Such are the three authorities who, between them, are supposed to have created the stereotype of the witch. Obviously they did no such thing. Yet these are significant pronouncements, for they show quite clearly what, in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, the Church thought of practitioners of ritual magic. Other sources add nothing substantial to what these three tell us. Confronted with the spread of ritual magic in western Europe, popes, scholastics and inquisitors alike decided that it was a form of heresy and apostasy.
The magicians themselves of course saw the matter in quite a different light. Fourteenth-century manuscripts of a magic book known as the Liber sacer, or alternatively as the Sworn Book of Honorius, carry a preface which must surely have been written in response to the papal condemnations of the 1320s.(29) The pope and the cardinals, we learn, have decreed the extirpation of the magic art and the physical extermination of all magicians. The grounds for the decree are that magicians are transgressing the ordinances of the Church, invoking demons and making sacrifices to them, and moreover deceiving ignorant people by their illusions and so driving them to damnation. But, say the magicians, none of this is true; the pope and the cardinals have themselves been deceived by the Devil. In the magic art spirits are compelled to act against their will — and this is something that only the pure of heart can achieve; the wicked are therefore unable to practise the art with any success. The Devil, so far from regarding the magicians as allies, sees in them a threat to his monopoly of working wonders — which is why he has inspired legislation against them.
On the evidence of the books of magic the protest seems justified. The magicians did not regard themselves as demon-worshippers, because they knew that when they invoked a demon, they did so in the name and by the power of God. The ecclesiastical authorities were presumably also aware of this fact, but in their eyes it made no difference. Whatever the procedure, ritual magic always involved asking from demons what ought to be asked from God alone; and that was utterly damnable.
In all this maleficium played little part. Foretelling the future, discovering hidden treasure, tracking down a thief — these are the purposes which, in its doctrinal pronouncements, the Church commonly attributed to ritual magic. Yet other possibilities existed. As we have seen, some books of magic themselves list the many kinds of harm that demons can be induced to do. When it came to actual trials, these claims were seized upon: in trials where ritual magic figured, maleficium often figured top. But such trials were also heresy trials: and that is how maleficium acquired a new significance.
That significance seemed all the more sinister because the inquisitorial procedure, under which heresy trials were conducted, was as likely to distort the facts as to elicit them; and could also be used to fabricate deeds that were never done at all. Not that the Inquisition itself contributed much to the process. Though the Inquisition perfected the inquisitorial procedure, it never monopolized it; and very few of the heresy trials which, in the course of the fourteenth century, directly prepared the way for the great witch-hunt were conducted by professional inquisitors, whether Dominican or Franciscan. Bishops, special ecclesiastical commissioners and secular judges played a much larger part; and, as we shall see, their motives were very mixed indeed.
10. MAGICIAN INTO WITCH (2)
It seems that the first person to be formally tried for practising ritual magic was Pope Boniface VIII; and he was tried posthumously. This happened in 1310-11, in the aftermath of the pope’s struggle with Philip the Fair of France, and it was the work of Philip’s devoted servant, Guillaume de Nogaret.*
Boniface was the first pope to see the spiritual hegemony of the papacy openly challenged and rejected by a national monarchy.(1) The immediate source of conflict was the taxation of the clergy. England and France were at war, and Edward I and Philip IV both tried to secure contributions from their clergy towards the cost of the war. This was contrary to the canon law of the time, and Boniface was well within his rights when, in 1296, he issued a bull forbidding any imposition of taxes on the clergy without express licence by the pope. But whereas in England, thanks to the efforts of the archbishop of Canterbury, Robert de Winchelsey, the bull had some effect, Philip was able to introduce countermeasures which practically nullified it in France. And he was quick to follow up his victory: by arresting and imprisoning the bishop of Pamiers, Bernard Saisset, he openly challenged the papal claim, so laboriously established during the preceding two centuries, to control over the clergy. Boniface in turn replied with two bulls, in which he demanded the release of Saisset and reaffirmed the supremacy of the spiritual over the temporal power; but he had underestimated Philip’s determination and ruthlessness.
Philip had allies in the Colonna family. That mighty Roman clan hated Boniface bitterly. They were the second oldest of the city’s princely families, and had long been the most powerful. The oldest family was the Caetani, into which Boniface was born; and with his accession to the papal throne it became the most powerful as well. The Colonna saw themselves deprived of their traditional primacy, and more; for Boniface set about breaking their power — excommunicating them, confiscating their estates, even declaring a crusade against them. The Colonna responded by aligning themselves with the king of France and joining in his campaign to discredit the pope. It was the Colonna who first put about the story of Boniface’s demonic contacts.
In March 1301. an assembly of bishops and great lords gathered around Philip the Fair at the Louvre, heard Nogaret denounce the pope as a heretic and demand a general council of the Church to try him; after which Nogaret left for Italy. And while Boniface prepared yet another bull, this time excommunicating the king of France, Nogaret organized a plot to seize him and drag him before a council. The Colonna were his allies, but in effect they ruined the plot. In September the pope was duly seized at his castle at Anagni; but then Sciarra Colonna went too far, insulting and harassing the old man for three days, and also provoking the inhabitants of Anagni to such a point that in the end they rose and rescued the pope. Nogaret was wounded and fled; there could no longer be any question of a general council. On the other hand Boniface was a broken man, mentally and physically; and within a month he was dead.
The consequences were to pursue Nogaret for eight of the ten years of life that remained to him. The new pope, Benedict XI, issued a bull excommunicating him and fifteen others who had taken part in the action at Agnani. The following year Benedict also died, to be succeeded by the French pope Clement V, resident at Avignon and largely dependent on the good will of the king of France. Both Philip the Fair and Nogaret had helped to secure Clement’s election, and both expected favours in return. For Philip it was important that Clement should annul the bulls that Boniface had directed against him; and that he should comply, if not actively co-operate, in the suppression of the Order of the Temple. As for Nogaret, he desperately needed to be relieved of the sentence of excommunication. Between them, they hit on an ingenious device for exerting pressure on the pope: they proposed that his predecessor Boniface should be posthumously tried as a heretic, apostate and criminal.
*
In 1301-3 Walter de Langton, bishop of Coventry and Lichfield and treasurer of England, had to face charges which included intimate dealings with the Devil; but ritual magic was implied rather than explicit. For a recent account of the episode: Alice Beardwood, “The trial of Walter Langton, Bishop of Lichfield, 1307–1312”, in