As to the false monk Basil, Emperor Alexius gathered his Senate, his generals, and his church penitentiaries including Patriarch Nicolas Grammaticus. The diabolic teaching was read aloud. Basil neither denied nor refuted, clinging obstinately to Satan. Therefore, while deciding what to do, Alexius had him kept under guard in a little house close to the palace. And that first night, after the meeting of the synod, stones plummeted from a cloudless sky under a bright moon, pelting and rattling the roof-tiles. This was the work of demons furious at Basil for disclosing secrets.
Now the emperor ordered a trench to be dug at the hippodrome and filled with burning logs. Documents relate that when Basil came in sight of this roaring inferno, sparks soaring above the obelisk, he laughed and boasted that angels would save him.
It shall not come nigh thee, chanted the profane monk. Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold.
Yet he was devoid of sense, darting glances this way or that. He clapped his hands, beat his thighs, crowed wildly of miracles. So the executioners threw his cloak at the fire. Let us see if that will burn, said they.
Look! Look! Basil shrieked. My cloak flies up to the sky!
And they would toss him in, clothes and shoes and all. But now the flame bent forward to swallow him because the elements of earth do not tolerate impiety. And he was consumed. And nothing more was seen of Basil except one filament of smoke. And the excited crowd would throw other Bogomil in the trench, but Emperor Alexius refused.
Of that false monk no particle survived. Even so, flame did not extinguish the pernicious doctrine of Bogomil. When I was a child I frightened myself at night by imagining that Boulgres had gained the castle wall. How is it that unholy faith endures? I do not know.
Nor could I say if heretic troubadours descend from apostate Greeks. Some think them born of Manichees arguing that good and evil dwell side by side, beans in a pod. Whatever the fact, at Lau Ragais, Minervois, and elsewhere, versemongers pointed sharp fingers. Guyot de Provins, demanding to know why Christians marched against Constantinople, accused the papacy of avarice.
Huon de Saint Quentin sang blasphemy. The river, the Sepulcher, the Holy Cross, all speak with a single voice. All claim Rome plays at false dice!
So did the minstrel and tailor Figueira spew harsh words. Insidious Rome, grasping, you clip the sheep too close. May the Holy Ghost hear my prayer and snap your beak. What truce have I with you? For Greeks a sword, for Saracens a wink. Let your office roast in the fire of hell!
None sang more defiance than troubadours of Languedoc who thought their bountiful land exempt, singing ridicule at a distance. Like all who do not know themselves imperiled, they made keen use of levity to make light of sacred matters. Here was Raimon Jordan caroling sweet words to praise a night with his beloved. Far better, sang he, than celestial paradise. Bertran d’Alamanon rejoiced at the shadow of Antichrist whose power enabled him to seduce a reluctant maiden. Guillem Adémar delighted at cuckold husbands absent on crusade. Yet what is this but empty joy? What is lust if not the den of anxiety? What is gratification but a nest of remorse?
Now the language of Provence owes more to Aragon than to muddy Parisian streets. And so these provincial Franks speaking almost like Spaniards, isolated, corrupted by the seductive music of ardent misbelievers, corrupted Catholic belief, threatened Catholic unity. For is not apostasy a presumption that contradicts Holy Scripture? Can it not be demonstrated of apostates, Jews, and lepers, that all copulate voraciously, that from their bodies emanates a fearful stench, that all cherish links to the Devil? With what sweet grace and strength did that noble lady Gormonda de Montpellier defend the Christian faith. Truly did she sing. A Saracen heart is far less false than that of a heretic. Whoever would earn salvation should march against the infidels of France. Guillem Figueira merited torture and death for slandering the Holy Church.
Dissenters clustered about the town of Albi, for which reason they acquired that name. Albigenses. Much was quickly established concerning their ungodly dogma. Lucifer was perhaps a son of God, said they, and highest among angels. Yet he grew stiff with pride, descending from the spirit realm to create this visible world. Man and woman did Lucifer make from clay, albeit the wretched creatures had no soul until our Lord God took pity on them. And the woman lured the man to lie with her and from that moment their souls were caught within their flesh. Lord Jesus, said they, is but a vain illusion who did not suffer on the cross. We do not venerate the cross, said they, because it is evil as are all things material. What truths the Lord revealed have been falsified, said they, and misinterpreted by the Church, which is but some handiwork of Lucifer.
Nor was this enough. Albigenses would have none of the sacrament. Further, they maintained a sacerdotal college whose initiates essayed to slip the bonds of temporal life and so believed themselves pure, Cathari, which in Greek means purity. Nevertheless they celebrated unspeakable rites, defiled chalices under the approving gaze of bishops out of disrespect to the body and blood of Christ, such depravities being recorded. Nor did these Albigenses practice in secret but preached widely, persuading fools to conform, which is abominable. No theologian had they, no counselor, no text, therefore the strangeness of such malpractice could not be understood. Domingo de Guzmán, who would in time be venerated as Santo Domingo, disputed with some heretic claiming that the Holy Church is Babylon, mother of fornication, drunk on the blood of martyrs. Why should not fiery death reward those who imperil the salvation of others? Only through belief in eternal truths taught by the Church shall men be saved, only by accepting the sacrament. Therefore much happiness is not to be expected. Only through submission may one anticipate the blessed life. Only thus shall men tread the path to redemption. Whosoever would deny this, who would repudiate the sacrament, he is anathema, a weak and vain murderer who would slay the immortal soul.
Wicked peasants at Bucy-le-Long called mouths of priests the mouth of hell. Heretic discourse they called the word of God. That divine dispensation we are granted they called delusion. Baptism of children below the age of understanding they considered void. If ever they took the sacrament to disguise their misbelief, no more would they eat that day. By candlelight they gathered in cellars and a young woman exposed her buttocks. So they would offer candles to her ass. And with light extinguished they copulated madly in darkness, men upon men, women upon women. Chaos! they would shout. Chaos! Chaos!
His Holiness Innocent, grieved by the spread of devilish liturgy, issued interdicts against princes that favored it. In a letter to King Philip Augustus he wrote that heretics were more threatening than Saracens, for certainly it is wiser to defend the faith at home than oversea. And is not failure to combat heterodoxy as wicked as the sin itself? He urged King Philip to lead an army south, pointing out that crusaders stood more to gain than spiritual benefit since they might expropriate the land and goods of occidental barons who tolerate ungodliness.
He directed his legate, Pierre de Castelnau, to go and confront Count Raymond VI of Toulouse. All knew how Raymond indulged and patronized recreant Albigenses. All knew he wallowed in luxury, engaged at incest with his sister, seduced the mistresses of his father, and had five wives. It is said he listened avidly to the chansons of Raimon de Miravel on the art of seduction. He mocked the Old Testament, invited the bishop of Toulouse to hear Cathari preach at midnight, withheld punishment from one who urinated on the altar, attributed creation of the world to Satan, kept at his side a heretic priest to administer the consolamentum if he should fall ill. It was alleged that like Saracens he believed in portents derived from the flight and cries of birds. If all such charges might be proven, God knows. They were so avouched by the Cistercian, Pierre of Vaux-de-Cernay. Should these prove inadequate, it could be shown that misbelievers practiced their unspeakable faith with impunity in twenty-six towns of Count Raymond’s private demesne.
His Holiness chafed at news of infidelity in Languedoc. Papal documents refer to the Lord’s flock menaced by wolves, plague, malignant canker.
He would attend to it himself, charged with the sword of God, but could not, since he would need a month to journey from Rome to southern France. Therefore he must rely on legates. Through excommunication and interdict they might enforce his wishes. They should have jurisdiction over heresy, which had been the prerogative of bishops. And whatever cleric the legate deemed unsuitable might be removed from office without notice, nor right of appeal. Thus did the pontiff consider himself and style himself Vicar of Christ.
Narratives from those days preserve little of that first meeting between Pierre de Castelnau and Count Raymond. But it is certain that the legate denounced him for want of zeal and grew indignant when Count Raymond would not consent to a slaughter of Albigenses. The legate denounced him at his own court, excommunicated him, and went away. Not until after dusk did Pierre de Castelnau with his attendants come to the banks of the Rhône just north of Arles and so they camped, not wanting to tempt this river in darkness. Next morning, the fourteenth of January in that year of our Lord 1208, they celebrated mass before dawn and were approaching the river when a horseman came up behind the legate and drove a lance into his back. He looked round at this assailant. God forgive you as I forgive you, he said before tumbling from the mule. He repeated these words at the point of death, ignoring the bitter anguish of his wound, until at last he slept joyfully in Christ. They carried him five leagues to the abbey of Saint Gilles where he was buried in the cloister by monks holding lighted candles. As to the murderer, this was a lackey in the service of Count Raymond.
News got to Rome some weeks later. According to the ambassador from Navarre, His Holiness Innocent dropped his face into his hands. Then he retired to pray at the high altar of the Vatican basilica.
Presently here came bishops of Toulouse and Couserans and the abbot of Cîteaux with a full report. There seemed no doubt of Raymond’s guilt.
Thus, with twelve cardinals encircling him, His Holiness excommunicated Raymond anew and extinguished a lighted taper as tradition demanded. The pontiff then addressed a missive to Frankish nobility, to prelates and princes, enjoining true Christians to pick up the cross, to lay hands on Count Raymond, to expropriate all he owned. By authority of the apostolic see would all who fought against heretics have indulgence equal to that of crusaders in the Holy Land. Whoever helped to extirpate and crush them would, like all who visited the Holy Sepulcher, be shielded from attack upon property or person. Wealth and honor in this world awaited those who would burn and void the noxious stench of heresy in Languedoc. Such was the pontiff’s address.
Go forth! Soldiers of Christ! Go forth! Go with our cry of anguish in your ears! Avenge the insult to our Lord! Fill your souls with holy rage!
And the message was preached as it was first preached by His Holiness Urban at Clermont in the year of our Lord 1095. At Lyons immense crowds gathered beneath the standard of Amalric, abbot of Cîteaux. A multitude that exceeded belief, according to Roger of Wendover. Knights from Burgundy were everywhere present, silk crosses on their breast.
Documents relate that Count Raymond lacked courage to oppose this army, but delivered up his fortress and submitted himself to public flogging in the abbey of Saint Gilles. When he had been stripped naked to the waist he was led into the presence of three archbishops and nineteen bishops. He abjured his indulgence of heretics and Jews, abjured his employment of mercenaries, admitted himself suspect in the murder of Pierre de Castelnau. Milo, who was papal secretary, placed his stole around Raymond’s neck and drew him into the abbey while flogging him with a switch. In front of the altar Count Raymond was granted absolution. So many spectators pushed into the abbey that he was taken out by way of the crypt, past the sarcophagus of the murdered legate.
Now the papal secretary wrote to His Holiness concerning Raymond. Mistrust his dextrous tongue, which is skilled at the distillation of lies and moral obliquity.
Raymond Roger Trencavel, viscount of Béziers and Carcassonne, likewise submitted to the church yet did not merit exculpation. He summoned his most faithful vassals to defend these cities, abandoning villages of no consequence. He himself retreated to Carcassonne since it was remote and strongly fortified, which little pleased the citizens of Béziers. All the same, Béziers in its pride decided to resist. Anon the living host marched into view and sent forward Bishop Renaud de Montpeyroux riding on a mule to negotiate. He brought with him a list of heretics which they should turn over for punishment. If not, the people of Béziers themselves should be excommunicate and blood upon their heads. The citizens replied with scorn. The barons in hope of saving Catholic lives made overtures. But all at once here came citizens riding through the gate flaunting white pennants and shouting insults and with arrows cut down a member of the host who had ventured upon the bridge. So the orderlies who had been setting up tents were infuriated and rushed against the city with clubs and poles and started digging at the walls. Others smashed at the gate with wooden beams while armored knights and sergeants gaped in astonishment.
Now from the ramparts citizens threw down the Holy Gospel. Behold! they shrieked. Here is your law! We have no need of it!
The army of Christ then crossed the fosse, quickly scaled the ramparts and rushed through churches and homes, murdering priests, children and women hugging reliquaries or crosses, searching out wealth because these Franks tolerated Jews and were rich beyond measure. The abbot of Cîteaux, when asked how Catholics might be distinguished from heretics, replied that all should be slain since God would recognize His own. By certain accounts every inhabitant of Béziers met the sword, twenty thousand or more. Others state that few Catholics were slain. However it was, people throughout the countryside left their homes and fled in panic toward the mountains. Did they once look up at the vault of heaven?
Next to be invested, Carcassonne, a populous city glorying in wickedness. On the feast of Saint Peter the living host arrived and quickly succeeded in crossing the entrenchment. Suburbs were taken, much of Carcassonne subdued after a week. However the abbot wearied of obstinate resistance and proposed to negotiate with Viscount Raymond Roger, offering safe conduct sanctioned by his oath and that of the barons. Therefore the viscount with three hundred men came to the abbot’s tent. But why should faith be kept with the faithless? The abbot dressed them all in chains. Three months the viscount lodged in prison before expiring. It may be that God received his soul. As for the inhabitants, when Carcassonne was subjugated a number contrived to escape. Many more embraced the stake or mounted the scaffold on account of their infidelity since the inquisitors proved rigorous. So much has been reported. Others say that in accordance with terms of capitulation every citizen departed, including sectaries, but all had left their property as spoil and Carcassonne was plundered in orderly fashion.
Lord Simon de Montfort, trustworthy and zealous, was chosen viscount of Béziers and Carcassonne. Tall, having a thick bush of hair and strong as any ox, albeit an old man near fifty. Heretics he loathed and considered his elevation to viscount a thread in the tapestry of God. Think you I am afraid? he replied to a Cistercian who would encourage him. My work is Christ’s work. We cannot be defeated.
Yet the air stank of rebellion. These Provenceaux grew less submissive. And the army dwindled because many in the host had little appetite for such a crusade. Faithless as southern Franks might be, they had no link to Saracens, Frankish blood ran through their veins. The count of Nevers made up his mind to go home. The duke of Burgundy followed. Thus it came about that Simon de Montfort commanded a fistful of knights and mercenaries. Winter and early spring went well enough. Albi surrendered. Limoux surrendered. Lesser towns opened their gates when he approached. Still, the passing of time caused those who had been terrified to question themselves. What are we? they said to one another. They began, cautiously, to strike. A soldier would be ambushed and killed, another seized. Now the count of Foix, observing how matters stood, took back one of his castles.
Simon addressed a plaintive appeal to His Holiness Innocent. I am left
almost alone. Enemies of Christ occupy the mountains and hills. The land is impoverished. Heretics destroy or give up weak castles while strengthening others they expect to defend. I have been obliged to double the wages of my soldiers lest they depart. Without help I cannot govern much longer.
To what degree His Holiness responded is not known. But the wife of Simon de Montfort, Alice, brought a few hundred soldiers from Île-de-France. They were not many, but enough. He took the castle of Bram, sliced away the upper lip and nose of every defender and scooped out their eyes, all save one, granting this recreant a single eye that he might lead his mutilated comrades to the defiant fortress of Cabaret. It is related how some time afterward Bishop Folquet during a sermon compared heretics to wolves, the faithful to sheep, but was interrupted by one who displayed his wounds and asked if ever a wolf was so abused by a sheep. The Holy Church keeps dogs to guard its flock, Bishop Folquet replied. A loyal dog has bitten you. In this response we hear the guiding voice of our Lord, a mighty fortress against which advocates of Satan dash themselves in vain.
After a siege lasting seven weeks the garrison at Minerve chose to negotiate. Three Cathar women who thought themselves perfect now abjured a perfidious faith to save their skin. Others clinging stubbornly to the devil’s bosom were burnt, a number that exceeded one hundred and forty. Some hopped eagerly into the flame.
Termes resisted nine months but opened to Simon de Montfort on the twenty-third of November in that year of our Lord 1210.
Many succumbed, felt the whip. Alayrac. Pennautier. Coustaussa. Gaillac. Montaigu. La Grave. Still, a rank odor emanated from Languedoc.
Deus Lo Volt! Page 35