of the Albaycin, or Moorish quarter, was consecrated as the church of San Salvador. The stricter Moslems became alarmed and endeavored to check the movement by persuasion, whereupon Ximenes had them imprisoned in chains; he summoned the alfaquíes to surrender all their religious books, of which five thousand—many of them priceless specimens of art—were publicly burnt. The situation was becoming strained; the Moors were restive under the disregard of their guarantees, and Ximenes grew more and more impetuous. Rupture, under these conditions was inevitable and Ximenes soon brought it about. Christian renegades, known as elches, were protected under the capitulations, but he argued that this did not extend to their children who, if not baptized, ought to have been, and who thus were subject to the Inquisition. From Inquisitor-general Deza he procured a delegation of power to deal with them and used it for their arrest. It chanced that a young daughter of a renegade, thus arrested, while being dragged through the plaza of Bib-el-Bonut, cried out that she was to be forcibly baptized in violation of the capitulations. A crowd collected and from words soon came to blows; the alguazil was slain with a paving-stone, and his companion escaped only by a Moorish woman conveying him away and hiding him under a bed. The agitation increased; the Moors flew to arms, skirmished with the Christians and besieged Ximenes in his house. He had a guard of two hundred men who defended the place until the morning, when the Captain-general Tendilla came down from the Alhambra with troops and drove away the mob. For ten days Talavera, Ximenes and Tendilla parleyed with the Moors, who urged that they had not risen against the sovereigns but in defence of the royal faith; that the officials had{321} violated the capitulations, the observance of which would restore peace. Then Talavera, with his chaplain and a few unarmed servants, went to the plaza Bib-el-Bonut, where the Moors kissed the hem of his garments as of old. Tendilla followed and promised pardon if they should lay down their arms, as it should be understood that they were not in revolt, but had only sought to maintain the capitulations, which should be strictly observed in future. The city became quiet; those who had slain the alguazil were surrendered, and four of them were hanged; the Moors cast aside their arms and returned to work.

With such a population, kindness and fair-dealing alone were required to accomplish the desired result, but the inflexible temper of Ximenes had been aroused, and he was resolved on the forcible accomplishment of his purpose. The rumors of the disturbance had greatly alarmed the court at Seville, and Ximenes was bitterly reproached, but he hurried thither, gave his own version of the affair, and pointed out that the Moors had forfeited life and property by rebellion, so that pardon should be conditioned on accepting baptism or expatriation. With fatal facility his arguments were accepted; Tendilla’s promises were ignored; the capitulations were cast aside; the Moors were to be taught how little reliance was to be placed on Christian faith; distrust and hatred were to be rendered ineradicable, and a religion was to be forced upon them which could not but be odious, as the visible sign of their subjection. From this false step sprang the incurable trouble which weakened Spain until statesmanship could devise no remedy, save the deplorable expulsion of the most useful and efficient portion of her population. It was not without reason that the admiring biographer of Ximenes admits that, so imperious was his temper that he sometimes acted through fury rather than through prudence, as was seen in the conversion of the Granadan Moors and in the attempt to conquer Africa.[876]

He returned to Granada, armed with full powers, and offered to the people the alternative of baptism or punishment, while a royal judge, sent for the purpose, sharpened their apprehension by executing or imprisoning the more active of the rioters. The choice was readily made and they came forward in thousands for the saving waters of baptism. Instruction in the new faith{322} was impossible, nor was it wanted. When they asked for it in their own language, and Talavera had the offices and parts of the gospels printed in Arabic, Ximenes objected; it was, he said, casting pearls before swine; it was in the nature of the vulgar to despise what they could understand and to reverence that which was mysterious and beyond their comprehension. He cared little for heart-felt conversion so long as he could secure outward conformity. The number thus rudely inducted into the faith, in the city and the Vega, was estimated at from fifty to seventy thousand and the process which converted them could result only in undying hate for the religion thus forced upon them.[877]

Although no outbreak occurred during this forcible missionary work, the discontent which it excited was threatening, and Ferdinand returned to Granada where he made no secret of his displeasure at the imprudent zeal of Ximenes, especially as it interfered with his designs on Naples. These had to be postponed to meet the imminent danger at home for, although emigration had been large, many had taken refuge in the Alpujarras and were exciting the mountaineers to revolt. To meet this he wrote, January 27, 1500, to the leading Moors, assuring them that all reports that they were to be Christianized by force were false, and pledging the royal faith that not a single compulsory baptism would be made. To reconcile those who had been baptized and to attract others he issued, February 27th, a general pardon to all New Christians for crimes committed prior to baptism and renouncing his claims to confiscation.[878] Meanwhile he had been engaged in raising an army as large as though the conquest was to be repeated, and with this he was engaged, during the rest of the year, in quelling the revolts which broke out in one place after another, supplementing military operations with friars despatched through the mountains to instruct the converts. Massacre and baptism went hand in hand, until the Alpujarras were pacified and the army was disbanded, January 14, 1501.[879]

{323}

Then there came trouble in the Western districts of Ronda and the Sierra Bermeja, where the mountaineers rose, in dread of enforced conversion. Another army was raised, which suffered a severe defeat at Caladui. This brought a pause, during which the insurgents asked to be allowed to emigrate. Ferdinand drove a hard bargain with them, demanding ten doblas for the passage-money and requiring those who could not pay this to remain and submit to baptism. The baptized lowlanders, who had taken to the mountains, were allowed to return home, surrendering their arms and suffering confiscation. Large numbers escaped to Africa, but more remained to curse the faith thus imposed on them. To these New Christians, as we have seen, expatriation was forbidden. Baptism imposed an indelible character, and incorporation with the Church subjected them to a jurisdiction which could not be shaken off.

It was vitally important that these New Christians should be interfused with the rest of the population, with the same rights and privileges, so that in time they might form a contented whole, but this was not to be. One wrong always breeds another. The disregard of compacts and the violent methods of conversion inevitably rendered them objects of suspicion, and an edict of September 1, 1501 prohibited the new converts from bearing or possessing arms, publicly or secretly, under penalty, for a first offence, of confiscation and two months’ imprisonment and of death for a second—an edict which was repeated in 1511 and again in 1515.[880] Not only was this a bitter humiliation but a serious infliction, at a time when weapons were a necessity for self-protection. There was however another distinction between the classes favorable to the New Christians, for it was provided that, for forty years, they should not be subjected to the Inquisition, in order that they might have full time to acquire knowledge of their new faith.[881] Yet, like all other promises, this was made only to be broken. It was thus, in less than ten years after the capitulation, that the Moors of Granada found themselves to be Christians in defiance of the pledges so solemnly given. Such a commencement could have but one result and we shall see its outcome.{324}

Something might be urged in palliation of this forcible propaganda in that it was unpremeditated and brought about in the turbulence of a settlement between hostile races and religions, and that those who rejected conversion were allowed to depart. All this was lacking in the next step towards enforcing unity of faith. We have seen how the Mudéjares of Castile were loyal and contented subjects, living under compacts centuries old, which guaranteed them the full enjoyment of their religion and laws. To disturb this and convert them, by a flagrant breach of faith, into plotting domestic enemies, without even a colorable pretext, would appear to be an act of madness. Yet it was this that Isabella was led to do, under the influence of her ghostly counsellors, among whom Ximenes can probably be reckoned as the most influential. In bringing about the conversion of Granada, he had cared for little beyond outward conformity and this could be secured among the scattered and peaceful Mudéjares, without encountering the risk attending the attempt among the mountaineers of the Alpujarras, while subsequently the Inquisition could be depended upon for what might be lacking in religious conviction. God should no longer be insulted by infidel rites in Spain, and the land could not fail to be blessed when thus united in the true faith. Such we may assume to have been the reasoning which led Isabella to a measure so disastrous. That Ferdinand’s practical sense disapproved of it may be inferred from the fact that, when he talked of similar action in Aragon, he readily yielded to the remonstrances of his nobles.

Persuasion, backed by threats, was first essayed. Instructions were sent to the royal officials that the Mudéjares must adopt Christianity and, when the corregidor of Córdova replied that force would be necessary, the sovereigns replied, September 27, 1501, that this was inadmissible, as it would scandalize them; they were to be told that it was for the good of their souls and the service of the king and queen and, if this proved insufficient, they could be informed that they would have to leave the kingdom, for it was resolved that no infidels should remain.[882] But four years had elapsed since the refugee Moors from Portugal had been invited to settle in Castile, and this sudden change of policy shows what influences had been brought to bear on Isabella during that brief interval.{325}

This tentative measure seems to have met with success so slender that more stringent methods were recognized as necessary and, on February 12, 1502, a pragmática was issued, shrewdly framed to give at least the appearance of voluntary action to the expected conversion. It alluded to the scandal of permitting infidels to remain after the conversion of Granada; to the gratitude due to God, which would fitly be shown by the expulsion of his enemies, and to the protection of the New Christians from contamination. All Moors were therefore ordered to leave the kingdoms of Leon and Castile by the end of April, abandoning their children, the males under fourteen and the females under twelve years of age, who were to be detained. The exiles were allowed to carry with them their property, except gold and silver and other prohibited articles. There was nothing said as to an alternative of baptism, but the conditions of departure rendered expatriation so difficult that it was self-evident that there was no intention of losing so valuable a portion of the population. Under pain of death and confiscation, the exiles were to sail only from ports of Biscay; they were not allowed to go to Navarre or the kingdoms of Aragon; as there was war with the Turks and with the Moors of Africa, they were not to seek refuge with either, but were told that they might go to Egypt or to any other land that they might select. They were never to return, nor were Moors ever to be admitted to the Castilian kingdoms, under penalty of death and confiscation, and any one harboring them after April was threatened with confiscation. One exception was made in favor of masters of Moorish slaves, who were not deprived of them, but they were to be distinguished by the perpetual wearing of fetters.[883]

The voluntary character of the conversion which ensued is revealed in the fact that when zealous Moslems, in spite of almost insuperable obstacles, preferred to risk the perils of emigration they were not allowed to do so, but were forced to become Christians.[884] During the brief interval allowed, there was some pretence of preaching and instruction and, as it neared its end, the Mudéjares were baptized in masses. A report from Avila, April 24th, to the sovereigns, says that the whole aljama, consisting of two{326} thousand souls, will be converted and none will depart.[885] In Badajoz, we are told that the bishop, Alfonso de Manrique—the future inquisitor-general—won them over by kindness, so that they were all baptized and took his name of Manrique.[886] Thus, externally at least, the kingdoms of the crown of Castile enjoyed unity of faith, but this was not accompanied with the desirable assimilation of the population. The new converts continued to form a class apart and came to be known by the distinctive name of Moriscos.

The nominal Christianity thus imposed upon those reared in the tenets of Islam was only the beginning of the task assumed by the state. The more difficult labor remained of rendering them true Christians, if the advantage was to be secured of moulding discordant races into a homogeneous community, which alone could justify the violent measures adopted. The unity of faith, which was the ideal at the time of both churchman and statesman, means more than mere outward conformity; it means that all should form a united nation, animated with the same aspirations and the same hopes, here and hereafter, and conscientiously sharing a common belief. In a land like Spain, populated by diverse races, this was an object worth many sacrifices; if it could not be attained, the enforced baptism of a powerful minority only exaggerated divergence and perpetuated discord.

To secure the desired result by the employment of force, through the Inquisition, could not fail to intensify abhorrence of a religion which, while professing universal love and charity, was known only as an excuse for oppression and cruelty. Yet the only alternative was the slow and laborious process of disarming the prejudices already aroused, and winning over the reluctant convert by gentleness and persuasion, by kindly instruction and demonstration that the truths of Christianity were not mere theological abstractions, of no vitality in practical life. We have seen the embodiment of the two methods in Ximenes and Talavera, and it was the fatal error of those who ruled the destinies of Spain that they had not patience and self-denial resolutely to follow the latter. Haltingly and spasmodically they tried to do so, with only persistence enough to put themselves in the wrong and deprive of{327} justification the concurrent employment of the easier process of coercion. From one cause or another, as we shall have occasion to see, the intermittent and ineffective attempts at persuasion failed miserably, while the perpetual irritation of persecution led inevitably to chronic exasperation.

Five years had elapsed since the coercive baptism which, under the precepts of the church, should have been preceded by competent understanding of the mysteries of the faith, when Ximenes attained, in 1507, the inquisitor-generalship. One of his earliest acts was a letter to all the churches prescribing the deportment, in religious matters, of the New Christians and their children, including regular attendance at the mass, instruction in the rudiments of the faith, and avoidance of Judaic and Mahometan rites.[887] Presumably this accomplished little and, in 1510, Ferdinand addressed all his prelates, pointing out the neglect of Christian observances by the Conversos, and ordering the bishops to enforce their presence at mass and to provide for their instruction, matters to which the parish priests must devote special attention.[888] The council of Seville, in 1512, responded to this by calling attention to the number of new converts who greatly needed religious instruction. The prelates, who were responsible for the salvation of souls, were ordered to depute for that purpose learned men, who should specially investigate their manner of life and their commission of sins pertaining to their old faith. All parish priests were ordered to make out lists of the converts and see that they conformed to the mandates of the church, and special lists were to be compiled of those who had been reconciled by the Inquisition, with orders to attend mass on Sundays and feast-days, so that their fulfilment of their sentences could be enforced.[889] From what we know of the failure of subsequent measures of this kind we may safely assume that these received little attention from those who would have been obliged to expend money and labor in their execution.

Simultaneously with his letters of 1510, Ferdinand had applied to Julius II, representing that, since 1492, there had been converted many Jews and Moors who, through insufficient instruction, had been led to commit many heretical crimes; he had ordered their{328} instruction, but it would be inhuman to visit them with the full rigor of the canons, and he therefore asked faculties to publish an Edict of Grace, under which those coming in could be reconciled without confiscation and public abjuration, so that, in case of relapse, they could escape relaxation.[890] The conditions appended to Edicts of Grace so reduced their effectiveness that this has importance only as an indication that Ferdinand, as we shall see elsewhere, was rather disposed to check inquisitorial ardor in the prosecution of Moriscos, but he atoned for this on his death-bed, by a clause in his will commanding his grandson Charles to appoint inquisitors zealous for the destruction of the sect of Mahomet.[891] This was superfluous for, as the stock of Judaizers became reduced, Moriscos supplied their place, and the Inquisition required curbing rather than stimulation. That Charles recognized this is seen in various Edicts of Grace issued in their favor, for certain districts, between 1518 and 1521, edicts which relieved them from confiscation and the sanbenito but did not protect from relapse or exempt from denunciation of accomplices.[892]

There was little practical relief to be expected from such measures, but at least they indicate the conviction of the rulers that it was both unjust and impolitic to visit with the rigor of the canons those who had been forced into the Church and had had no spiritual instruction. Still, the canon law was a positive fact; an elaborate machinery had been instituted for its enforcement, with no corresponding organization to render the new religion attractive instead of odious, and a situation had been created for which there was no radical cure. Alleviation was the only resource, and this was attempted, although the fluctuating policy adopted only intensified the evil for the future. In pursuance of this Cardinal Adrian, August 5, 1521, issued orders that no arrests should be made except on evidence directly conclusive of heresy, and even then it must first be submitted to the Suprema. This seems to have received so little obedience that Archbishop Manrique, April 28, 1524, repeated it in more decisive fashion. He recited the conversion of the Moriscos by Ferdinand and Isabella, who promised them graces and liberties, in pursuance of which{329} Cardinal Adrian had issued many provisions in their favor, ordering the tribunals not to prosecute them for trifling causes and, if any were so arrested, they were to be discharged and their property be returned to them. In spite of this, the inquisitors continued to arrest them on trivial charges, and on the evidence of single witnesses. As they were ignorant persons, who could not readily prove their innocence, these arrests had greatly scandalized them, and they had petitioned for relief, wherefore the Suprema ordered inquisitors not to arrest them without conclusive evidence of heresy, and when there was doubt it was to be consulted. All who were held for matters not plainly heretical were to have speedy justice, tempered with such clemency as conscience might permit.[893]

How completely these instructions were ignored is manifest in the trials of the Moriscos where, as in those of the Judaizers, any adherence to customs, which for generations had formed part of daily life, was sufficient for arrest and prosecution. It was not merely the fasting of the Ramadan, the practice of circumcision, the Guadoc or bath accompanied with a ritual, or the Taor, another kind of bath used prior to the Zala, or certain prayers uttered with the face turned to the East, at sunrise, noon, sunset and night. These were well-defined religious ceremonies admitting of no explanation, but there were numerous others, innocent in themselves, which implied suspicion of heresy, and suspicion was in itself a crime. Under skilful management, including the free use of torture, arrest for these simple observances might lead to further confessions, and the opportunity was not to be lost. Abstinence from pork and wine was amply sufficient to justify prosecution, and we hear of cases in which staining the nails with henna, refusal to eat of animals dying a natural death, killing fowls by decollation, the zambras and leilas, or songs and dances used at merry-makings and nuptials, and even cleanliness, were gravely adduced as evidences of apostasy.[894]

In pursuance of this policy, elaborate lists of all Moorish customs were made out for the guidance of inquisitors; abstracts of these were included in the Edicts of Faith, where every one who had{330} seen or heard of such things was required under pain of excommunication to denounce them; the Moriscos were subjected to perpetual espionage, and any unguarded utterance, which might be construed as inferring heretical leaning, was liable to be reported and to lead to arrest and probable punishment. It is true that from these slender indications the inquisitorial process frequently led up to full confession, but this did not render the position of the Morisco less intolerable, and constraint and anxiety contributed largely to intensify his detestation of the religion which he knew only as the cause of persecution. Bishop Pérez of Segorbe, in 1595, when enumerating fifteen impediments to the conversion of the Moriscos, included their fear of the Inquisition and its punishments which made them hate Christianity.[895] At all events, it secured outward conformity, at least in Castile, where they were gradually assimilating themselves to the Old Christians; they had long since abandoned their national dress and language; they were assiduous in attendance at mass and vespers, the confessional and the sacrament of the altar; they participated in processions and interments and were commonly regarded as Christians, whatever might be the secrets of their hearts.[896]

Doubtless, as time wore on, many were won over and became sincerely attached to their new faith, but every now and then little communities of apostates were brought to light. Thus, in 1538, Juan Yañés, Inquisitor of Toledo, included Daimiel in a visitation. It had a Morisco population, which had been baptized in 1502, and had apparently been overlooked so long that it had grown somewhat careless. A woman reported to Yañés that she had lived with Moriscos for twelve years and had observed that they did not use pork or wine, on the plea that these things disagreed with them. This sufficed to start an investigation which so crowded the secret prison that we hear of nine women confined in a single cell, and of the hall of the Inquisition being used as a place of detention. Yet this vigorous work did not extirpate the evil for, in 1597, the Toledo tribunal was busy with heretics from Daimiel.[897] More shocking was a case in which María Páez, daughter of Diego Páez Limpati of Almagro, figured, for she accused all her kindred and friends. Her father was burnt in 1606, as{331} an impenitent negativo; her mother, who confessed, was reconciled and imprisoned, and in all twenty-five Moriscos of Almagro suffered, of whom four were relaxed. In the Toledo record, from 1575 to 1610, there are a hundred and ninety cases of Moriscos as against a hundred and seventy-four of Judaizers, and forty-seven of Protestants, showing that, notwithstanding the influx of Portuguese, the Moriscos were the most numerous heretics with which the tribunal had to deal.[898] The old Mudéjares of Castile had fallen upon evil times, but worse were in store for them.

Granada presented a more difficult and dangerous problem, requiring the most sagacious statesmanship to reconcile political safety with the demand for unity of faith, yet this delicate situation was treated with a blundering disregard of common-sense characteristic of Philip II. The population was almost wholly Morisco, and the country was rugged and mountainous, offering abundant refuge for the despairing. The so-called conversion of 1501 had worked no change in their belief. They were hard-working, moral, honorable in their dealings, and charitable to their poor, but they were Moslems at heart; if they went to mass, it was to escape the fine; if they had their children baptized, they forthwith washed off the chrism and circumcised the males; if they confessed during Lent, it was merely to obtain the certificate; if they learned the prayers of the Church, it was in order to get married, after which they were forgotten with all convenient speed. They had been promised forty years’ exemption from the Inquisition, but they were rendered disaffected by the abuses of judicial avarice and the insolent domination of the officials, secular and ecclesiastical.[899]

In 1526 Charles V was in Granada, where, in the name of the Moriscos, three descendants of the old Moorish kings, Fernando Vinegas, Miguel de Aragon and Diego López Benexara, appealed to him for protection against the ill-treatment by the priests, the judges, the alguaziles and other officials, whereupon he appointed a commission to investigate and report. Fray Antonio de Guevara, shortly to be Bishop of Guadix, was one of the commissioners and, in a letter to a friend, he describes the Moriscos as offering so much that required correction that it had better be done in{332} secret, rather than by public punishment; they had been so ill-taught, and the magistrates had so winked at their errors, that remedying it for the future would be enough without disturbing the past.[900] This shows the spirit in which the commission performed its work; the incriminated priests and officials had turned the tables on their accusers, who were now defendants. The report of the commission confirmed the complaints of ill-usage, but stated that among the Moriscos there were not to be found more than seven true Christians. This was submitted to a junta, presided over by Inquisitor-general Manrique, and the result was an edict known as that of 1526. It granted no relief from oppression, but concerned itself with the apostasy of the Moriscos, which it sought to cure, not by instructing them, but by rendering their condition still more intolerable. In violation of promises, the Inquisition of Jaen was transferred to Granada. Amnesty for past offences was granted, and a term of grace was provided for those confessing voluntarily, after which the laws against heresy were to be rigorously enforced, although for some years fines were substituted for confiscation and time was allowed in which the penitents could earn them.[901]

This was supplemented with a series of most vexatious regulations, prohibiting the use of Arabic and of Moorish garments and of baths; Christian midwives were to be present at all births; disarmament was enforced by a rigid inspection of licences; the doors of Moriscos were to be kept open on feast-days, Fridays, Saturdays and during weddings, to prevent the use of Moorish ceremonies; schools to train children in Castilian were to be established at Granada, Guadix and Almería: no Moorish names were to be used and Moriscos were not to keep gacis or unbaptized Moors, whether free or slave.[902] This naturally caused great agitation; the Moriscos held a general assembly and raised eighty thousand ducats to be offered to Charles for a withdrawal of the edict. His advisers were doubtless propitiated and, before leaving Granada, he suspended it during his pleasure and permitted the carrying of a sword and dagger in the towns and of a lance in the open{333} country. A special tax, known as farda, probably dates from about this period, under which the use of Moorish garments and language was permitted and, in 1563, we chance to learn that this amounted to twenty thousand ducats per annum.[903]

It would seem that, for awhile, the Inquisition troubled the Moriscos but little for, in its first general auto, held in 1529, out of eighty-nine culprits, while there were seventy-eight for Judaism there were but three for Mahometanism, and one of these was in effigy.[904] Still it provoked disquiet and, in 1532, Captain-general Mondéjar suggested to Charles its suspension, since it had done nothing and could find nothing against the Moriscos. This was unfortunate, for it stimulated the tribunal to greater activity against them, leading to numerous offers on their part to Charles and, after his abdication, to Philip II, of liberal payments for relief. Charles’s necessities prompted him to listen to these propositions, but the Inquisition managed to prevent their success, while Philip of course turned a deaf ear to them. Even Inquisitor-general Valdés, in 1558, during his disfavor at court, seems to have taken a hand in these negotiations, for we find him promising a subsidio of a hundred thousand ducats from the Moriscos of Granada.[905]

The condition of the Moriscos was steadily growing worse, and the situation in Granada was becoming dangerously explosive. The Inquisition was more active than ever; all the old oppressions by the priests and judicial officers continued unchecked, and a new source of intense irritation was the progressive spoliation of their lands by “judges of boundaries” who, in the name of the king, deprived them of properties inherited or purchased—in short, they were gente sin lengua y sin fabor—friendless and defenceless.[906] Then, in 1563, an old order to present to the captain-general all licences to bear arms was revived under a penalty of six years of galleys.[907] In 1565 a fresh source of trouble was created by extending the royal jurisdiction over the lands of the nobles, in which many Moriscos, who in years past had committed{334} crimes, had sought asylum. Eager for fees, the notaries and justices searched the records and made arrests, until there was scarce a Morisco who did not live in daily fear. Many took to the mountains, joining the bands of monfíes, or outlaws, and committing outrages, while the measures taken for their suppression only increased the disorder.[908]

The condition of Granada was one which required firmness and conciliation, but infatuation prevailed in Philip’s court, and the occasion was seized to aggravate irritation beyond endurance. Guerrero, Archbishop of Granada, in returning from Trent in 1563, had tarried in Rome, where he lamented to Pius IV that his flock was Christian only in name. Pius sent by him an urgent message to Philip, reinforced by orders to his nuncio, the Bishop of Rossano, to the same purport. Guerrero, on reaching home, assembled a provincial council in 1565, in which he endeavored to restrain the oppression of the Moriscos by the ecclesiastics, but his chapter appealed from the conciliar decrees and the effort was nugatory. He had more success in inducing the bishops to join in urging upon the king the adoption of measures to prevent the Moriscos from concealing their apostasy, and he wrote to Philip, begging him to purify the land from this filthy sect; it could readily, he said, be found who were really Christians by prohibiting the things through which their rites were kept from view.[909]

Philip referred Guerrero’s memorial to a junta presided over by Diego de Espinosa, recently made President of Castile and soon to be inquisitor-general. It reported that, presuming the Moriscos to be Christians by baptism, they must be compelled to be so in fact, to which end they must be required to abandon the language, garments and customs of Moors, by reviving the edict of 1526, and this was solemnly charged upon the royal conscience. Philip thereupon consulted privately Dr. Otadui, professor of theology at Salamanca, and shortly to be Bishop of Avila, who, in his reply, told the king that, if any of the lords of the Moriscos should cite the old Castilian proverb “The more Moors the more profit” he should remember an older and truer one, “The fewer enemies the better” and combine the two into “The more dead{335} Moors the better, for there will be fewer enemies”—advice which, we are told, greatly pleased the monarch, in place of opening his eyes to the policy which was converting his subjects into his enemies.[910]

A pragmática was speedily framed, embodying the most irritating features of the edict of 1526, and Pedro de Deza, a member of the Suprema and of Espinosa’s junta, was appointed president of the chancellery of Granada and sent there, May 4, 1566, under orders to publish and enforce it without listening to remonstrances. It illustrates Philip’s method of government that Captain-general Mondéjar, although at the court, was not even apprised of the measure, until an order was conveyed to him through Espinosa to return to Granada and be present at the publication. He was captain-general by inheritance, being grandson to the Tendilla placed there at the conquest; he had lived in Granada from his boyhood, he had been captain-general for thirty years and was thoroughly familiar with the situation. He represented that Granada was destitute of troops and of munitions, and he begged either that the measure be suspended or that he be furnished with forces to suppress the revolt that he foresaw to be inevitable. It was in vain; Espinosa curtly told him to go to his post and mind his own business and, although the Council of War supported him, he was given only three hundred men to guard the coast, where he was ordered to reside during certain months and to visit frequently.[911]

Deza reached Granada, May 25, 1566, where he at once assembled his court and had the pragmática printed to be in readiness for publication on January 1, 1567, the anniversary of the surrender of the city, as though to create additional exasperation. Its provisions were sufficiently exasperating in themselves. After three years the use of Arabic was absolutely prohibited, in speech and writing; so were Moorish garments after one year for silken and two years for woollen; house doors were to be kept open on Friday afternoons, feast-days and marriage celebrations; zambras and leilas, though not contrary to religion, were forbidden on Fridays and feast-days; the use of henna for staining was to be abandoned; Moorish names were not to be used; all artificial{336} baths, public and private, were to be destroyed, and no one in future was to use them.[912] Provisions for instructing the Moriscos in the faith were conspicuous by their absence.

All this could only seem to them a wanton interference with habits that had become a second nature and when, on January 1, 1567, the edict was published it created indescribable excitement. As an earnest of its enforcement, all baths were forthwith destroyed, commencing with those of the king. The aljamas throughout the kingdom consulted with the leaders of the Albaycin, or Morisco quarter of the city, and it was agreed that, if relief was not to be had by entreaty, resort must be had to rebellion, for life was insupportable under such tyranny. Even Deza recognized the threatening prospect and wrote to the court that precautions should be taken against a rising; during 1567, he mitigated, in some degree, the enforcement of the law and inflicted no punishment under it. The Moriscos appealed to Philip, but, when he referred the memorial to Espinosa, the latter replied that no suspension could be considered; religious men had charged the king’s conscience, telling him that he was responsible for the souls of the apostates. In the Council of State, the Duke of Alva and the Commendador of Alcántara were in favor of suspension, and the Council suggested the gradual enforcement of one article a year, but Espinosa and Deza had more influence than soldiers and statesmen—it was a religious question with which the latter had nothing to do.[913]

On January 1, 1568, orders were issued to abandon all Moorish silken garments, and the priests were instructed to take all Morisco children, between the ages of three and fifteen, and place them in schools, where they should learn Castilian and Christian doctrine. This increased the agitation and a deputation was sent to remonstrate with Deza, who gave assurances that their children were not to be taken from them, but that the king was resolved to save{337} their souls and enforce the pragmática.[914] The naked alternative was before them of submission or rebellion.

Desperate as rebellion might seem, it was not wholly hopeless. The Moriscos estimated that they could raise a hundred thousand fighting men, lamentably deficient in arms, it is true, but hardy and enured to privation. They counted largely on aid from Barbary, hoping that the rulers there would not miss the opportunity of striking a deadly blow at their traditional enemy. Their brethren, too, in Valencia, who were equally oppressed, might reasonably be expected to rise and throw off the Spanish yoke. They could not, moreover, be ignorant that the imposing Spanish monarchy was in reality exhausted—that its internal strength in no way corresponded with its external appearance. All the Venetian envoys of the period, in fact, describe the absence of military resources in Spain, the difficulty of raising troops and the unfamiliarity with arms of those who made such splendid soldiers when disciplined and trained. It was in this very year that Antonio Tiepolo, when commenting on the strange neglect which exposed the southern coast to the ravages of the Barbary corsairs, expresses apprehension that an invasion from Africa, supported by the Moriscos, might expose Spain to the fate which it experienced of old.[915] It had been bled to exhaustion by Charles V and Philip was continuing the process. As with men, so was it with money. Charles had left such an accumulation of debt that Philip, on his accession, seriously contemplated repudiation, and he staggered under an ever-increasing burden, from which the treasures of the New World afforded no relief. His revenues were consumed in advance, and during the rebellion it was with the utmost difficulty that moderate sums could be furnished for the most pressing necessities. It was most fortunate for the monarchy that the hopes of the insurgents as to external aid were{338} disappointed, for a united effort of the Crescent against the Cross might have changed the destiny of the Peninsula. As it was, the Moriscos of Valencia were kept quiet; the Sultan held aloof; the Barbary princes only gave permission for adventurers to go as volunteers, and some five or six hundred straggled in small bands across the sea. Yet the resources of Spain were strained to the utmost in subduing the isolated rebellion thus heedlessly provoked.

Arrangements were made for a rising on Holy Thursday (April 18, 1568), but the secret was betrayed and the design was postponed. Even this failed to induce the precaution of placing Granada in a state of defence and, when the rebellion broke out, December 23d, it found the Christians wholly unprepared. Mondéjar met the crisis with great vigor and ability. Raising a hurried force of a few thousand men, he marched out of the city on January 2, 1569 and, in a difficult winter campaign amid the mountain snows, by the middle of February he had virtually crushed resistance. Deza, however, backed by those who thirsted for rapine and plunder, poisoned the mind of the king; Mondéjar’s agreements for the submission of the insurgents were set aside; Philip sent his half-brother, Don John of Austria, then an inexperienced youth, to take command, assisted by a council of war, each member of which had his own plan of campaign, while no action was to be taken without the approval of the king. This opéra bouffe method of making war had its natural result. The rebellion revived and grew stronger than ever, making raids on the Vega, almost to the gates of the city, in which Don John and his council were virtually beleaguered.

The details of the war that ensued do not concern us here except to say that it was carried on with ferocious greed and cruelty. Military expeditions were frequently mere slave-hunts, in which the men were massacred, while women and children were brought in thousands to the auction-block and were sold to the highest bidders. Nor were the Moriscos the only sufferers, for the Córtes of 1570 complained bitterly of the rapine and excesses of the troops on their way to the scene of action.[916] Hostilities were prolonged until the opening months of 1571 and, when resistance was finally suppressed, Spain was well-nigh exhausted. The pacification{339} was as ruthless as the prosecution of the war. In advance, it had been proposed at the court to remove the whole population to the mountains of Northern Spain, and Deza, the evil genius of Granada, never lost sight of the suggestion.[917] At his earnest solicitation it was commenced with the Albaycin, as early as June, 1569. No distinction was made between loyalists and rebels. The men were shut up in the churches and then transferred to the great Hospital Real, a gunshot from the city, where they were divided into gangs, with their hands tied to ropes like galley-slaves, and were marched off to their destinations under guard. The women were left for a time in their houses, to sell their effects and follow. Some seven or eight thousand were thus disposed of, and even the chroniclers are moved to compassion in describing the misery and despair of those thus torn from their homes without warning and hurried off to the unknown. Many died on the road of weariness, of despair or of starvation, or were slain or robbed and sold as slaves by those set to protect them. It relieved the Christians of fear, we are told, but it was deplorable to see the destruction of prosperity and the vacancy left where had been so much life and industry.[918]

This policy was carried out everywhere, as one district after another was reduced. Final instructions from Philip to Don John, October 25, 1570, ordered the deportation of all and designated the provinces to which they were to be taken, some of them as far as Leon and Galicia. Families were not to be separated; they were to move in bands of fifteen hundred men, with their women and children, under escort of two hundred foot and twenty horse, with a commissioner who made lists of those under his charge, provided them with food and distributed them in their respective destinations. These orders were carried out. Don John writes, November 5th, from Guadix to Ruy Gómez, that the number removed from that district had been large; the last party had been sent off that day and it was the most unfortunate thing in the world, for there was such a tempest of wind, rain and snow that the mother would lose her daughter on the road, the wife her husband and the widow her infant. It cannot be denied, he added, that the depopulation of a kingdom is the most pitiful thing that can be imagined. It was more than pitiful in some{340} districts, where the undisciplined soldiery, entrusted with the task, converted it into pillage, massacre and the enslavement of the women and children.[919] Such was the outcome of the pledges given, eighty years before, by Ferdinand and Isabella, but the object of clearing Granada of its Morisco population was measurably accomplished. In an auto de fe celebrated there, in 1593, there appeared eighty-one delinquents convicted of Judaism and only one charged with Mahometanism.[920]

The sufferings of the exiles did not end with deportation. Leonardo Donate, the Venetian envoy, who was an eye-witness, tells us that many perished through miseries and afflictions, which, in fact, was inevitable under the conditions.[921] Their distribution was entrusted to a special Concejo de Poblaciones, and an elaborate edict, in twenty-three sections, issued October 6, 1572, specified the regulations under which they were permitted to exist. These scattered them among Christians, kept them under close and perpetual surveillance, and reduced them almost to the status of predial serfs, bound to the soil. No weapons were permitted, save a pointless knife, and savage punishments were provided for the enforcement of the prescriptions. Children were to be brought up, as far as possible, in Christian families, and were to be taught reading, writing and Christian doctrine. The pragmática of 1566 was declared to be in force, with added penalties for the use of Arabic; any one writing or speaking it, even in his own house, incurred, for a first offence, thirty days’ prison in chains, for a second double, for a third a hundred lashes and four years of galleys.[922] The severity of this latter provision shocked even the town-council of Córdova, which had shown itself by no means favorable to the exiles. It represented to the alcalde that God alone could enable them to speak a language of which they were ignorant, especially as the alguaziles were constantly arresting and punishing them, and it begged that action should be suspended until schools could be organized for their instruction, but the alcalde replied that he had no choice and must execute the edict.[923]

In spite of these restrictions on exiles suddenly cast adrift, penniless in strange places, their indomitable industry and thrift{341} soon carved out careers which aroused the envious hostility of the indolent populations among whom they were thrown. Cervantes, in his Colloquio de los perros, stigmatizing them as a slow fever which slew as certainly as a violent one, gives expression to the feelings with which the Spaniard, whose only ambition was a position in the army, the Church or the service of the State, and who was a consumer, looked upon the producer and grudged him the product of his toil.[924] Already, in 1573, the Córtes took the alarm and petitioned Philip that they should not be allowed to act as architects or builders, or to hold public office or judicial positions.[925] In truth, only ten years after the exile, an official report complains that the numbers of the deported Moriscos are increasing, because none go to war or enter religion, and they are so hard-working that, after coming to Castile ten years before, without owning a handsbreadth of land, they are now well off and many are rich, so that, if it continues at the same rate for twenty years, the natives will be their servants. This grievance only increased with time. In 1587, Martin de Salvatierra, Bishop of Segorbe, in an enumeration of the evil deeds of the Moriscos, includes the fact that the exiles from Granada had already become farmers of the royal revenues in Castile, depositing cash as security in place of giving bondsmen; that there were individuals worth more than a hundred thousand ducats in Pastrana, Guadalajara, Salamanca and other places and that, if the king did not devise some remedy, they would soon greatly surpass the Old Christians in both numbers and wealth.[926] This jealousy found official utterance in the Córtes of 1592, which represented to Philip that previous ones had asked him to remedy the evils of the Granadan exiles scattered through Castile. Those evils were constantly increasing; they had obtained possession of trade, and were becoming so rich and powerful that they controlled the secular and ecclesiastical tribunals and lived openly in disregard of religion. The response to this was an edict ordering all magistrates to enforce rigidly the restrictive legislation of 1572.[927] This effected nothing for, in 1595, the Venetian envoy describes them{342} as constantly increasing in numbers and wealth, as they never went to the wars and devoted themselves exclusively to trade.[928] In 1602, Archbishop Ribera bears the same testimony; they were hard-working and thrifty, and as they spent little on food or drink or clothing, they worked for what would not support an Old Christian, so that they were preferred by employers and consumers; they monopolized the mechanic arts and commerce, as well as daily labor.[929] The envious prejudices which thus found expression were a factor not unimportant among the causes leading to the expulsion.

All the exiles however were not thus peacefully laborious. About 1577, there arose complaints of seven or eight bands of Moriscos who lived by robbery and murder and terrorized the districts in which they operated. There was also a noted centre of lawlessness in Hornachos, near Badajos, populated by Moriscos. For thirty thousand ducats they bought from Philip the privilege of bearing arms; they had a regular organization and a treasury and a mint employing thirteen operatives for the coinage of counterfeit money, while, by judicious bribery of the courts, they protected their criminals when caught. In 1586 the Llerena tribunal made a raid on them with such success that it was obliged to hire houses to accommodate its prisoners, but the effect of this was temporary and, in October 1608, an alcalde of the court, Gregorio López Madera, was sent there to investigate and punish. Alcaldes of the court were noted for unsparing justice, and Madera did not belie this reputation. His inquest resulted in finding eighty-three dead bodies in the vicinity; he hanged ten members of the town-council and its executioner; he sent a hundred and seventy men to the galleys, scourged a large number, and left the place peaceful for the short interval before it was depopulated by the expulsion.[930]

In the kingdoms of the crown of Aragon the position of the Moriscos was different from that in Castile. They were mostly vassals of the nobles, settled on lands of which they held the{343} dominium utile, while their lords owned the dominium directum. For these lands they paid tribute in money, in kind, or in service, and we are told that these imposts amounted to the double of what could be exacted from Christians.[931] It is easy to appreciate the old proverb “The more Moors the more profits,” and also that the nobles were vitally interested in protecting their vassals from external interference. Their ability to do this was largely owing to the sturdy independence with which the ancient fueros and privileges were maintained.

Alarm was taken early for, in 1495, the Córtes of Tortosa obtained from Ferdinand a fuero that he would never expel or consent to the expulsion of the Moors of Catalonia and, after the occurrences in Castile, the Córtes of Barcelona, in 1503, represented the destruction which it would cause and obtained a repetition of the pledge.[932] At the Córtes of Monzon, in 1510, he renewed this, with the addition that he would make no attempt to convert them by force, nor throw any impediment in the way of their free intercourse with Christians and, to the observance of this, he took a solemn oath, a repetition of which was exacted of Charles V, on his accession in 1518.[933] Under these guarantees, both the Moors and their lords might well imagine themselves secure.

As we have seen, the jurisdiction of the Inquisition did not extend to the unbaptized, so long as they committed no offences against religion. It had little scruple however in disregarding its limitations and, in Valencia as early as 1497, it undertook to prevent the wearing of Moorish costume and sent officials to Serra to arrest some women for disobedience. They were not recognized and were maltreated, while the women were conveyed away. We have seen how the tribunal arbitrarily avenged itself by arresting all residents of Serra who chanced to come to Valencia and that, when appeal was made to Ferdinand, he expressed his displeasure and ordered greater moderation in future—yet the leaders in the resistance at Serra were imprisoned for three years and suffered confiscation and banishment, leading to considerable correspondence in which Ferdinand sought to mitigate the harshness{344} of the tribunal. He showed the same disposition towards the Moorish aljama of Fraga, which was concerned in the confiscation of a certain Galceran de Abella, and also towards the Moors of Saragossa, when involved in trouble with that tribunal by reason of harboring a female slave who had escaped from Borja.[934]

After the enforced conversion of the Castilian Moors, the tribunal of Aragon overstepped its powers by endeavoring, indirectly if not directly, to compel submission to baptism. The Duke and Duchess of Cardona, the Count of Ribagorza and other magnates complained, in 1508, to Ferdinand, who reprimanded the inquisitors sharply for exceeding their jurisdiction, with much scandal to the Moors and damage to their lords. No one, he said, should be converted or baptized by force, for God is served only when confession is heartfelt, nor should any one be imprisoned for simply telling others not to turn Christian. In future, no Moor was to be baptized unless he applied for it; any who were imprisoned for counselling against conversion were to be released at once, and the papers were to be sent to Inquisitor-general Enguera for instructions, nor were arrests to be made without his orders. As it was reported that others had fled in fear of forcible conversion or imprisonment, steps must be taken to bring them home with full assurance against violence.[935] In the same spirit, in 1510, when some Moors in Aragon had been converted, and had consequently been abandoned by their wives and children, Ferdinand ordered the inquisitors to permit them to return, and not to exert pressure on them or to baptize them forcibly.[936] Ferdinand understood his Aragonese subjects and had learned when to respect their fueros.

These incidents indicate that there was a movement on foot which sometimes overstepped the limits of persuasion. There was, in fact, a process of voluntary conversion, affording hope that in time the wished-for unity of faith might be accomplished without coercion. A Catalan alfaquí, named Jacob Tellez, was baptized and brought several aljamas to embrace Christianity, when Ferdinand to aid him granted him licence to travel everywhere and to have entrance into all aljamas, whose members were required to assemble and listen to him.[937] The Moors of Caspe{345} sought baptism in 1499; in the district of Teruel and Albarracin, in 1493, a mosque was converted into the church of the Trinity and, in 1502, the whole population embraced Christianity.[938] Wholesale conversions such as these were apt to furnish backsliders and, when the Inquisition undertook to punish those of Teruel and Albarracin, Charles V interposed, in 1519; he understood, he said, that many of the children of the Conversos, who had lapsed, desired to return to the faith, but were deterred through fear of punishment, wherefore he granted them a term of grace for a year, during which they could come forward and confess without incurring confiscation, and similar concessions were made in Tortosa and other cities.[939]

Valencia, which had the largest and densest Moorish population, was also the scene of considerable proselyting and of vigorous inquisitorial action. An influential alfaquí, named Abdallah, was converted, took orders as a priest, under the title of Maestro Mossen Andrés, and devoted himself to winning over his brethren. He wrote a work controverting the Koran chapter by chapter, which was printed and circulated.[940] The little town of Manices must have been converted almost in mass, for we happen to have a sentence uttered in the church there, by the inquisitors of Valencia, April 8, 1519, on two hundred and thirty Moriscos, then present, who had come in under an Edict of Grace, confessing and abjuring the errors into which they had relapsed. They were received to reconciliation, apparently without confiscation, and the penances prescribed were purely spiritual, although in addition they were subjected to the customary severe disabilities. There must have been not a little cruel preliminary work for, in the list of these penitents, no less than thirty-two women are described as the wives or daughters of men who had been burnt.[941] It is{346} easy for us now to recognize how powerful an impediment was this method of preserving the purity of the faith by obstructing the wished-for conversion, for the Mudéjares who refused baptism could congratulate themselves that they were not subject to a jurisdiction which visited with such severity the adherence to ancestral habits that had become a second nature.

The missionary work thus impeded received an unlooked for impulse from the insurrection known as the Germanía or Brotherhood, which suddenly broke out in 1520. This was a revolt of the people against the oppression of the nobles which, in its peaceful beginning, won the approval of Charles and of his representative, Cardinal Adrian. It speedily developed into civil war, in which the nobles had the aid of their Moorish vassals; these formed a large portion of the forces with which the Duke of Segorbe won the victories of Oropesa and Almenara, early in July, 1521, and they constituted a third of the infantry, under the Viceroy Mendoza, in the disastrous rout of Gandía, July 25. To cripple the nobles, the leaders of the Germanía conceived the idea of baptizing by force the Moors, thus giving them the status of Christians and releasing them from vassalage.[942] Urgelles, the chief captain, mortally wounded at the siege of Játiva, which surrendered July 14th, was already busily engaged in compelling the baptism of the Moors in the places under his control; and his successor, Vicente Peris, who won the decisive victory of Gandía, adopted the same policy. Full particulars as to proceedings in the different towns and villages were obtained by a commission, formed in 1524 to ascertain whether the baptisms were voluntary or coerced, and the evidence in its report shows that bands of Agermanados traversed the territory between Valencia and Oliva, terrorizing the Moors and offering them the alternative of baptism or death. A few homicides punctuated their commands, and the helpless infidels flocked to the baptismal font for safety. Of course there was no pretence of instruction or of ascertaining what the neophytes knew of the religion thus imposed upon them;{347} they were baptized by sprinkling them in batches and squads and, when holy water was not at hand, that from running streams was employed. The only redeeming feature in the evidence is the frequent allusion to friendly relations between Christians and Moors and to the refuge and protection willingly given to the terrified victims, showing how the antagonism of race was gradually subsiding and how its extinction might have been hopefully anticipated if matters had been allowed to develop naturally.[943]

Attempts were also made to convert the mosques into churches. In a few places they were consecrated; in some others only a paper picture of Christ or the Virgin was hung up, or attached to the door. Occasionally divine service was performed, which the neophytes attended with more or less regularity, but their adhesion to their new faith lasted only while the impression of terror continued. In some places they felt safe to recur to their old religion in three weeks, in others they remained nominally Christian for a few months, but everywhere, as soon as they felt the danger to be passed, they resumed their Moslem rites and worshipped in their mosques as before. In this, for the most part, they were encouraged by their lords, who assured them that the coercive baptism was invalid, and that they were free to revert to their faith. Others more prudently seized the opportunity to escape to Africa, and it was estimated that no less than five thousand houses were left vacant, inferring an emigration of some twenty-five thousand souls.[944]

The suppression of the Germanía, in 1522, enabled the Inquisition to commence action against those who had been brought under its jurisdiction by baptism. Inquisitor Churrucca of Valencia entertained no scruple as to the validity of the sacrament, but there was difficulty in the fact that the hurried proceedings had precluded the making of records that would identify individuals. When the officiating priests had made lists he demanded their surrender and, towards the close of 1523, he was busy in obtaining evidence from eye-witnesses. Some fragmentary documents show that he was partially successful, and that he was prosecuting those whom he could prove to be apostates, but there was no disposition to treat them harshly. It would appear, indeed,{348} that Cardinal Adrian adopted a policy of toleration which, after his elevation to the papacy, enabled the advocates of the Moriscos to claim that they had the benefit of a dispensation.[945]

The situation, in fact, was perplexing. In Castile, enforced conversion had been universal, under threat of expulsion; all were constructively baptized and could legally be held to the consequences. In Valencia, however, the Germanía had occupied but a portion of the territory, and even there the work had been partial, and so irregularly executed that identification was impossible save in isolated cases. As soon as the pressure was removed all had reverted to their pristine belief, and the sovereign was under a solemn oath that no compulsion should be employed. The simplest solution that offered was to complete the work and to convert the whole Moorish population, after securing the assent of the nobles by conceding that their rights should not be affected, and that converts should not be permitted to change their domicile.[946] Missionaries were therefore sent to try the effect of persuasion, prominent among whom was Fray Antonio de Guevara. In a letter of May 22, 1524, he says that for three years he had labored at the task, doing nothing but dispute in the aljamas, preach in the Morerías and baptize in the houses.[947] Well-meant as was this effort, its success was not commensurate with its merits; the question refused to be solved, and the claims of the Inquisition to exercise jurisdiction over the so-called apostates inevitably provoked discussion as to the validity of enforced baptism, the degree of coercion by the Agermanados, and the sufficiency of the rite so irregularly performed.

We have seen above (Vol. I, p. 41) that, when the Goths coerced their Jewish subjects to baptism, the fourth Council of Toledo enunciated the principle that, while the act was wrong, the baptism was indelible and the baptized must be forced to remain in the Church, a principle which became embodied in the canon law. Still there was a question as to the degree of coercion and Boniface VIII, while assuming to exempt those whose coercion was absolute, took care to define that the fear of death was not such{349} coercion.[948] In the refinement of scholastic theology, two kinds of coercion were distinguished—conditional or interpretative and absolute; it was decided that coerced volition is still volition, and absolute coercion was reduced to the proposition that, if a man tied hand and foot were baptized while uttering protests, the rite would be invalid.[949] Such was the received practice of the Church, although a few schoolmen of high repute denied the validity of the sacrament under coercion, rather as an academical question, for the Church assumes consent and compels the so-called convert to the observance of the faith imposed on him.[950]

It was inevitable that the converts of the Germanía were to be held to their responsibilities as Christians. Charles V had already resolved on his policy and had applied to Clement VII to be released from his oath not to impose Christianity on the Moors, but the proceedings of Inquisitor Churrucca were exciting murmurs, and a decent show of preliminary investigation was advisable. Charles at first ordered this to be done by the Governor of Valencia in conjunction with the inquisitors and some theologians and jurists, but this was not a sufficiently authoritative body to justify the far-reaching measures in contemplation and Manrique suggested, January 23, 1524, the formation of a junta under his presidency, in view of the opposition of the nobles and gentry, who dreaded the loss accruing to them from the Christianization of their vassals.[951] That this was merely to save appearances is evident from the fact{350} that, when Charles, on February 11th, gave orders for the assembling of the junta, he wrote on the same day to Germaine, Vice-queen of Valencia, instructing the inquisitors and vicar-general to take due action with the apostate Moriscos.[952] Nine days later, Manrique issued a commission to Churrucca and his assessor Andrés Palacio to make a complete investigation into all the circumstances of the conversion and backsliding of the Moriscos—a selection which indicates the foregone conclusion, as they had already committed themselves on all the questions involved. Two other commissioners—Martin Sánchez and Juan de Bas—were added to them when, in November, they started on their work, and meanwhile the inquisitors had been taking testimony on their own account.[953]

The investigation lasted only from November 4th to the 24th, as the commission moved from place to place, in the little district between Alcira and Denia. A hundred and twenty-eight witnesses were interrogated on a series of questions drawn up by Manrique and their evidence established beyond doubt that submission to baptism was under the influence of mortal terror. The report of the commission consisted simply of the testimony, as taken down by the secretary, but it was supplemented by a learned argument in scholastic form by the fiscal of the tribunal, Fernando Loazes, the future Archbishop of Valencia. In this he made no pretence that the baptism was voluntary. The violence he admitted to be a crime, for which the actors should be punished, but the effect was good and should be maintained; it was the way in which God evokes good out of evil. The Moors had been saved from perdition and from slavery to the demon and, as this was a public benefit, the converts must be compelled to adhere to the Catholic faith, and those who upheld them in apostasy must be prosecuted as fautors and defenders of heresy. All doctors agree that, when there is danger of infecting the faith, the prince can compel uniformity or can expel the unbelievers.[954]

It was an imposing assemblage to which the report was submitted, consisting of a reunion of the Councils of Castile, of Aragon, of the Inquisition, of Military Orders and of Indies, together with eminent theologians, and it was under the presidency of Manrique.{351}

There evidently was not unanimity, for the discussion occupied twenty-two days, and some of the theologians, with Jaime Benet, the most eminent canonist of Spain at their head, denied the validity of the baptisms. Still, the inevitable conclusion was that, as the neophytes had made no resistance or complaint, they must adhere to the faith, willingly or unwillingly. On March 23, 1525, the emperor attended a meeting, in which Manrique announced to him the decision, which he confirmed and ordered measures to be taken for its enforcement. In pursuance of this a royal cédula on April 4th, after reciting the care bestowed on the question, and the unanimous conclusion reached, declared the baptized Moors to be Christians, and ordered their children to be baptized, while churches in which mass had been celebrated were not to be used as mosques.[955]

It would be difficult to exaggerate the importance of this action on the fate of the Moriscos, for all that followed was its necessary consequence. Without loss of time an imposing inquisitorial commission was organized, with Gaspar de Avalos, Bishop of Guadix, at its head, and a retinue of counsellors and familiars. On May 10th they arrived at Valencia and, on Sunday the 14th, the bishop in a sermon ordered the publication of the royal cédula, with an edict granting thirty days within which apostates could return with security for life and property, after which they would forfeit both.[956] It could scarce have been intended to execute this atrocious threat, and no attempt seems to have been made to do so. The apostates were not easily distinguishable among their unbaptized brethren, among whom they constituted perhaps ten per cent., but the commissioners endeavored to identify them, travelling through the land, making out lists, and confirming all whom they could discover, as a preliminary to prosecuting the backsliders.[957] Their numbers suggested moderation, for which papal authority was requisite. It was obtained, for a brief of Clement VII, June 16, 1525, recites that Charles had applied to him for a remedy; the multitude of delinquents called for gentleness and clemency, wherefore they were to be prosecuted with a{352} benignant asperity; those who should return to the light of truth, publicly abjure their errors and swear never to relapse, could be absolved without incurring the customary infamy and disabilities.[958]

Threats and promises availed little. The ten or fifteen thousand Moriscos, who had passed through the hands of the Agermanados, did not wait to experience the benignant asperity of the commission, but took refuge in the Sierra de Bernia, and the nobles, so far from attempting to dislodge them, favored them, in hopes that their resistance might lead Charles to abandon his purpose. He had been moved to indignation on hearing that the magistrates of Valencia had begged the commission not to ill-treat the Alfaquíes, as the prosperity of the land depended on the Moors, and he now rebuked the nobles, ordering them to go to their estates and teach their vassals to be good Christians. Preparations at length were made to attack the refugees of Bernia, who had held out from April until August; they surrendered under promise of immunity and were taken to Murla where they were absolved and kindly treated.[959]

The commission, wearied with its fruitless labors, was about to abandon the field, when it received a letter from Charles, stating that, as God had granted him the victory of Pavia, he could evince his gratitude in no way more effective than by compelling all the infidels in his dominions to submit to baptism; they were therefore ordered to remain and to undertake this new conversion, in conjunction with a fresh colleague, Fray Calcena, afterwards Bishop of Tortosa.[960] We have seen that, in preparation for this, he had, near the end of 1523 or in the early part of 1524, applied to Clement VII to absolve him from the oath taken in 1518 not to expel or make forced conversions, and Clement is said to have at first refused the request, declaring it to be scandalous.[961] The persistence of the ambassador, the Duke of Sesa, however prevailed over Clement’s scruples and the brief was issued, May 12, 1524, though for a time it was kept secret.

It commenced by reciting the papal grief on learning that, in{353} Valencia, Catalonia and Aragon, Charles had many Moorish subjects, with whom the faithful could not hold intercourse without danger, and who served as spies for their brethren in Africa. He was therefore exhorted to order the inquisitors to preach to them and, in case of obstinacy, he was to designate a term after which they should be expelled, under pain of perpetual slavery, to be rigorously enforced. The tithes, which they had never paid, should in future accrue to their lords, in recompense for the damage caused by the expulsion, under condition that the lords should supply the churches with what was requisite for divine service, while the revenues of the mosques should provide endowments for benefices. The fateful brief concluded by formally releasing Charles from his oath of 1518, absolving him from all penalties and censures for perjury, and granting him whatever dispensation was necessary for the due execution of the foregoing, and it further conferred on the inquisitors ample faculties to suppress opposition, notwithstanding all apostolical constitutions and all laws of the land.[962]

Charles was thus set free to work his will, in despite of oaths and of laws. Yet for eighteen months he held the brief without using it, waiting perhaps for the settlement of the question of baptism and for the agitation in Valencia to subside. At length, on September 13, 1525, he addressed letters to the nobles, informing them of his irrevocable resolve not to allow a Moor or an infidel to dwell in his dominions except as a slave; he recognized that expulsion would affect their interests, and consequently he urged them to go to their estates and co-operate with the commissioners in procuring the conversion and instruction of their vassals. Accompanying this was a brief letter to the Moors, informing them of the determination to which he had been inspired by Almighty God that His law should prevail throughout the land, and of his desire for their salvation, wherefore he exhorted and commanded them to submit to baptism; if they did so, they should have the liberties of Christians and good treatment; if they refused, he would find other means. The next day a proclamation was addressed to the Moors, emphatically repeating these threats and promises, and forbidding any interference with conversion or insults to converts, under penalty of five thousand{354} florins and the royal wrath. The same day a letter to Queen Germaine tacitly admitted the futility of depriving the Moriscos of their religion without providing a substitute. He had learned, he said, that in many villages of the converts there were no priests to give instruction or to celebrate mass, and he ordered her to see that they were instructed and ministered to, thriftily adding that, in lands of royal jurisdiction, care must be taken to reserve the patronage of the new churches to the crown.[963]

The commissioners, armed with full powers as inquisitors, lost no time in announcing to the Moors the irrevocable resolve of the emperor, with a term of grace of eight days, after which they would execute the decrees. The frightened aljamas deputed twelve alfaquíes to supplicate of Charles the revocation of the edict. Queen Germaine granted them a safe-conduct, and they were received at court, carrying with them fifty thousand ducats to propitiate persons of importance and, although at the moment they accomplished nothing, eventually, as we shall see, they secured a Concordia which, as usual, was granted only to be violated.[964]

Meanwhile, on November 3d, Charles enclosed the papal brief to the inquisitors, with instructions to enforce it without delay. At the same time he notified the authorities, secular and ecclesiastical, that it invalidated all the fueros, privileges and constitutions to which he had sworn; that he had instructed the Inquisition to enforce it, and that the local magistrates, under pain of ten thousand florins, must execute whatever the inquisitors might decree.[965] Having thus made the Moors understand the fate in store for them, on November 25th he issued a general decree of expulsion. All those of Valencia were to be out of Spain by December 31st, and those of Catalonia and Aragon by January 31, 1526. As in 1502, there was no exemption promised for conversion, but similarly the obstacles thrown in the way of expatriation showed the real intent of the edict. The Valencians were ordered to register and obtain passports at Sieteaguas, on the Cuenca frontier, and then plod their weary way to Coruña, where they were to embark, under pain of confiscation and slavery, while{355} the nobles were threatened with a fine of five thousand ducats for each one whom they might retain. At the same time was published a papal brief ordering, under pain of excommunication, all Christians to aid in enforcing the imperial decrees, and all Moors to listen without replying to the teachings of the Gospel. Still another edict, which ordered that all Moors must be baptized by December 8th, or be prepared to leave the country, showed by implication that conversion would relieve from exile. Then the Inquisition gave notice that it was prepared to act, and it published tremendous censures, with a penalty of a thousand florins, against all failing to aid it against those who obstinately resisted the sweetness of the gospel and the benignant plans of the emperor.[966]

When the alfaquíes reported the failure of their mission, the great bulk of the Valencian Moors submitted to baptism. Fray Antonio de Guevara, who was foremost in the work, boasts that he baptized twenty thousand families, but the Moriscos subsequently asserted that this wholesale conversion was accomplished by corraling them in pens and scattering water over them, when some would seek to hide themselves and others would shout “No water has touched me!” They endured it, they said, because their alfaquíes assured them that deceit was permissible, and that they need not believe the religion which they were compelled to profess.[967] Many hid themselves; some took refuge in Benaguacil{356} which surrendered, March 27th, after a five weeks’ siege, but the Sierra de Espadan was the scene of a more formidable revolt, which was not subdued until September 19th, with considerable slaughter. Others again betook themselves to the Sierra de Bernia, to Guadalete and Confridas, but these mostly succeeded in escaping to Africa. Thus was Valencia converted and pacified; the Moriscos, we as may now call them, were disarmed, the pulpits of their alfaquíes were torn down, their Korans were burnt, and orders were given to instruct them competently in the faith—orders, as we shall see, perpetually reissued and never executed.[968]

In Aragon, before the edicts, premonitions of the future had aroused much agitation. The Moors ceased to labor in the fields and shops, causing great anxiety as to impending famine. The Diputados were called upon to act and, while preparing to send envoys to Charles, they gave to the Count of Ribagorza, who chanced to be at the court, a memorial addressed to him. This appealed to the solemn oaths taken by him and Ferdinand; it represented that the whole industry and prosperity of the land rested upon the Moors, who raised the harvests and produced the manufactures, while the incomes of churches and convents, of benefices and the gentry, of widows and orphans, were derived from their censos or loans. They were practically the slaves of their feudal lords, to whom they were obedient, and they had never been known to pervert a Christian or cause scandal; they lived at a distance from the coast, so that they could hold no intercourse with Barbary, and the law punished by enslavement all attempts to leave the kingdom; their expulsion would cause ruin while, if converted, they would be enfranchised and enabled to go abroad. As they had ceased to sow their lands, immediate relief of their fears was necessary to avert a famine. Ribagorza’s influence procured a brief delay, but Charles’s practical reply was a proclamation, published in Saragossa December 22d, forbidding any Moor to leave the kingdom, prohibiting all purchases of property from them, closing their mosques and abolishing their public shambles.[969] This increased the alarm, and risings occurred in some places, followed by others after the publication of the edict of expulsion, but they were not serious. The date of expulsion{357} was postponed until March 15, 1526, and, as it approached, there were other risings, but they were readily suppressed; the Moors were disarmed and, as a whole, they submitted to baptism.[970]

The whole Morisco population was now at the mercy of the Inquisition, but every consideration, both of policy and of charity, dictated a tolerant exercise of power, until they could be instructed and won over to their new faith. This the Suprema recognized by ordering that they should be treated with great moderation.[971] Possibly this may explain the absence of trials for heresy by the Valencia tribunal in 1525 and 1527, but, in the intermediate and subsequent years, there is no abatement in its activity, which was not only in disobedience of the commands of the Suprema, but a direct violation of the Concordia, agreed to January 6, 1526, although not published until 1528.

This Concordia was the result of the labors of the alfaquíes sent to the court in 1525. It was granted with the consent of Inquisitor-general Manrique; it was solemnly confirmed by Charles in the Córtes of Monzon, in 1528, when it was declared to comprehend all the kingdoms of the crown of Aragon, but when it was published by the Bayle-general of Valencia, under orders from Charles, Manrique rebuked him for so doing. Its main provisions are worth reciting if only to show the questions arising and as an instance of the faithlessness habitually shown to the Moriscos, for scarce one of the articles favorable to them was observed.

It set forth that the new converts could not at once abandon the Moorish ceremonies, which they observed rather through habit than with intention, and that prosecution by the Inquisition would be their total destruction, wherefore the Inquisition should not proceed against them for forty years, as had been granted to the Moors of Granada. As for their garments, they might wear out those existing, but new ones must be made in the Christian fashion. As most of the men and all the women could speak only Arabic, they could use it for ten years, during which time they must learn Castilian or Valencian. New cemeteries were to be consecrated for them, near the mosques now converted into churches. Dispensations were to be granted by the legate or the pope for all existing marriages and betrothals within the prohibited degrees, but future ones must conform to the canons. To the request that{358} their arms should be restored to them, the answer was that they should be treated like other Christians. To the argument that they could not pay the old tributes and imposts, if they were forbidden to work on feast-days, nor was it reasonable that they should be prevented from changing domicile, the equivocal reply was that they should be treated like other Christians, but without prejudice to third parties. There was also permission to continue as corporations the old Morerías in royal territory. All this Charles guaranteed for himself and for Prince Philip, and ordered its strict observance by all officials, from the highest to the lowest, under pain of the royal wrath and a fine of three thousand ducats.[972]

The Inquisition, however, was a law unto itself and was bound by no compacts. In a few months after the promulgation of the Concordia, the Suprema published everywhere a declaration that it referred only to trivial customs and did not condone the use of Moorish rites and ceremonies, and that those who performed them or lapsed from the faith were to be duly prosecuted, to all of which it stated that the emperor acceded.[973] When, therefore, the Aragonese nobles, in 1529, presented remonstrances to Charles and to Manrique, the latter replied that it was their salvation and not their injury that was sought, and that he hoped that God might lay his hands upon them, so that all would eventuate well.[974] The hand of God, as laid upon them through the Inquisition, was not merciful for, in 1531, the Valencia tribunal had fifty-eight trials for heresy, with some thirty-seven burnings in person, most of whom presumably were Moriscos. Saragossa was somewhat milder for, in 1530, it reported that in the last auto it had reconciled a number of Moriscos, commuting confiscation and prison into fines and, in some cases, to scourging; that the fines had been assigned to a cleric who should instruct the penitents, but the receiver had refused to surrender the money, whereupon the Suprema suggested a separate collection of fines and their payment to instructors.[975] Thus the Inquisition went imperturbably on its way and, when the Córtes of the three kingdoms complained that it was notorious that there had been no attempt to instruct the Moriscos, or to provide churches for them, and that it was a great{359} abuse to prosecute them as heretics, Cardinal Manrique unctuously replied that they had been treated with all moderation and benignity and that, for the future, provision would be made, with the assent of the emperor, as best comported with the service of God and the salvation of their souls.[976]

Even more defiantly self-willed was the conduct of the Inquisition with regard to confiscations. We have seen that these were the property of the crown and that, when the Inquisition was allowed to retain the proceeds, it was a concession dependent upon the will of the sovereign. Yet it sturdily set aside the laws of the land and the commands of the emperor, and persisted in confiscating the property of its penitents. The earliest fuero of Valencia, granted by Jaime I after the conquest, provided that, in capital cases of heresy and treason, allodial lands and personal property should accrue to the king, while feudal lands and those held under rent-charge or other service, should revert to the lord. The new Inquisition disregarded this and, in 1488, the Córtes of Orihuela demanded its observance, to which Ferdinand assented. Still the Inquisition persisted and he agreed to the demands of the Córtes of 1510, that he should compound for all lands thus illegally obtained. This was equally fruitless and, in 1533, the Córtes of Monzon repeated the complaint; it was the lords and churches that suffered by the confiscations inflicted on their vassals, and some compromise should be reached as to past infractions of the fuero. To this the answer was equivocal; there was no confiscation and, please God, with the efforts on foot for the instruction of the converts, there would be no necessity for it in the future but, if there should be, provision would be made to protect the lords, and meanwhile a commission could decide as to what would be just for the past.[977]

Charles, in fact, the next year, at Saragossa, issued a pragmática ordering that, when the new converts incurred confiscation, the property should be made over to the legal Catholic heirs, without prejudice to the lords of the delinquents. The Inquisition, however, was equal to the occasion; it obeyed the law in the letter but not in the spirit, for, in 1547, the Córtes complained to the inquisitor-general that, in lieu of confiscation, the Saragossa tribunal{360} imposed fines greater than the wealth of the penitents who, to meet them, were obliged to sell all their property and impoverish their kindred. To this the contemptuous answer was returned that if any one was aggrieved he could apply to the inquisitors or to the Suprema.[978]

In Valencia the contest was more prolonged. The Córtes of 1537 reiterated the old complaints and asked Charles to order the tribunals to obey the law, which he promised to do. The Suprema rejoined, in a consulta, that confiscation was the most efficient penalty for the suppression of heresy; the culprit could escape burning by reconciliation and, without confiscation, heresy would be unpunished. The Inquisition accordingly went on confiscating and, in 1542, under urgent complaints by the Córtes, Charles assented to a law that the dominium utile of the culprit should revert to the dominium directum of the lord and that the royal officials, under pain of a thousand florins, should put the lord in possession. The pope seems to have been appealed to, to make the Inquisition obey, for in a brief of August 2, 1546, which virtually suspended it, he decreed that for ten years, and during the pleasure of the Holy See, there should be neither fines nor confiscation in the case of Moriscos.[979]

Royal and papal utterances were alike in vain. In 1547, the Córtes renewed the complaint of the persistence of the Inquisition and introduced the new feature of asking that the inquisitor-general should join in signing the fuero, thus recognizing him as an independent power in the state. Prince Philip promised to obtain his signature, but it was not done. Again in 1552 and 1564 the same comedy was acted, but Philip’s promise in the latter year was neutralized by specific instructions of the Suprema, to the Valencia tribunal, to confiscate Morisco property, without regarding what the people might say about having a privilege against confiscation.[980]

At length a compromise was reached. In 1537 the Córtes had suggested a payment to the Inquisition of four hundred ducats{361} per annum in return for Morisco impunity from pecuniary penance, but the Suprema had refused the proposition as inadequate and as a disservice to God.[981] In 1571, negotiations were renewed, resulting in a royal cédula of October 12th, reciting that Inquisitor-general Espinosa had condescended to grant to the Moriscos of Valencia the articles presented by them. These provided that, in consideration of an annual payment of fifty thousand sueldos, or twenty-five hundred ducats, to the tribunal, the property of those contributing to it should be exempt from confiscation. Warning, moreover, was taken from the experience of Aragon, and fines were limited to ten ducats, but the aljamas of the culprits were responsible for their payment. It rested with the aljamas whether or not to come into the arrangement, but so many of them did so that thenceforth it was spoken of commonly as in force throughout Valencia.[982]

This suited the Inquisition as assuring it a settled income; it relieved the Moriscos from the ever-present dread of pauperism and the miseries of sequestration, and it gratified the nobles and churches by securing them from the alienation of their lands and the impoverishment of their vassals. To the rigid churchman, however, it was a compact with evil and an encouragement of heresy. Archbishop Ribera of Valencia protested against it, and Bishop Pérez of Segorbe, in 1595, advocated its revocation, but Philip II resolved that it should continue during the period agreed upon for the instruction of the Moriscos.[983]

The tribunal naturally took care to increase its assured income by exploiting to the fullest its remaining power of inflicting fines, and it did so with little regard to the limitation. In 1595, the aljamas complained of these infractions.[984] That such complaint continued to be justified would appear from the auto de fe of January 7, 1607, alluded to above (Vol. II, p. 395) where there were twenty fines of ten ducats each on Moriscos, of whom only eight were reconciled, besides other fines, one of twenty, one of thirty and one of fifty.{362}

The table in the Appendix shows that, while the activity of the Inquisition seemed to diminish somewhat after the Concordia, towards the close of the century it increased greatly, there being two hundred and ninety-one cases in 1591 and a hundred and seventeen in 1592. The record furnishing these figures ends with 1592 and we have no means of ascertaining the work in the years which immediately follow, but the rigor of persecution continued. In the auto of September 5, 1604, there were twenty-eight abjurations de levi, forty-nine de vehementi, eight reconciliations and two relaxations—all Moriscos, except a Frenchman penanced for blasphemy. In that of January 7, 1607, there appeared thirty-three Moriscos, of whom one was relaxed, besides six whose cases were suspended, and in the trials torture was employed fifteen times.[985] The fluctuations in the number of cases can be accounted for by evidence occasionally enabling the tribunal to make a raid on some Morisco village when, as they were all Moors at heart, the whole community would be gathered in. Thus, in 1589 and 1590 the little settlement of Mislata, near Valencia, furnished a hundred cases and we are told that in the town of Carlet there were two hundred and forty households that observed the fast of Ramadan.[986]

In fact, as the Moorish faith of the Moriscos was notorious, the whole population was at the mercy of the Inquisition, and the comparative moderation shown by the records may perhaps be explained by a system of secret bribery or compositions whereby immunity was purchased. The possibility of this is suggested by a case which throws considerable light upon the manner in which the inquisitorial power was exercised.

The family of Don Cosme, Don Juan and Don Hernando Abenamir of Benaguacil ranked among the first of the old Moors of Valencia; the brothers were rich and influential; they held licences to bear arms, and Inquisitor Miranda had appointed them familiars—a position which they resigned at the instance of the Duke of Segorbe, on whose lands they dwelt, for he said that they had no need of such protection, as they had only to appeal to him if aggrieved. In May, 1567, during the absence of Inquisitor Miranda, the fiscal presented to the other inquisitor, Gerónimo{363} Manrique, a clamosa against the brothers. Their arrest was voted but, in view of the importance of the case, the Suprema was consulted, which confirmed the vote and, on July 1st, the warrants were issued. The accused could not be found; edicts summoning them were published and, on January 12, 1568, Don Cosme presented himself. It is his trial that has been preserved, but presumably the others took the same course, except that Don Hernando’s name disappears towards the end, probably in consequence of death.

At the first audience Don Cosme said that he presumed he had been baptized when a child, yet he did not consider himself a Christian but a Moor; he had through life performed Moorish rites and had gone to confession only to conform with the edicts, but in future he desired to be a Christian and to do whatever the inquisitors might require. He offered no defence in the various stages of his trial, but on July 15th, in consequence of the crowded condition of the secret prison, he was given the city as a prison on furnishing security in two thousand ducats.

Notwithstanding this he visited Madrid where, for seven thousand ducats, he purchased for himself and his brothers a pardon from the king, the inquisitor-general and the Suprema, and he also exercised important influence in securing the Concordia of 1571. His stay in the capital was prolonged when, after an interval of nearly three years, the tribunal suddenly revived his case, May 25, 1571 and, on June 6th, it summoned his bondsmen to produce him within nine days, a term extended to twelve days on their protesting that it was notorious that he was in Madrid, on business with the Suprema. This action brought from the Suprema a curt letter stating that Don Cosme complained that, after compounding his case, it had been revived, and ordering the tribunal to drop the matter and explain its motives. This it did and received from the Suprema a second order to do nothing, but to send the papers and await instructions. Subsequently Don Cosme returned to Valencia and exhibited certificates of the pardons for himself and his brothers to Juan de Rojas, then inquisitor, who told him to go enhorabuena, for they were pardoned and the Inquisition had nothing further to do with them.

Six years passed away when suddenly, without further evidence being sought for, on September 3, 1577, the Suprema returned to the tribunal the papers in the cases of Don Cosme and Don{364} Juan, and ordered it to summon them, examine them, vote on them and report to the Suprema for its decision. Don Cosme by that time seems to have been impoverished, and was supporting himself by farming the revenues at Genoves; after some delay he was brought to the prison, December 24th and his trial was resumed. At first he refused to be examined, alleging his pardon, but it was elaborately explained to him that it was not intended to interfere with it but to render it operative, for which it was necessary for him to abjure his errors and be reconciled, to which end he must make full confession as to himself and his accomplices; if he refused, it would show that he desired to remain in his old errors and under excommunication. After some fencing, he submitted and described how, about the age of twelve, his mother had taught him to perform the zala and fast the Ramadan and to believe in one God; that Santa María was a virgin and holy, but not the Mother of God; that the Lord Jesus Christ was a son of God and prophet of God, who had ever spoken truth, and it was a sin not to believe in what he had uttered, but that Mahomet was also a prophet of God, whose utterances were to be believed; he had also been taught to commit no murder, not to covet his neighbor’s daughter and not to bear false witness—all of which would seem to indicate that there was developing among the Moriscos an intermediate faith which in time would have become Christian had opportunity been allowed. Don Cosme further declared that, since his first arrest, he had always been a Christian and desired to live and die in the faith of Christ; he repeated all the Christian prayers accurately, in both Latin and Romance, and wished that he had been born among Christians, as it would have been better for him, both in body and in soul. This went on, until February 21, 1578, when he was allowed the city as a prison, under bail, and on March 26th he was permitted to return home, keeping himself subject to summons.

Then fifteen months elapsed, until July 17, 1579, his case was voted upon in discordia, requiring its reference to the Suprema which, October 2d, ordered torture at discretion for Don Cosme and Don Juan. Preliminary audiences, however, were prescribed in order that they might discharge their consciences and satisfy the evidence, especially as to accomplices, giving them to understand that this was necessary to enable them to enjoy the pardon of 1571. Under this the trial was resumed, but the record{365} ends before the stage of torture was reached, and the archivist, Don Julio Melgares Marin, who copied it, assumes that the case remained suspended. Probably either the two brothers had succeeded in raising a sum sufficient to satisfy the Suprema, or they were recognized as too poor to be worth further prosecution.[987]

From such a case as this, it can readily be conceived how efficient an instrument was the Inquisition in exciting and perpetuating among the Moriscos an abhorrence of the religion imposed on them by force, and scarce known to them save as an excuse for cruelty and exaction. To some extent this was recognized by the governing powers. After the wise toleration had been discarded, which had rendered the Mudéjares contented subjects, the apostasy of the neophytes was the source of grave concern in the spiritual field, and their known hostility was the cause of even greater disquiet in the sphere of statesmanship. For more than three-quarters of a century it was the subject of a constant series of efforts and experiments, alternating between moderation and severity. With an efficient and honest administration, something might have been accomplished by a consistent policy, but vacillation, incompetence and greed resulted only in increasing exasperation. The story is long and intricate and the barest summary must suffice here to indicate its leading features and the causes of the failure to assimilate the races, on which depended the peace and prosperity of Spain. We have seen the mistaken policy adopted in Granada; in Valencia it was less unreasonable in spirit, but failed miserably in execution.

After the Germanía and the edict of 1525, some futile attempts were made at missionary work among the so-called converts, but the situation, in 1526, is correctly described by Navigero, the Venetian envoy, who says that there was so little care about teaching them, priestly gains being the main object, that they either were as much Moors as before or had no religion of any kind.[988] It was self-evident that to Christianize a large population, scattered over the land, for the most part in exclusive communities, would require a complete organization of parish churches with schools and all the necessary appliances. A basis for this existed in the property of the mosques, which Clement VII, in 1524, had ordered{366} to be converted into churches, and in the tithes, which were now imposed as a fresh burden upon the converts. These were spoils which all, who saw a chance for gain, hastened to grasp. To recompense the lords for the expected loss of tribute from their vassals, who were promised to be treated in all things like Christians, the tithes were made over to them, in return for which they were to provide the churches with what was requisite for divine service, while the revenues of the mosques were expected to furnish foundations for benefices, the patronage of which was given to the lords. For this, as we have seen, the requisite papal authority was procured, but the measure was attacked in innumerable suits, some of which were carried up to the Roman Rota, with the consequent interminable delays.[989] In some fashion, two hundred and thirteen mosques were converted into churches in the archbishopric of Valencia, fourteen in the see of Tortosa, ten in Segorbe and fourteen in Orihuela, but the object kept in view was the revenues, and not the religious training of the Moriscos.[990]

Nearly ten years passed away with nothing accomplished. A thorough reorganization was seen to be necessary, and papal faculties were obtained empowering Cardinal Manrique to provide persons to instruct the converts, to erect and unite churches, to appoint and dismiss priests, to regulate tithes and to decide summarily all the suits that were expected from archbishops, bishops, chapters, abbeys, priests and secular lords, thus rendering him and his delegates independent of the bishops who thus far had done nothing.[991] Under this, in 1534, Manrique despatched commissioners with detailed instructions, including provisions to be made for a college to be founded for the instruction of Morisco children, who should in turn instruct their parents.[992] The scheme, however, though well intended, was wrecked on the money-question which, to the end, proved an obstacle frustrating all intelligent work in conversion. The revenues of the mosques, the tithes and first-fruits seem to disappear—swallowed up by noble and prelate and, although they derived their incomes in great part from the labor of the Moriscos, it seemed impossible to wring from them what was necessary to support the new establishment. In 1544, St. Thomas of Vilanova, then Archbishop of Valencia, urged the{367} emperor to place zealous and exemplary rectors in the Morisco villages, with ample salaries to enable them to distribute alms, but it does not seem to have occurred to him that this was part of his duty and that of the Church.[993]

Manrique’s commissioners established a hundred and ninety rectories, endowed with the beggarly stipend of thirty crowns a year. It was impossible to find suitable priests for such livings, and the complaint was general that they were, for the most part, ignorant and depraved, creating repulsion rather than attraction to the religion which they assumed to teach. Many were non-resident and neglected their duties entirely, or found vicars at still lower salaries to replace them. There was no one to inspect them or keep them in order. A pension of two thousand ducats a year had been levied on the archbishopric of Valencia, to maintain the projected college for Morisco youths, but two-thirds of this was diverted to the support of the rectories and the rest was made up from various sources, not always adequate, for some holders of benefices refused to pay the moderate assessments made on them.[994]

It was in vain that one effort after another was made to remedy these deficiencies. The indifference of the ecclesiastical authorities, or their opposition when asked for funds, paralyzed every plan devised. In 1564, the Córtes of Monzon pointed out the failure of all attempts to instruct the converts, who were punished for their ignorance, and they made some remedial suggestions. Philip in response assembled a junta under the presidency of Valdés, the conclusions of which were embodied in a royal cédula. This confided the instruction of the Moriscos to the bishops in their several dioceses, who were to appoint proper persons and keep them under supervision, treating the neophytes with the utmost kindness, rewarding the good according to their deserts, and appointing the more prominent among them to familiarships. Archbishop Ayala, on his return from this junta, called a provincial council, but the bishops took no action to carry out the provisions of the cédula, contenting themselves with inflicting heavy fines on those who did not have their children baptized at birth in the best clothes that they could afford; on alfaquíes who visited the sick, and on secular officials who neglected to denounce Moorish observances. The pious hope was expressed that, by compelling{368} them to attend mass on Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and All Saints, they might be attracted to Christian worship, and their salvation was cared for by ordering them on the death-bed to give something for the benefit of their souls, in default of which the heirs must at least have three masses sung for them.[995]

This was the spirit in which the prelates conceived their duties towards those whom clerical pressure had made their spiritual children, and to whom they owed great part of their revenues. Juan de Ribera who, in 1568, succeeded to the archbishopric of Valencia was a man of different stamp. He preferred the radical cure of expulsion but, so long as the Moriscos remained, he recognized the duty of laboring for their conversion. In 1575 he held a conference with the Bishops of Tortosa and Orihuela (Segorbe being vacant), when it was agreed that the rectorial stipends were inadequate, as there were no offerings at the altar, which led many to abandon their cures, while those who would accept the position were mostly unfitted, through ignorance and character. It was therefore resolved to increase the stipends to a hundred crowns. The king made a contribution, and a sum of seven thousand ducats per annum (or 7350 libras) was assessed on the bishops and those who enjoyed the tithes of the Moriscos. Ribera’s share of this was thirty-six hundred ducats, levied on the income of his “table,” which was forty thousand ducats, so that the assessment was 9 per cent. The rest fell upon ecclesiastics, except a negligible amount to be paid by five laymen. A brief of June 16, 1576, was obtained from Gregory XIII confirming this arrangement, and Ribera punctually paid his portion into the taula or bank of Valencia, but the other churchmen were recalcitrant. The share of his cathedral chapter was eight hundred libras a year, which it not only refused to pay but organized a league to contest the whole measure; the procrastinating resources of litigation were limitless and, in 1597, Philip sent to Valencia the Licentiate Covarrubias to settle the matter if possible. For three years he labored, and finally induced the chapter to obey the papal brief, but on some pretext it refused to abide by the agreement and the litigation continued. The chapter of Segorbe, although its portion was only seventy libras a year, threatened to raise a tumult if it was forced to pay, and sent its treasurer to Rome to work for{369} the revocation of the brief; in 1604 it procured an inhibition on the execution of the brief, but finally, in 1606, the matter was decided against the chapters. By this time their arrearages amounted to a hundred and fifty thousand crowns, which Philip III forgave them and, for the few remaining years they paid their assessments. Meanwhile, Ribera’s contribution had gone on accumulating with interest until it amounted to 157,482 libras 13 s., 11 d. Of this about thirty-two thousand libras had been expended on the rectories; in 1602, sixty thousand were devoted to the college for Morisco youths and, in 1606, thirty-one thousand were given to endow a girl’s college; part went for expenses and, in 1607, a balance of over thirteen thousand was given to the Collegiate Seminary of Corpus Christi which he had founded.[996] Thus this well-intended plan came to naught, like all other attempts, through the covetousness and indifference of those whose duty and interests alike demanded their earnest co-operation.

What might have been accomplished by zealous Christian prelates can be gathered from the experience of Feliciano de Figueroa, Bishop of Segorbe. He had long been Ribera’s secretary and was thoroughly familiar with the question. Promoted to the see of Segorbe, in 1599, he writes, in 1601, that there were twenty Morisco villages in his diocese; at his own cost he put resident rectors in them, with doctrineros, or religious teachers, and twelve preachers, supervising the whole work himself. Already he reports a notable reformation in the adults, while the children manifested affection and readiness to embrace the faith; moreover, during the past forty years, many Moorish ceremonies had fallen into disuse. Again, in 1604, he describes his continued labors without discouragement, although he complains of the obstacles thrown in his way by the secular authorities, who aided the alfaquíes in opposing his efforts.[997]

This alludes to a serious difficulty which aided in bringing about the catastrophe. The lords of Morisco vassals were actuated by the most purely selfish motives. Exploiting their dependents to the utmost, they feared that, if the latter became Christians in fact as well as in name, they would be unable to extort the imposts and tribute which they exacted almost at discretion, for the Moriscos were helpless and defenceless, and the pledges that they should{370} be treated as Christians were forgotten. The lords therefore discouraged all missionary work and, as far as they could, protected their vassals against the Inquisition. When the latter obtained evidence of this interference with conversion, it did not hesitate to prosecute the highest nobles. In 1570 it condemned Don Sancho de Cardona, Admiral of Aragon, to abjure de levi, to a fine of two thousand ducats and to reclusion in a convent at the pleasure of the Suprema—reclusion which proved perpetual, for he died in the convent of his confinement. He deserved much more if the testimony was true which asserted that he advised his vassals to appeal to the king, to the pope, and finally to the Grand Turk to induce him to threaten to persecute the Christians in his dominions if the Moriscos were not left in peace, and further that he advised them to rise and promised to arm them if they would do so. This was not the only case for, in 1571 the Master of Montesa and two other nobles appeared in an auto for the same offence and, in 1578, two others were the subjects of investigation.[998] The lords further made themselves obnoxious by seeking to protect their vassals from the ceaseless exactions of the alguaziles set over them to see that they attended mass regularly, and to fine those who did not, or who worked on feast-days. These gentry were paid by a half or a third of their collections; their position was not enviable, threatened as they were both by the lords and the Moriscos in the remoter districts, and it was impossible to fill the position with men of fitting character.[999]

These spasmodic and fruitless efforts to convert the so-called converts were accompanied with frequent relaxations of the rigid canons against heresy, interesting because they infer a dim conception that toleration, after all, might be a more practical method of winning human souls than oppression and persecution. Unfortunately, this fluctuating policy was the most irrational that could be devised. The Moriscos had been so sedulously taught to abhor Christianity and to distrust their conquerors that leniency could be regarded only as dictated by fear, and as affording licence to follow more undisguisedly the practices of their ancient faith, while the alternations of severity only increased their hatred of the religion of their oppressors.{371}

Edicts of Grace were the favorite resort when there was a disposition to show moderation, but these, as we have seen, were, for the most part, nugatory, because they were contingent on recorded confessions and the obligation to denounce accomplices. The recorded confession rendered the penitent liable to the terrible penalties of relapse and, as the latter was sure to occur, the Morisco naturally hesitated to incur the liability. To obviate this objection, the unprecedented concession was made of suspending the canons concerning relapse. This could be done only by papal authority and it was repeatedly tried. The earliest instance seems to be a brief of Clement VII, December 5, 1530, empowering Manrique to appoint confessors with faculties to absolve penitents, even if they had relapsed repeatedly, with secret absolution and penance, and to release them and their descendants from all penalties, disabilities and confiscation, the reason alleged for this liberal condonation of apostasy being the lack of priests in the Morisco districts to instruct the converts in the faith. It was not, however, until 1535 that Manrique transmitted this to the Valencia tribunal with orders to execute it, and even then it does not seem to have exercised much influence on the number of trials, though if honestly put into operation it would have superseded them.[1000] This policy continued to be followed spasmodically and grants exonerating from the penalties of relapse were repeatedly made during the rest of the century.[1001]

There was also, in the Edicts of Grace, the necessity of denouncing accomplices, which the Moriscos, to their credit, could rarely persuade themselves to do. Bishop Figueroa of Segorbe pointed this out to Philip III as a matter of supreme importance, as it required them to accuse their parents, their wives and their children, which even the secular laws pretermitted as a matter so horrible to human nature.[1002] Still it was required by the canon law, and could not be omitted without special papal authority. Philip II was so convinced of its impolicy that, when a crucial effort was to be made to test whether the Moriscos could be converted, as an alternative to expulsion, by an Edict of Grace on the most{372} favorable terms, he endeavored to have this condition removed, but Clement VIII, as we have seen (Vol. II, p. 462) while granting, in 1597, an edict covering relapse and conceding that confession could be made to the episcopal Ordinaries, insisted that confession must include full denunciation of the apostasy of others.[1003]

Various causes delayed the publication of the edict until 1599, after Philip III had succeeded to the throne. Great preparations were made for it as for a final experiment; rectors, preachers and commissioners were sent through the land, under detailed instructions from Ribera, who told them that the work was difficult but not impossible; Ribera’s fund was drawn upon for the colleges; the barons were to found schools for the instruction of young children, and a hermandad was organized to place girls in convents or in the families of Old Christians.[1004] The edict was duly published in Valencia, August 22, 1599; its term was for only one year, but it was extended to eighteen months. Philip III eagerly awaited the result, which was conveyed to him in a report of August 22, 1601, by the tribunal. During the eighteen months of the edict, the inquisitors said, only thirteen persons had come forward to take advantage of it and these had made such fictitious confessions, and had so protected their accomplices, that they deserved condemnation rather than absolution; some of them, indeed, had already been denounced to the Inquisition, so that they had evidently been impelled by fear rather than by the desire of conversion. The inquisitors went on to describe the Moriscos as Moors who would always be Moors and, if the Inquisition did not convert them, it at least compelled them to sin with less publicity and thus diminished their evil example.[1005] This failure may be regarded as virtually deciding the fate of the Moriscos. Archbishop Ribera emphasized it in two strong memorials addressed to Philip III, and expulsion came to be recognized as the only solution of the situation, although the vacillation and irresolution of the court postponed for some years the execution of the measure.

A glance at the tables in the Appendix will show how little influence the successive Edicts of Grace had on the operations of the Inquisition, which reaped its harvests irrespective of them. Yet{373} those tables reveal that, between 1540 and 1563, there were periods during which the tribunal was idle, at least as to cases of heresy. These intervals represent some remarkable efforts to try the effect of moderation, which, although neutralized by lack of coöperative work in winning over the converts, merit examination as measures without example in the career of the Spanish Holy Office.

The nobles of Valencia complained forcibly of the disquiet caused among their vassals by the operations of the Inquisition, and the Córtes petitioned that thirty or forty years might be allowed for their instruction during which they should be exempt from prosecution. Charles assembled a junta of prelates and theologians, which suggested various plans of moderation and conciliation, from among which he selected that of granting a term of grace for past offences, allowing them to confess sacramentally to confessors, and that a period should be provided for their instruction, during which the Inquisition should not prosecute them. This period was liberally fixed at twenty-six years, with the warning that, as they should use or abuse it, it would be extended or shortened. We have seen the failure to provide them with churches and instructors, and it is scarce surprising that they commenced to live openly as Moors, saying that, as they had thirty years in which to do as they pleased, they would take full advantage of it.[1006] This could not be permitted, and the effort to convert by toleration came to a speedy end. The tribunal which had no cases in 1541, 1542 and 1543 resumed operations and had 79, 37 and 49 in 1544, 1545 and 1546—a portion of which, however were undoubtedly the Judaizers prosecuted for revoking confessions (Vol. II, p. 584).

Then, in 1547, came a reversion to a milder policy. A brief dated August 2, 1546, was obtained from Paul III, of so liberal a character that it virtually superseded the Inquisition, by granting faculties to appoint confessors with full power to absolve in utroque foro—both sacramentally and judicially—even those who had been condemned by the Inquisition, and to relieve them and their descendants from all disabilities.[1007] Unfortunately the faculty to appoint confessors was conferred on Antonio Ramírez de Haro, who had for some years been acting as “apostolic commissioner{374}” in Valencia, with extensive powers over everything relating to the Moriscos, but he had, in 1545, left Valencia, on a summons, as Bishop of Segovia, to attend the Council of Trent—from which summons he succeeded in getting himself excused—and had not subdelegated his authority. According to the Archbishop St. Thomas of Vilanova, this made little difference, because the brief was ineffective, inasmuch as it required abjuration de vehementi, entailing relaxation for relapse, to which none of the converts would expose themselves. He, therefore, suggested that more extensive faculties should be obtained, to absolve and pardon without legal forms, seeing that these people had been forcibly converted, that they had never been instructed, and that their intercourse with Barbary indisposed them to Christianity.[1008]

What followed is strikingly illustrative of the procrastination and neglect that rendered Spanish administration so ineffective. The commission of the Bishop of Segovia superseded both the inquisitorial and the episcopal jurisdiction, and his absence left everything in confusion. Archbishop Thomas wrote, April 12, 1547, to Prince Philip that, since the bishop had gone, the Moriscos had daily become bolder in performing their Moorish ceremonies, as there was no one to restrain them; the bishop had left no one to represent him, and no time should be lost in getting him to subdelegate some one who could come at once. Promises were made that a person should shortly be sent, but the habitual mañana postponed it indefinitely. On November 10th, the archbishop again represented the complete liberty enjoyed by the Conversos, with no one empowered to correct them, but his representations were neglected and, in 1551 and 1552, he was still calling for some one authorized to keep the Moriscos in order. Even when, in 1551, the Bishop of Segovia, who still retained his commission, appointed the Inquisitor Gregorio de Miranda as a delegated commissioner, he granted him no inquisitorial power, and the Valencia Moriscos remained, for ten years longer, free from persecution.[1009]

This anomalous condition explains why the tables show only a few cases in 1547, 1548 and 1549, and then an entire cessation up to and including 1562, the former being probably the unfinished work of previous years. In 1561, Paul IV empowered{375} Valdés to grant faculties to the Archbishop of Valencia and his Ordinary to reconcile secretly the New Christians: in those cases which could be judicially proved, the confessions were to be made before a notary and delivered to the tribunal, where they remained of record against both the penitent and his accomplices, while in cases that could not be proved, the penances were to be purely spiritual.[1010] This fresh experiment indicates a revival of interest in the Morisco question, to be necessarily followed by a return to the old methods. In 1562, accordingly, the tribunal began to act in Teruel, where the town of Xea had the reputation of an asylum for malefactors; it was exclusively Morisco, no Old Christian being permitted to reside there. Finally, all restrictions were removed and, in 1563, the Inquisition was vigorously at work, with sixty-two cases, and held two autos, in which appeared nine cases from Xea.[1011] After that there was no further interference with its functions, and it continued to the end to contribute its share to rendering Christianity odious. What Archbishop Ayala thought of its influence in this direction is indicated by his offer, in 1564, to undertake the instruction of the Moriscos at his own expense, but only on condition that the Inquisition should have nothing to do with them, except in cases of open and defiant sin.[1012]

Even without the aggravation of the Inquisition, the condition of the Moriscos was deplorable. They had been promised, in return for baptism, that they should have all the privileges of Christians, but this, like all other pledges, was made only to be broken. Enforced conversion had added to their burdens and had brought no compensatory relief—they were Christians as regards duties and responsibilities, but they remained Moors in respect to liabilities and inequality before the law. In 1525 the syndics of the aljamas pointed out that, in order to enjoy their religion, they had been subjected by their lords to many imposts and servitudes which they could not render as Christians, for they would not be allowed to work on Sundays and feast-days, wherefore they asked to be taxed only as Christians. To this it was replied,{376} in the Concordia of 1528, that they should be treated as Christians and that, to avoid injury to parties, investigation should be made to prevent injustice. Their lords, however, did not admit this and, in the same year, the Córtes of Valencia declared that they retained all their rights over their vassals, who were forbidden to change their domiciles.[1013] The lords accepted the tithes and the first-fruits as a compensation, but merely added these fresh burdens on their vassals, who were powerless to resist.

Charles recognized this injustice and his responsibility for it, but he dared not raise a conflict with the nobles, and he sought to shield himself behind the awful authority of the Inquisition. He therefore procured from Clement VII, July 15, 1531, a remarkable brief reciting that, when the Saracens were converted, the barons and knights, in compensation for the loss inflicted on them, were empowered to exact from their vassals the tithes and first-fruits, but they have not only enjoyed these new imposts but have continued to extort the personal services and açofras[1014] and other demands of the ante-conversion period. Thus the converts, unable to endure these accumulated burdens, allege them as justifying their retaining their old customs and disregarding the Christian feasts and ceremonies. As Charles had asked him for a remedy, and as he knew nothing of the matter, he committed it to Manrique with power to hear complaints and render justice, enforcing his decisions with censures.[1015] The rôle of protector of the Moriscos was novel for the Inquisition and Manrique kept the brief until January, 1534, when, in sending Fray Antonio de Calcena and Antonio Ramírez de Haro as commissioners to organize the Morisco churches, he informed them that the king ordered the Concordia to be enforced; the New Christians were in all things to be treated like the Old; they were to investigate secretly and report whether this was the case.[1016] Apparently the Inquisition shrank from the unaccustomed task; there is no trace of its intervention in behalf of the oppressed Moriscos, and its only prosecutions of the nobles were for favoring their vassals against its persecution. As for{377} the Córtes, their sole efforts were directed to increase the burdens of the vassals and, in case of their condemnation, to profit by the confiscations.

Thus they were mercilessly pillaged. Besides the division of the crops, of which one-third or one-half went to the lord, and besides the tithes and first-fruits, there were innumerable imposts of all kinds and forced loans or benevolences. In 1561, one of the numerous consultas on the Morisco question alludes to the hardship of forcing them to live like Christians and pay like Moors. The king, it added, ought to relieve them from these unjust impositions, but it would throw the whole kingdom into confusion and impede the work of conversion, so the commissioners ought to see how it could be brought about that they should pay no more than the Christians. This continued to the end. In 1608, Padre Antonio Sobrino, S. J., argued that one of the chief obstacles to conversion was the tyranny of the lords and, in addition to the exactions in money and kind, he alludes to the forced labors imposed on them, on meagre wages and still more meagre food, or frequently with no wages.[1017] In fact, they were virtually taillables et corvéables à miséricorde, and their oppression was tempered only by the ever-present apprehension of rebellion and, in the coast districts, by the facilities of escape to Africa. Even their ecclesiastical persecutors were almost moved to pity by the hopeless misery of their lot, but we are told that there was no compassion felt for this, as it was generally deemed advisable to keep them impoverished and in subjection.[1018]

The control of the lords over their vassals was further safe-guarded by a pragmática of Charles V, in 1541, forbidding the Moriscos of Valencia, under pain of death and confiscation, from changing either domicile or lord, and any one accepting them as vassals, without special royal licence, was fined five hundred florins, or was scourged in default of the money. Granadan and Castilian Moriscos were threatened with death for entering Valencia and this, in 1545, was extended to those of Aragon. This ferocious legislation was repeated in 1563 and 1586.[1019]

{378}

Akin to this was the suicidal policy of forbidding the emigration of those who were recognized as dangerous domestic enemies. This, as we have seen, was begun by Ferdinand and Isabella and was rigidly persisted in—partly, no doubt, from a pious scruple of allowing the baptized to apostatize in Barbary, and partly to protect the lords from the loss of their vassals. In time this was enforced in Aragon by the Inquisition, which published edicts to that effect, including the guidance over the mountains of emigrants by Christians. In the auto of June 6, 1585, the tribunal punished two who were seeking to leave the country and two who served as guides, with scourging and the galleys for three men and scourging and imprisonment for a woman.[1020] Not only was this a grievous hardship, by depriving the oppressed of all hope of relief, but it was a fatal error for, if the discontented had been allowed to expatriate themselves, the remainder could have commanded better treatment, and the Morisco question which, for half a century, distracted Spanish statesmanship, might have settled itself without the desperate expedient of expulsion.

Disarmament was another precaution entailing a grievance which was keenly felt. We have seen it in Granada, and that in Valencia it was a prudent preliminary to enforced baptism in 1525. In the Concordia of 1528, the Moriscos asked that their arms be restored to them, and were told that they would be treated as Old Christians. This promise, like the rest, was broken. The pragmática of 1541, among its other restrictions, included that of bearing arms. This was not enforced and, in 1545, orders were sent to carry it into effect, but the methods suggested show that it was regarded as a dangerous business, and the purpose was abandoned. In 1552, St. Thomas of Vilanova urged that it should be done, and so did Inquisitor Miranda in 1561. Finally, in 1563, the work was done by a sudden simultaneous action of the lords, when the inventories compiled show that, in 16,377 Morisco houses, there were seized 14,930 swords, 3,454 cross-bows and a long list of other weapons, indicating how industriously the Moriscos had provided themselves.[1021]

{379}

In Aragon, the matter was confided to the Inquisition. The tribunal of Saragossa issued a decree, November 4, 1559, forbidding the Moriscos from carrying arms, but the nobles appealed to the Suprema and procured its indefinite suspension.[1022] The question was revived, in 1590, but a quarrel with the archbishop on a point of precedence delayed its consideration, and then the troubles of Antonio Pérez distracted attention. Finally, in 1593, Philip II ordered the disarmament, the execution of which was entrusted to the tribunal. Two inquisitors traversed the land and collected 7,076 swords, 3,783 arquebuses, 489 cross-bows, 1,356 pikes, lances and halberds and large numbers of other weapons. Knives were permitted, but these increased in size until they became formidable; after two or three officials of the Inquisition had been killed with them when making arrests, a royal edict of 1603 limited them to a third of an ell in length and required them to be pointless.[1023] The result of these precautions was seen when the edict of expulsion was enforced and the desperate wretches who essayed a hopeless resistance were slaughtered.

The growth of the absurd cult of limpieza brought another hardship of no little moment. At first there was a disposition to exempt Moriscos from its exclusiveness. When, in 1565, Philip II was trying conciliation he ordered that leading and influential Moriscos should be appointed as familiars, and we have seen that Inquisitor Miranda gave commissions to the brothers Abenamir. Paul IV forbade admission to holy orders to the descendants of Jews to the fourth generation and, in 1573, Gregory XIII extended this to the Moriscos, but the Córtes of Monzon, in 1564, had decreed that those trained in the Morisco college of Valencia should be allowed to hold benefices and the cure of souls among their people, and we are told that it graduated some good priests and preachers and doctors of theology.[1024] Yet in time the exclusion became general, and throughout Spain no distinction was made between descendants of Jews and Mudéjares. In a land where a career in office, secular or ecclesiastical, was the ambition of every man who had a smattering of education, this barrier condemned to obscurity{380} able men who naturally devoted their energies to stimulating disaffection and provoking revolt. Navarrete, as we have seen, even thinks that the necessity of the expulsion would have been averted but for this; that the Moriscos could have been Christianized, if they had had the opportunity to identify themselves with the nation and to share in its public life, in place of being driven to desperation and to hatred of religion by the indelible stigma imposed upon them.[1025]

The baptism of Morisco children furnished a perpetual source of irritation. Rigid regulations were prescribed to ensure the administration of the sacrament, as it was essential to their salvation and to rendering them subject to inquisitorial jurisdiction. No Morisco woman was allowed to act as midwife, but in every village there was a Christian midwife, carefully selected and instructed. She kept watch on all pregnant women, under a fine of a hundred reales for every case she missed. After putting the infant to the breast, her first duty was to notify the priest and alguazil, after which she was not to leave the bed-side save for indispensable household duties. The baptism was performed the same day or the next, and careful registers were kept, so that identification could be secured. There is doubtless truth in the universal assertion that, on returning home, the father scraped and washed the spots touched by the chrism, in the belief that he thereby effaced the sacrament.[1026]

Marriage was the source of infinite trouble. The Church had prohibited unions within the fourth degree of kinship and, by inventing spiritual affinity, it had complicated and enlarged the incestuous area while, by assuming for the pope the profitable power of selling dispensations, it admitted that the restriction was purely artificial. Among the Moors, marriage between first cousins was permitted and, as the Moriscos dwelt confined in their Morerías, or in small, isolated villages, without power to change domicile, intermarriage throughout generations had created such complexity of relationship that unions lawful under the canon law must have been exceptional. We have seen the question raised in the Concordia of 1528, with the result that existing marriages and betrothals were dispensed for, but that future ones{381} must conform to the canons. This was a virtual impossibility; the rectors sought to make their subjects purchase dispensations, but we are told that they rarely did so; that, in some places, they merely told the lord that the parties were of kin and that, if he made no objection, the marriage would take place—an indifference for which more than one noble was prosecuted and publicly penanced.[1027] Under such circumstances, there could have been no Christian marriage-rites, and the union was legally pure concubinage, or at best clandestine marriage, which the Council of Trent, in 1563, pronounced invalid.[1028] It was probably the conciliar definitions that induced the Córtes of Monzon, in 1564, to petition that facilities should be afforded for obtaining dispensations from the Commissioner of the Santa Cruzada, who possessed the requisite faculties, and further that the offspring of such unions should be legally legitimate. To this not unreasonable request the bishops of the Council of Valencia, in 1565, replied by threatening excommunication and other penalties on all marrying within the prohibited degrees, and on all concerned in evasions of the canons.[1029]

The matter was universally admitted to be of supreme importance, but it was treated with the customary negligence and procrastination. At length, in 1587, Philip II represented it to Sixtus V, but he only obtained a brief, January 25, 1588, granting to the Valencia bishops, for six months only, faculties to validate such marriages, legitimate the children and absolve the parents in utroque foro, with salutary penance, for all of which no fees were to be exacted. It is not likely that the officials took much interest in performing this gratuitous labor, or that the Moriscos, even if they chanced to hear of the brief, exposed themselves to the annoyances which it entailed. The last recorded action in the matter is that Philip, in 1595, resolved to apply for another brief of the same nature. He doubtless obtained it with the same nugatory result.[1030]

The Moorish rule, to eat no meat slaughtered by the uncircumcised, was made the pretext for some troublesome intermeddling. In the Granada decree of 1526, Charles V forbade all slaughtering by Moriscos, in places where there was an Old Christian; where{382} there was none, the priest was to designate a person to perform the office.[1031] Little attention appears to have been paid to the matter, until Archbishop Ribera issued an edict prohibiting Moriscos from eating meat that had not been slaughtered by an Old Christian. This was trespassing on the jurisdiction of the Inquisition and, in 1579, the Suprema called upon the Valencia tribunal for a report, including what Bishop Gallo of Orihuela had done with regard to the same matter. The tribunal replied that the edict was obeyed, but that the Moriscos would eat no meat slaughtered by Old Christians, except in a few places, under compulsion by their lords. The edict ought to be perpetuated, for the refusal to eat the meat of a Christian butcher was proof of suspicion, requiring prosecution by the Inquisition. In Orihuela there was doubt whether a cow killed at Aspe had been properly slaughtered; the Moriscos refused to eat of it, for which the Murcia tribunal punished a number of them, leading Bishop Gallo to order that, at Aspe and Nobelda, the butchering should be done by Old Christians. It was probably this which led to general legislation forbidding Moriscos to follow the trade of butchers, or even to kill a fowl for a sick man, a law repeated as late as 1595.[1032]

Subjected to the perpetual exasperation of interference with their habits and customs, to the oppression of their lords and the persecution of the Inquisition, denied all opportunity to rise in the social scale, forbidden to enjoy the faith of their ancestors, while sedulously trained to hate the religion imposed on them, and despairing of relief in the future, it is no wonder that the Moriscos were discontented subjects, eager to throw off the insupportable yoke and to rise against their oppressors. They were, however, but little more than half a million of souls, weaponless and untrained, in a population of eight or ten millions—a negligible quantity in the vigorous days of Ferdinand and even in the earlier years of Charles V. The Spanish monarchy, however, had squandered its strength on distant enterprises; even before the fearful drain in the Netherlands, the exhaustive effort required to crush the Moriscos of Granada showed that it was already{383} bankrupt in resources. That episode was a warning which Spanish statesmanship might well take to heart, and, year by year, the fear grew greater of what might be the fate of Spain if internal enemies should unite with external.

There had long been a source of humiliation and annoyance, though not in itself of danger, in the ravages of Moorish corsairs along the southern coast, for which the Moriscos were held responsible. Undoubtedly they aided by conveying information, maintaining relations with Barbary, and availing themselves of the razzias to escape thither when they could, but the primary fault lay in the incredible fatuity of a policy, so preoccupied with foreign ambitions and the fatal Burgundian inheritance, that it neglected the protection of the Spanish shores, until it became a proverb that these were the Indies of the Turkish and Moorish sea-rovers.

Complaints of these ravages commence with the Christianization of Granada and continue uninterruptedly for more than a century, while the measures to guard against these attacks were spasmodic and miserably insufficient. Boronat gives a list of thirty-three descents, between 1528 and 1584, but this cannot include the innumerable landings from small vessels to carry away bands of Moriscos and such pillage as could hastily be gathered—little raids such as that picturesquely described by Cervantes, with its characteristic feature of the fortified church, in which the Christians of the sea-coast village defended themselves, while the Moriscos eagerly hurried to embark.[1033] In the larger expeditions, the Moriscos sometimes escaped in considerable numbers. In 1559, Dragut carried off twenty-five hundred; in 1570, all those of Palmera were taken; in 1584, an Algerine fleet removed twenty-three hundred, and the next year another fleet took away the whole population of Callosa, all of which was exceedingly damaging to the lords who lost their vassals.[1034]

These raids were practically unresisted and unavenged, for the coasts were unguarded by land or sea. Occasionally, as in 1519, we hear of a few hundred troops sent, when news was received of an expected hostile fleet: sometimes there were negotiations between the central government and the exposed provinces to maintain{384} a force on the water, but the inadequacy of these precautions is illustrated by the bargaining in 1547, when the Catalan Córtes complained of the irreparable damage inflicted by the Moorish corsairs and asked that six of the Castilian galleys be sent to winter there. Prince Philip would only promise that he would do what was suitable, which brought an offer that Catalonia would equip and man one galley while Valencia promised one or two, and Philip acceded to the request that the Castilian galleys should coöperate with them.[1035] Another expedient was based on the assumed collusion of the Moriscos with the corsairs, and it seemed easier to exclude them wholly from the coast than to guard it effectually. As early as 1507 Ferdinand undertook to depopulate it from Gibraltar to Almería, but the experiment proved a failure.[1036] It was tried again repeatedly, in various savage laws to prevent Moriscos from travelling within prescribed distances from the sea, and from holding communication with the corsairs, but this naturally effected nothing.[1037] In 1604, the Córtes of Valencia even proposed to enlist the coöperation of the Moriscos, by suggesting that they should redeem all Christians captured and enslaved on the Valencian coast, in return for which the rigor of the Inquisition should be relaxed and their evidence against each other should not be required, but it is needless to say that the plan was rejected.[1038]

While this matter of the corsairs was comparatively trivial in itself, it bore a disproportionately large share in the discussions on the Morisco question, and undoubtedly had its influence on the final decision. The result, indeed, showed that there was a connection between the Moriscos and the corsairs, for one of the benefits derived from the expulsion was relief to the coasts.[1039] Vastly greater, however, in the eyes of statesmen, was the impending danger of rebellion, coincident with attack from Barbary or from the Turk or, in later years, from France.

Even as early as 1512, Peter Martyr, in describing the disturbed{385} condition of Granada, declared that if some daring pirate leader should march into the interior, the population would rise and, as Ferdinand was occupied with the conquest of Navarre, all would go to ruin.[1040] In 1519, there was a scare in Valencia over a report that the Moors of Algiers were coming to seize the kingdom, in concert with the Moriscos.[1041] It is somewhat remarkable that, when a conspiracy was discovered in 1528, the eagerness of the Valencia tribunal to defend its jurisdiction actually led it to protect the conspirators. The authorities had arrested Pere de Alba and his mother-in-law Isabel, as the leaders of the plot. The tribunal claimed them as apostates and, when they were sent to it for examination, it threw them into its prison and refused to surrender them, although the viceroy demanded them as essential to unravelling the details of the conspiracy. Cardinal Manrique was obliged to despatch a special courier with a letter expressing his surprise, as the safety of the state was the first consideration, but even then the tribunal only gave them up with a warning that they must not be made to suffer in life or limb.[1042]

When Philip II returned to Spain, in 1559, he called for a report on the Moriscos, and the information submitted to him comprised an account of a plot with the Turks for an invasion.[1043] In 1565, a number of arrests were made on charges of treasonable correspondence with the Turk, and it was public rumor that thirty thousand Moriscos were enrolled, awaiting only the capture of Malta to rise in aid of an invasion. The French ambassador, who reported this, subsequently added that the story of the conspiracy was contradicted, but the Moriscos were so badly treated by the Inquisition that despair might readily lead them to rise in arms to aid the Turk.[1044] In 1567, the trial of Gerónimo Roldan, by the Valencia tribunal, revealed evidence of envoys from the ruler of Algiers with a letter urging the Moriscos to rise, together with plans to organize and arm them.[1045] It is true that the rebellion of Granada showed that there was no such eagerness to invade Spain as was apprehended, but, on the other hand if, with the aid of five or six hundred Moors and Turks, the insurgents{386} had taxed to the utmost the power of the kingdom, what was the prospect if a powerful fleet, holding command of the sea, should land a heavy force of trained and well-armed fighting men? During the rebellion, the Venetian envoy, Sigismondo Cavalli, pointed out that assistance from Barbary would involve the kingdom in the greatest straits, for there were about six hundred thousand Moriscos to help an invader. So, in 1575, Lorenzo Priuli, estimating them at four hundred thousand, described them as the source of perpetual danger.[1046] The peril constantly increased with time. It was universally recognized that, through the drain to the colonies, the external wars, and the growth of the celibate clergy, the Old Christians were constantly diminishing in numbers, while the Moriscos were rapidly increasing; the material and especially the military resources of Spain were becoming gradually exhausted, and Spanish statesmen looked forward anxiously to the time when, as Fray Bleda tells us, the Moriscos hoped eventually, to reconquer the land with the aid of the Moors and Turks.[1047]

Nor was this all for, with the pacification of France under the able control of Henry IV, there loomed before them a new and more dangerous enemy. Henry had a long debt of vengeance to pay, and was but awaiting his opportunity. He was in alliance with the Turk and had no conscientious scruple as to Moslem aid. Even as early as 1583, while as yet he was only King of Navarre, there was a scare over an asserted combination between him and the Turk, for an invasion in combination with the Moriscos, which led the Suprema, in January, 1584, to order from the Saragossa tribunal a report on all the evidence in the records as to plots for rebellion.[1048] This was furnished in detail and shows the incessant vigilance and constant anxieties, since 1565, to which the disaffection of the Moriscos had given rise, and their correspondence not only with the Barbary States and the Turk, but with the French Huguenots. A portion of the evidence was undoubtedly manufactured by the spies in the pay of the Inquisition, but there was enough of genuine to show that plots and intrigues were constantly on foot among the Moriscos. Henry{387} IV was quite ready to utilize their disaffection in furtherance of his plans for the overthrow of the Spanish monarchy and, in 1602, he entered into negotiations with them, through the Marshal Duke de la Force, his governor in Béarn and Navarre. They promised to raise eighty thousand men and to deliver three cities, one of them a seaport and, as an earnest of their resolve, they paid to la Force, at Pau, in 1604 or 1605, a hundred and twenty thousand ducats, but Henry decided that the moment was not favorable and the plan was postponed.[1049]

Then, in 1608, there came a fresh alarm through negotiations of the Valencian Moriscos with Muley Cidan, a pretender to the throne of Morocco, to whom they promised two hundred thousand men, if he would bring twenty thousand and seize a seaport, while certain Hollanders agreed to furnish transportation. Philip III was so impressed with this that, in sending the report to the Royal Council, he ordered it to consider the matter to the exclusion of everything else. He admitted the defenceless condition of Spain; Muley Cidan was its declared enemy; Sultan Ahmed I had his hands free from the war with Persia and had suppressed his own rebels; Spain’s Italian possessions were exhausted and ripe for revolt, while at home the Moriscos were impatient for liberation. The Council was therefore ordered to consider the means of preserving peace, short of butchering them all.<