by Phil Clarke
These first investigative agents of the Spanish Inquisition were two Dominicans called Miguel de Morilla and Juan de San Martin. They were appointed on 17 September 1480 to seek out the heretics deemed hazardous to the one true faith and, if they could not be assuaged, the death sentence was to be applied. The inquisitors rode into Seville – the first of so many towns – to apply their strict procedure of interrogation, torture and prosecution. Such a visit would have been commonplace as the Holy Office established itself through the years as a national institution, but what terror must have befallen the city of Seville when these men, dressed austerely in white robes and black hoods, marched for the first time barefoot into the main square. The frightening, foreboding sight of the inquisitors and their entourage, flanked by armed guards, as if preparing for invasion, caused many of the Sevillian citizens to flee, which instantly condemned them as heretics in the eyes of the Spanish Inquisition.
One man who refused to run from the inquisitional incursion was Diego de Susan – a Jew of great wealth – who managed to persuade other prominent figures of Seville to stand firm and eject the unwanted visitors. Their plan may have worked had it not been for de Susan’s daughter, Susanna, was known about town as La Hermosa Hembra or ‘The Beautiful Girl’. She had taken a Catholic lover and foolishly confessed the entire plot to her inamorato, which led to the subsequent arrest of all conspirators. Six were found guilty of heresy and given the death penalty. They were led to the fields of Tablada and burnt at the stake for their combined heresy and rebellion on 6 February 1481.
Such was the beginning of the death and destruction of the nonconformist faiths in Spain. Executions would occur more and more frequently as the Spanish Inquisition discovered seemingly endless suspects to persecute in the name of Christianity. No stone was left unturned. Literally so, as graveyards were plundered for the bodies of the dead who had been posthumously found to be guilty of heresy; their bodies exhumed and chained to the stake to die again in a manner befitting their crime. The fervour and zeal with which the ever-propagating inquisitors sought out the heretical menace created the notorious image of the Spanish Inquisition and caused it to be feared by generation after generation throughout Spain. Judaism which had existed since ancient times was forced underground after a systematic expulsion of its believers saw hundreds of thousands forcibly removed from their homeland. Those that remained followed their unorthodox tenets at their own risk, and would live in permanent fear that their enemy, the Spanish Inquisition, may come to town to hunt for heresy.
The Procedure
The process by which the Spanish Inquisition would investigate a town for heresy was similar to the methods of the earlier Papal Inquisition. The inquisitor along with his vast entourage of familiars and guards would march into a neighbourhood and instantly impose his authority on the people, stirring up trouble and creating friction between families and friends. An Edict of Grace would be decreed calling for all God-fearing men and women to come forward and confess their sinful ways. However, it was not the voluntary confessions that caused conflict. Better than a self-declaration of guilt was the denunciation of others. The Inquisition demanded that all knowledge of assumed heretical acts be passed on to the Holy See, causing a chain reaction of suspicion and betrayal throughout the town. These perfidious acts ensured a healthy crop for the Inquisition from which to harvest the rotten fruit of heretics. The named and shamed would be arrested by the alguazils – the inquisitonial police – but, before they were taken from their homes to a dank, dark prison cell, a notary would make an inventory of all the suspect’s assets; the redistribution of wealth clearly in the forefront of their minds even at this early stage.
Incarceration in one of the overcrowded prisons ran exclusively for the Inquisition proceeded in the clandestine manner that was indicative of these heresy hunters. In an attempt to create an air of mystery and subsequent terror around inquisitorial imprisonment, inmates were forbidden to speak of what they had seen or heard during their time behind bars. Everything was shrouded in secrecy, which allowed rumour and invention to breed and ensured the imagined horrors of prison life would encourage good Catholics to inform on their neighbours. Those unfortunate enough to experience the reality of an Inquisition gaol might find themselves detained for weeks or even months on end, isolated from the outside world with the gaoler their only visitor. Once held in captive isolation, the prisoner would be subjected to the inquisitor’s examination. This would take place in the company of two supposedly impartial clerics, who would make sure the interrogation followed the correct path. Reluctance to confess or provide names of those believed to be heretical would lead to torture known euphemistically as ‘instruction’, or ‘the question’. The rules that existed for the papal inquisitors still stood in Spain centuries later. They were prohibited from any acts of bloodshed or mutilation upon the prisoner, and had to conduct only one session. As we have seen, there were ways around this law and the torments could be relentlessly pursued by the inquisitors, particularly as the instruction came to an end not when the prosecutor said so, but when the accused begged for the torture to cease. The thinking behind this was if the inquisitor called an end to the suffering, it would suggest that all avenues of pain had been exhausted and the prisoner had succeeded in surviving the torments without denouncing himself or others. However, with the conclusion of the torture decided by the tormentor, it appeared as if the agony was unending; there would always be another nerve to touch, another new device to apply.
After the suffering at the hands of the inquisitor, the suspected heretic would be brought before the judges of the tribunal and bombarded with questions regarding all areas of his or her life in an attempt to prove beyond doubt the defendant’s guilt. They were even tested to see if they knew the key Catholic prayers and any slip or hesitation called into question their religious sincerity. However, the conclusion of an inquisitional prosecution came when they had a bona fide acknowledgement of heresy.
There were a range of punishments for heretical behaviour which included exile, fines or confiscation of property, but for those who refused to repent their non-orthodox sins or who had converted to Christianity but had since relapsed, the penalty was death. Just as the inquisitors of the Medieval Office were prevented from passing the death sentence, so were their Spanish equivalents. They were required to hand all unrepentant and reverting heretics over to the secular court to be burned at the stake. It was actually less a handover than an abandonment by the Spanish Inquisition, who believed they had done all they could to save the souls of the unorthodox. The Spanish Inqusition, with their ecclesiastical exemption, were able to burn men and women in their thousands while keeping their hands spotlessly clean.
The Auto-da-fé
Before the Spanish Inquisition washed their hands of the heretics they had persecuted inside their private, shrouded prisons, there would take place a religious ceremony in the centre of town called an auto-da-fé. Portuguese for ‘an act of faith’, its purpose was to create an air of reverence and public loyalty towards Catholicism. The condemned would be removed from their cells and paraded past their peers, yet the event was more to do with the crowds that gathered to watch than the prisoners who had already had their verdicts confirmed. The auto-da-fé was a lesson to all the attendant faithful that the Spanish Inquisition was all-powerful and all-seeing and woe betide those who failed to toe the Christian line. To ensure the maximum public terror could be inspired, the autos-da-fé were held on Sundays and other holy days when large crowds could be assured, although non-attendance on any given day would have been foolhardy as it would have been seen as a sign of unorthodox behaviour. Even the high-ranking officials dared not stay away as, from 1598, the Inquisition decreed such absconders from the auto-da-fé would face excommunication. Whether you were pauper or potentate, villager or VIP, such absence, then, risked a personal invitation as one of the attractions!
The proceedings began the day before the auto-da-fé
when, at two o’clock in the afternoon, the Green Cross procession would take place. The green cross featured on the Inquisition’s coat of arms and this emblem of the Holy See would be conveyed to the ceremonial location and placed high on the stage, which was covered in a sombre black cloth. Inquisitional-appointed familiars and armed guards would be entrusted with its protection throughout the night. When these sentinels witnessed the sun hit the inquisitional insignia, the time had come for the prisoners to be removed from their isolation and meet the crowds waiting to show their Christian zeal to the faith’s official guardians.
With a long day ahead, the heretics would be gathered outside the prison as early as five o’clock in the morning, with their hands bound and ropes placed around their necks. Such an ungodly hour for such a display of piety was called for as the ceremony often continued well into the afternoon and the more pessimistic of officials wished to complete the formalities before nightfall, as they feared the fervent crowds would – under the cover of darkness – succumb to their sinful urges after a day’s persecution and condemnation. In fact, such concern forced many autos – such as one in Logrono on 7 November 1610 – to break until the following morning when they ran over time.
The condemned would be forced to wear the uniform of the heretic to further discriminate them from the holy, yet hollering, masses in attendance. This consisted of a cap called a coraza, which resembled a bishop’s tapered mitre, together with a garment known as a sanbenito. This was a loose-fitting, knee-length tunic made of rough, yellow sackcloth upon which was emblazoned various images of hell; supposedly their next destination. The illustrations adorning the front of these tabards were significant in that they denoted both the prisoner’s fate and the strength of their resolve under interrogation, for if the design showed flames pointing downwards this revealed that the condemned had been granted a merciful death by the Inquisition having repented his or her heresy. They would not have to bear the pain of the flames alive but would be compassionately strangled before the fire consumed them. However, those who wore sanbenitos showing flames pointing upwards, were the persistent prisoners who refused to repent and had stuck fast to their religious beliefs. They would suffer the full force of the Inquisition and would be burnt alive upon their own funeral pyre.
The Procession
There was still much to be done before the condemned perished at the stake. The procession from the prison to the ceremonial stage would march behind a white cross in strict order. First in line were the clergy dressed in tunics of their own, featuring the green cross motif. Next came the alguazils followed by a priest bearing the holy host of the Eucharist, who would initiate the first piece of audience participation. As he passed the crowds that lined the street, with a banner of scarlet and gold held high by assistants above his head, every spectator was to fall to their knees in reverence. Those who failed to comply with this enforced display of loyalty to the Church risked a charge of heresy.
As the people returned to their feet, they would witness arguably the most distressing sight of the auto-da-fé ceremony; the parade of the damned. Before the heavily guarded prisoners made their way to the auto-da-fé platform, the effigies of those who had been lucky enough to escape the clutches of the Spanish Inquisition were paraded atop green poles before the onlookers. The grotesque faces drawn upon these figures also sporting the uniform of the coraza and sanbenito, must have added to the carnival atmosphere of this sombre spiritual affair, yet any celebratory feelings must have been quickly dampened when the coffins of those exhumed were carried past. Not even in death could one avoid persecution as those who were posthumously found guilty of heresy caused the crowds to wretch and reel from the rotting stench. Behind the reeking remains finally came, as it were, the living dead, who would have insults and worse thrown at them by the hordes of people keen to show their faith. Each convict would be sandwiched between two Dominican clergymen dressed in white robes and black hoods who would incessantly implore their assigned prisoner to convert. Bringing up the rear were the inquisitors themselves flanked on one side by red silk standards bearing the arms of the people entwined with the arms of the Spanish monarchy. On the other side, the standard bearers carried the arms of the Inquisition – altogether the perfect symbol of a united faith: the monarchy, the monks who served them and the masses.
When the procession reached its destination, usually in front of the cathedral in the town square, the prisoners would be sat on benches dressed in black crêpe placed high for all to see. The inquisitors would take their seats surrounded by the green crosses and incense candles would be burnt to take the edge off the foul odour of death. The crimes of each individual – dead, alive and absent – would be read out before the clerics and other dignitaries and all those who had agreed to repent were called to sign a declaration to that fact. Two sermonic orations to the crowd would then take place either side of Mass, as the Inquisition clearly wished to emphasise the religious tone of the auto-da-fé as their final contribution to the lives of the convicted heretics.
After the profuse sermonising and preaching, the Grand Inquisitor would stand and theatrically outstretch his arms before the people. Once more, the onlookers would then have to show their allegiance to the Inquisition and the Church, and drop to their knees, pledging to defend the Holy See against its enemies. In unison, they swore to dedicate their lives to the Spanish Inquisition, agreeing to abide by whatever it asked of them, even if that meant plucking out an eye or cutting off a hand! Yet again, any reluctance to make this histrionic promise would have adverse consequences except, however, if you were the sovereign. Whenever the auto-da-fé was honoured by the presence of Ferdinand and Isabella, they would refrain from uttering the vow and it was not until the reign of Philip II during the latter half of the sixteenth century that the crown of Spain participated in this oath.
This public demonstration of faith was almost at an end. The Inquisition had one last act before they passed the condemned men and women over to the secular court for execution, or ‘relaxation’ – as it was euphemistically known. In a vain show of compassion towards the heretics they had prosecuted on spurious claims and evidence, the Grand Inquisitor would rise one final time and appeal to the attending secular judge to show mercy upon those who had been given the death penalty. Such a melodramatic performance was a fitting end to the farcical auto-da-fé as the heretical criminals were removed from the platform and escorted to their own private stake.
The Execution
The auto-da-fé was over. The Spanish Inquisition had prayed for the souls of the heretics and extolled the virtues of the Catholic Church while simultaneously intimidating the townsfolk forced to attend for fear of religious retribution. Now, the secular arm would apply the punishment suggested by the inquisitors, while these heretic hunters sat back and admired their handiwork with crystal-clear consciences. The focus now moved from the spiritual to the corporal as the alguazils led the condemned to their place of execution. This was called the quemadero – the place of burning – which was commonly an open field or meadow, rife with stakes that had been prepared earlier by the royal justice department. The resolve of the unrepentant and relapsed heretics must have been severely tested on encountering the numerous stakes jutting out from the ground like demonic trees in winter. The realisation that their sentences had long since been decided would have, no doubt, added to their anguish.
Each prisoner would be guided to their own personal post accompanied – even at this late stage - by their devoted pair of persistent Dominicans who continued to wrestle with their souls. These relentless exhortations bombarded the ears of the ill-fated as they were compelled to climb the ladder to their fixing point. They would be perched upon a small seat located some 3.7 metres (12 ft) high, allowing the civil executioner to fasten the human faggot securely to the stake. Once in place, their moral counsel would climb the ladder for a final entreaty and if no contrition was forthcoming, the priests would admit defeat and leave them to
accompany the Devil who, they believed, was waiting to take their spirit into the flames of hell. These men and women with heroic levels of resilience were left to be devoured alive by the flames.
The thought of being conscious as the searing heat ravaged their flesh and bone, along with the incessant beseeching of the priests, caused many hitherto steadfast religious rebels to repent and call for strangulation. Screams for absolution would be heard across the quemadero by those unwilling to endure the flames alive. So many changes of heart took place, that it began to undermine the power and threat of the Spanish Inquisition. Aware that these last-minute conversions were interrupting the proceedings and making a mockery of the punishment, the inquisitors began to order the tongues of the condemned to be tied to prevent any softening of the sentence. On 30 June 1680, after an auto-da-fé in Madrid, six of the prisoners who had received the death penalty converted while bound to the stake – only moments from being consumed by fire. These endemic reversals of faith must surely have had something to do with the gagging of twelve prisoners at a subsequent ceremony later on that year in Madrid.