The higher clergy themselves were shocked. Conrad’s own superior, Archbishop Siegfried III of Mainz, joined with the archbishops of Cologne and Trier in asking the fanatical priest to restrain himself. A synod held at Mainz on 25 June 1233 tried to introduce a more orderly procedure which would encourage the instruction and conversion of heretics rather than their physical destruction.(17) Amongst the more prominent ecclesiastics only one supported the inquisitor — the bishop of Hildesheim, who was himself a fanatic. The rest all counselled moderation; but such counsel merely increased Conrad’s fury and drove him to further excesses. In the end he began to accuse people who were both of high birth and of notable piety; and this proved his undoing.
Count Henry of Sayn was a great lord who owned much land both along the Rhine and in Hesse. He was also a devout Catholic, who had not only endowed monasteries and churches but had even gone on a crusade. Yet Conrad summoned him to appear on a charge of heresy; for he had witnesses who claimed to have seen the count — presumably at some nocturnal orgy — riding on a crab. The archbishop of Mainz prudently arranged for the case to be heard at an assembly of the states of the Empire, to be held at Mainz immediately after the synod. The count and the inquisitor both appeared with their witnesses; and whereas the count’s witnesses unhesitatingly affirmed his orthodoxy and piety, Conrad’s all recanted, some admitting that they had denounced the count only to save their lives, others that they had done so out of personal malice. The clergy present were unanimously convinced of the count’s innocence, and said so. It was a crushing defeat for Conrad.
Embittered and enraged, Conrad began to preach publicly against certain other noble personages whom he charged with heresy; and then set off to ride back from Mainz to his native Marburg. Blinded by his anger and overconfident in the sanctity of his office, he refused the escort which the king and the archbishop offered him. On 30 July 1233 he was murdered on the open road, either by vassals of Count Sayn or by the nobles whom he was still attacking.
In all the regions where Conrad had been active the news of the assassination was greeted with joy. His end was regarded as a judgement of God, and he was assigned his place amongst the damned in hell. For his accomplices, too, things went badly: Conrad Torso was stabbed to death, and Johannes was hanged, while the false witnesses against Count Sayn were imprisoned by the archbishop of Mainz. Thereafter, although the laws against heresy remained in force, there were no more major persecutions. As one chronicler remarks, it was the end of a persecution the like of which had never been seen since the persecution of the early Christians; now the times became milder and more peaceable again.(18)
But not everyone rejoiced. In a circular letter to the German clergy Pope Gregory expressed his anger and dismay.(19) Conrad of Marburg, he proclaimed, had been a servant of light, a champion of the Christian faith, the bridegroom of the Church which would have rejoiced in his struggles and his victories. The news of his murder had struck the Church like a thunderbolt. His murderers were men of blood and sons of darkness; it was impossible to devise any earthly punishment that would match their crime. It was nevertheless the pope’s duty to demonstrate that he did not wield the sword of Peter for nothing, and to ensure that the criminals should at least not boast of their crime. He accordingly decreed that the clergy should excommunicate the murderers and their accomplices, should forbid people to have any dealings with them, and should place under interdict any town, village or castle that might give them shelter, until such time as the guilty ones should come to Rome and beg him for absolution. And Gregory had other proposals to make as well. In letters to the archbishop of Mainz and the bishop of Hildesheim he tried to relaunch the campaign against heretics in Germany, even proposing that those who took part in such a campaign should be granted the same indulgences as those who went on a crusade to the Holy Land.
During the following year the gulf that separated the pope from the German clergy and people yawned ever wider. At an assembly of the states of the Empire, held at Frankfurt in February 1234, many who had been accused and shorn by Conrad appeared in procession, carrying crosses, and complaining bitterly of their treatment. A storm of indignation shook the assembly; one prince-bishop was even heard to say, “Master Conrad deserves to be disinterred and burned as a heretic.”(20) Count Henry of Sayn appeared, and was formally cleared of heresy. Another of Conrad’s victims, Count Henry of Solms, declared with tears that he had confessed to heresy only to avoid being burned; and he too was cleared. Finally six of those involved in Conrad’s murder came forward, and they were treated leniently. Except for Conrad’s old ally, the bishop of Hildesheim, hardly anyone showed any interest in a renewed hunt for heretics; and in April the archbishop of Mainz, on behalf of the German clergy, wrote to the pope pointing out what gross illegalities had accompanied Conrad s activities.(21) On the other hand, none of this impressed Pope Gregory, who continued to fulminate against Conrad’s murderers — and also against the German clergy for protecting them.
Clearly the pope in Rome had a very different idea of Conrad and his role from those who had seen the man at work; and one must ask why. It was not (as has sometimes been suggested) that Conrad’s appointment was a papal imposition which infringed the traditional jurisdiction of the bishops; Conrad was appointed by his own superior, the archbishop of Mainz.(22) The explanation of the discrepancy lies elsewhere. Conrad was a fanatic whose persecutory activities were inspired not simply by a detestation of heresy but by demonological fantasies about heretics. The German bishops in general did not share those fantasies; but the pope did — and it was almost certainly Conrad who had implanted them in his mind.
In 1233 Gregory IX had in fact issued a bull, known as Vox in Rama, which contains all the defamatory tales we have been examining, and more.** This papal pronouncement describes what happens when a novice is received into a heretical sect. Usually there first appears a toad, which the novice has to kiss either on the behind or on the mouth; though sometimes the creature may be a goose or a duck, and it may also be as big as a stove. Next a man appears, with coal-black eyes and a strangely pale complexion, and so thin that he seems mere skin and bone. The novice kisses him too, finding him cold as ice to the touch; and as he docs so, his heart is emptied of all remembrance of the Catholic faith. Then the company sits down to a feast. At all such gatherings a certain statue is present: and from it a black cat descends, to receive the obscene homage already described by Walter Map.
After songs have been sung the master asks one follower, “What does this teach?” and receives the answer, “The highest peace,” while another adds, “And that we must needs obey.” There follows the usual promiscuous, incestuous, often homosexual orgy; after which a man comes out from a dark corner, radiant like the sun in his upper half, but black like a cat from the waist down. The light streaming from him illumines the whole place. The master presents this man with a piece of the novice’s garment, saying, “I give you what was given me.” The shining man answers, “You have served me well, you will serve me better still. What you have given me I leave in your care.” And then he vanishes.
***
It was long accepted, and is often repeated in present-day works as though it were established fact, that this bull was directed against the Stedinger, a peasant people who lived in the extreme north of Germany. Yet the text of the bull shows that it was directed against the heretical sects with which Conrad of Marburg was concerning himself, in the Rhine valley and in Thuringia. Conrad never got near the Stedinger.