Executioners

by Phil Clarke

  With the condemned chained to their stakes and their personal decisions as to their demise made, the priests would step clear of the combustibles and allow the executioner to begin his work. Dressed in a long black, sack-like robe with his face hidden behind a black hood with two holes for the eyes, the execu­tioner would be a most frightening final sight for the damned. Before death there would still be time for some last-minute torture. The crowds that had followed the burning party from the auto-da-fé to the quemadero wished for some sport after the religious-heavy ceremony, so would call for the singe­ing of the heretics’ beards. As a taste of the blazing horrors to come, the executioner would light some dry grass or gorse affixed to the end of a long pole and thrust it into the faces of the condemned. This burning away of the beards was known as ‘shaving the new Christians’ and as the poor wretches suffered first degree burns to the face, the kindling 3.7 metres (12 ft) below them would be ignited to cries of delight from the bloodthirsty masses. Those with any drop of courage left in their terrorised bodies plunged their hands and feet into the flames that licked away beneath them, reaching out for their fiery finish, reaching out for martyrdom in a final move to frustrate their killers who sat hands folded, despairing at their obstinance.

  The executioner then tossed the effigies and exhumed cadavers into the fire as the screams of the living were slowly rendered mute. The tumult of the spectators would no doubt be reduced to a deathly silence as they witnessed the horror of flesh falling from bone, eyeballs popping from skulls, deformed faces contorting into grotesque expressions, before melting away completely. Soon there remained nothing but the bones of the lost souls charred black by the heat, the smell of rotting flesh still lingering in the air and the nostrils of those who persisted with this perverse spectacle. Even when the heretics had become but a pile of bones, the fires were kept burn­ing throughout the night in order to reduce their remnants to ash. The Inquisition had long since departed for home, content that yet another batch of dissenters had been removed from their beloved Spain.

  The Rise and Fall

  Ferdinand and Isabella, together with the valuable assistance of their trusted inquisitors, had created a strong and resilient organisation fully equipped to expel all religious enemies from Catholic Spain, and methodically maltreat those conversos who remained behind. They had nurtured the Holy See through its formative years, but with the death of Isabella in November 1504, Ferdinand was left to develop the Spanish Inquisition alone and defend it against growing opposition. On 23 January 1516, the last of its creators died and Ferdinand and Isabella’s son, Charles, became King of Spain. It was hoped that a change in monarch would also bring a change in attitude towards the Spanish Inquisition. Its detractors looked to Charles V to address the excesses and abuses of the religious office which had been rife under the reign of Ferdinand, its unashamed sponsor. Unfortunately for those who regarded the Inquisition to be an excessive monster of the Catholic Church, the persecutory practices were far from curbed by the succeeding son. In fact, the Inquisition was allowed to spread throughout the unified lands of Spain. From Seville to Córdoba and from Villareal to Toledo, Charles V allowed for tribunals to be created to handle the mounting cases of heresy and, by 1538, there were no less than 19 courts condemning unrepentant and relapsing here­tics to the secular arm and thus the stake to burn.

  With the progress of global exploration, the kingdom of Spain had grown considerably and with the acquisition of lands in South America, its Inquisition had a new stomping ground. The first inquisitional court of these new territories was set up in Lima in 1570, which dealt with all heretical cases throughout Peru. The following year, Spanish-ruled Mexico received its own tribunal, which would con­tinue to investigate unorthodoxy and other threats to Catholicism well into the nineteenth century. It was deeply involved, for instance, in the punishment of those who dared to react against Spanish occupation during the Mexican War of Independence between 1808 and 1815. Miguel Hidalgo – the reactionary priest and leader of the rebels – was eventually captured by the Inquisition and executed by firing squad on 30 July 1811, outside the Government Palace in Chihuahua.

  The Spanish Inquisition was clearly developing into a worldwide force but during the latter half of the seventeenth century, its power and authority mirrored that of the Spanish monarch who sat upon the throne. King Charles II was not inclined to ensure the continued rise of the Holy Office. Charles was known as El Hechizado, or The Bewitched, owing to his many mental and physical disabilities such as epilepsy, senility and an enlarged tongue which caused un­sightly drooling, all of which he blamed on sorcery. Charles did very little to develop either the country or the Inquisition in comparison to his pre­decessors. The deformed potentate’s failings seemingly ran to impo­tence, as he was also unable to ensure the continuation of the Hapsburg line. This was undoubt­edly a blessing as his countless defects were less to do with witchcraft and far more a product of the persistent inbreeding of the family down the years.

  While an heir was beyond his capabilities, Charles did manage to create a council known as the Junta Magna, which was called upon to investigate and reform the Spanish Inquisition in 1696. The council, which consisted of two officials from all councils from Castile and Aragon to Italy and the Indies, was required to meet once a week where it poured over the endless documents in the Inquisi­tional archive. The council’s report, known as the Consulta Magna, uncovered such damning evidence of abuses and excesses that the Inquisitor General of the time, one Juan Tomás de Rocaberti, convinced the weakling monarch to consign the tell-all tome to the flames.

  Charles the Bewitched died on 1 November 1700, bringing to an end the Hapsburg dynasty that had ruled the Spanish territories for almost two centuries. As the Inquisition entered into its fourth century, it had expanded to twenty-two tribunals and was paying the wages of over 20,000 inquisitors, alguazils and other familiars doing ‘holy work’ throughout Spanish-ruled lands. The established supremacy of the Holy Office was undeniable yet, in little over a century, Spain had drastically reduced its population having lost three million inhabitants since 1586. So when Philip of Anjou took over the throne on 16 November 1700, beginning a new dynasty, that of the House of Bourbon, he inherited a Spain in economic decline. The Jews and the Moors had been a huge industrial force in Spain, but now they were gone and had taken their combined skills with them. Philip V was then forced to rule much of his reign struggling for finances, which was in no small part down to the effects of the heretic hunting office. The continual eradication of all unorthodox believers over the centuries not only caused a weakening of the Spanish economy but it also meant the Inquisition had to search harder and harder for enemies. The only threat posed to Catholicism in Spain apart from the Moriscos and Marranos, were newly formed Protestant sects that tried to infiltrate the country in the early sixteenth century, and by the eighteenth century the witch hunting craze had come and gone.

  In short, the Inquisition had lost its raison d’etre and by the end of Philip V’s reign in 1746, it was in steady decline in both wealth and numbers. Without a new religious foe, the end of the Holy Office was in­evitable, however its critics would not witness a rapid destruction. Much like the long drawn-out trials and executions of thousands of the heretics they con­demned, it would take time to see the end of the Spanish Inquisition.

  The Demise of the Inquisition

  The outbreak of revolution in France at the end of the seventeenth century became the spark that would eventually erupt into an all-consuming fire to singe and scorch the powerful Inquisition and ultimately bring about its destruction. With Napoleon leading France into battle against many of the European powers, he fell out with Portugal after they refused to adhere to his commercial embargo of Britain and so in 1807, he looked to Spain and the incumbent monarch, Charles IV, to assist with an attack on Portugal. This call for support was refused and so Napoleon invaded Spain with over 12,000 troops. King Charles decided to abdicate in favour of his so
n Ferdinand, Prince of Asturias, but he was ultimately replaced by Napoleon’s brother, Joseph Bonaparte, when Madrid was taken in December 1808. One of his first moves as ruler of Spain was to abolish the Spanish Inquisition and the Suprema was forced to flee the capital to escape a decree calling for the imprison­ment of its members. The death knell was sounding for the Holy Office.

  Yet the Inquisition exhibited a resilience more associated with the unrepentant heretic. Thanks to relentless guerrilla attacks and continual opposition to the newly devised Constitution of 1812, Joseph Bonaparte’s rule was unable to grow roots and it collapsed the following year after defeat at the Battle of Vitoria. This allowed Ferdinand to return from exile in March 1814, informing the Cortes, or Courts, that he planned to uphold the new charter supported by the liberals but, once securely back on the throne, Ferdinand sided with the conservatives of which the Catholic forces were part. He rejected the Constitution on 4 May, arresting its leaders days later. Ferdinand made clear his religious zeal by reinstating the Inquisition on 21 July 1814, much to the dismay of the liberals; the persecutory organisation was back in action but it would not enjoy an un­interrupted revival. In 1820, the liberals were able to restore the Constitution and, once again, suppress the Inquisi­tion. This to-ing and fro-ing between Cortes and Crown was not over. Ferdinand managed to regain control and proceeded to rule with severity and rigour. The Inquisition was restored although, in a bid to assuage the religiously tolerant supporters of the Constitution, it performed its work under the banner of Faith Commissions called juntas-da-fé which were created in every diocese; their focus being the last remnants of heresy: banned literary works and the freemasons.

  The Inquisition had been forced underground, compelled to change its name to continue its exis­tence. The irony must have been thick enough for even the most single-minded inquisitor to see. Just as the Jews and Moors were forced to practise their religious acts in secret while in public pretend to abide by the ecclesiastical law of the land now, in a true taste of their own medicine, so were the officials of the Spanish Inquisition! Burning corpses chained to wooden stakes were no longer filling the air with their speciously heretical stench. In fact, execution at the hands of the Inquisition ended in Spain on 26 July 1826, with the death of Cayetano Ripoll – a schoolteacher from Ruzafa in Valencia – who foolish­ly declared that Jesus was not the son of God. He was arrested and imprisoned for two years before being officially accused of deism, whereupon he was given the death penalty. Ripoll managed to avoid the agony of being devoured by the flames and was hanged by the neck although, in what amounts to a hollow and soft alternative, his body was placed in a barrel which had flames painted on it before being buried in unconsecrated ground.

  After the death of Ferdinand VII, his wife, Maria Cristina, acting as regent to their daughter and future queen, Isabella, passed a decree conclusively bringing the Spanish Inquisition to a close. The reign of terror and persecution was now, finally, at an end. The heresy hunters had condemned tens of thousands of men, women and even children (as in the case of the Toledo auto-da-fé of 1659 when two ten-year-old girls were burnt) in their relentless endeavours to cleanse Catholic Spain of religious undesirables. All those residing in Spain holding alternative beliefs must have emitted a unified sigh of relief when, on 6 June 1869, religious tolerance became law in unified Spain, leaving no demand for the Inquisition and no need for fear.

  Tomás de Torquemada

  The man credited with the rise of the Spanish Inquisition masterminded a revival of the persecutory regime and consigned thousands of con­victed heretics to the stake. He instilled fear into the hearts and minds of all in Spain at the end of the fifteenth century. His name has become inextricably linked with the Spanish Inquisition and the horrors it exacted. In fact, if any one man was the physical embodiment of this Holy Office, it was Tomas de Torquemada; the prototype inquisitor. His name struck terror into those that heard it. A true nom de guerre, his sinister surname began with the Latin torque, meaning twist, and could be compounded with the Spanish quemada, meaning burnt, thus providing a perfect soubriquet for the man who subjected many

  to agonising torture techniques and, to those more unfortunate a heretic’s fiery death. In reality, his name originated from his familial hometown, Torre Cremata, or ‘burnt tower’. Even with this true derivation, it seems fire was destined to feature prominently in his life.

  The Early Years

  Tomás de Torquemada was born in 1420 in the Castilian district of Palencia in north-west Spain, a short distance from Valladolid, the resident city of the kings of Castile. Little is known of his parents, Pedro Fernández de Torquemada and Mencia Ortega. How­ever, his uncle, Juan de Torquemada, had achieved considerable renown as a theologian and author, while also retaining both the cardinalship at San Sisto and the archbishopric of Valladolid. From an early age, this ecclesiastical bent was quickly and whole-heartedly appropriated by Tomás, who would go on to outshine his uncle and become the most famous Torquemada of them all. For more than half a century, he would live his life in the shadows, only coming to the fore in the 1470s when he became an influential member of a royal circle. However, before gaining this position, only a handful of facts are known about the life of the most infamous of all inquisitors.

  After excelling at school, Tomás completed a bachelor degree in theology and then, still in his teens, chose to join the Dominican order at the priory of San Pablo in Valladolid. The life of a Mendicant friar suited Torquemada’s pious and austere nature and he soon took on all the attributes of an ascetic; refusing to eat meat, suffering discomfort with the wearing of a hair shirt underneath his habit while also choosing to walk bare foot. His unabashed and unequivocal godliness made him – what the Church would consider – a model Catholic. He was offered many titles but consistently refused the majority of them, including the archbishopric of Seville. Despite declining such profitable positions, Torquemada was able to amass a great fortune; in contrast to his austerity and Mendicant faith.

  One of the few positions he did take was the priorship of Santa Cruz monastery in Segovia around 1455. Some time after this, he chose to become the confessor and spiritual counsel to Cardinal Pedro González de Mendoza, who was also the Archbishop of Seville. This would be ideal training for his future, more illustrious employer: Princess Isabella. Due to the shaky status of the Castilian monarchy, Isabella was not predicted to take the throne when Torquemada agreed to become her confessor. Today, we are left to debate whether or not he would have chosen this high-profile role if he had known his mistress’s imminent rise to power. Isabella became Queen of Castile on 13 December 1474 and, approximately five years later, her husband Ferdinand took the throne of Aragon. The royal couple began a new decade with the personal union of two distinctly separate king­doms of Castile and Aragon, but further changes were on the horizon and they would involve Tomas de Torquemada.

  Inquisitor of Spain

  On 11 February 1482, soon after the official coupling of the two territories, events began to move swiftly for Tomás who, now in his 60s, was appointed as an inquisitor by Pope Sixtus IV. Seeing this as a perfect platform from which to impose his austere and severe religious beliefs, Torquemada quickly established himself as one of the leading minds within the organisa­tion and soon put himself in contention for the Inquisition’s principal position: Inquisitor General. The seniority of this señor, along with his devout and unwavering faith, meant that there was no one better to take the lofty role and less than two years later, on 2 October 1483, Sixtus IV bestowed upon him the honour and responsibility of Inquisitor General of Castile. Fifteen days later, his sphere of influence expanded to take in Ferdinand’s north-western territories of Aragon, Catalonia and Valencia, which had just enjoyed a year’s papally authorised suspension of all inquisitorial activities. This freedom would soon be replaced with fear.

  With the official backing of the papacy under his belt, Torquemada accompanied Ferdinand to a Cortes or parliament assem
bly at Tarazona in April 1484, to receive the support of the Aragonese. The king wished his territories to follow Castile’s lead and assist the new Inquisitor General with his eradication of heretical beliefs. His wish was not shared by the Aragonese officials who refused to accept Torquemada’s appoint­ment, not only because they feared the confiscation of their wealth which a hunt for heresy would undoubt­edly bring, but also the Inquisitor General was a Castilian, a non-native, and so contravened the fueros, or charters, of Aragon. Ferdinand was forced to impose his authority in order to attain the compliance of his parliament calling for the kingdom of Aragon to assist the Inquisition, together with its chief Torquemada, or run the risk of being accused of heresy themselves.

  Torquemada then appointed two inquisitors to begin the probe for nonconformity throughout Aragon. The two officials, Pedro Arbués de Epila and Fray Gaspar Juglar, marched through the territory into towns and villages seeking out the heretics which resulted in two autos-da-fé taking place in Zaragoza during May and June 1485. The resistance to this Castilian intrusion became all too clear when Juglar mysteriously died just before the June ceremonial prosecution. The remaining inquisitor grew increas­ing­ly nervous, travelling every­where with a body­guard, armour worn beneath his habit and a steel cap under his hood. Unfortunately, Arbues’ safety measures proved ultimately ineffective against an attack masterminded by Juan Pedro Sánchez, who convened a group of like-minded rebels keen to diminish Torquemada’s influence over their kingdom. The group hired assassins to pounce upon Arbués as he knelt in prayer inside the Metropolitan Church of Zaragoza. It took several blows and two days for the poor inquisitor to die, succumbing to his wounds on 17 September 1485.