"quoniam punitio non refertur primo & per se in correctionem & bonum eius qui punitur, sed in bonum publicum ut alij terreantur, & a malis committendis avocentur."
1578 handbook for inquisitors
Translation from the Latin: ... for punishment does not take place primarily and per se for the correction and good of the person punished, but for the public good in order that others may become terrified and weaned away from the evils they would commit."
Liset knelt, praying. She wanted so desperately to be good.
Her world had lost its simple pleasures and become confused and frightening, she was desperate to return to the goodness of her faith. The sisters told her that she was a child of sin, that she had to overcome her low birth as an abandoned orphan to find the grace of God, and she tried all her young life to be obedient, meek and pure. She grew to be beautiful, fine featured, pale blond hair, soft blue eyes, and this too, the sisters said, was a curse, a cause of vanity and jealousy.
She took the vows of a novitiate as soon as she could, taking solace in the only authority that had ever welcomed her. She hid her fine blond hair under a plain wimple and her slim, willowy figure under the folds of an unbleached robe. She made her trips into town brief, and only in the company of other sisters, turning aside from the wandering gaze of the menfolk.
Life of the convent was not easy, but it was peaceful, and one such as she could ask for nothing more.
Until the Inquisition came, and her order was declared to be practicing heresy. The Mother Superior's trial was terrible, terrifying, the accusations against the sisters horrible and disconcerting. She had been forced to watch the Mother burned at the stake, her soul proclaimed beyond saving by man.
The sisters were being put on trial, one by one.
Liset was imprisoned with them, a mere novitiate, implicated in heresy, but, as the minor inquisitor said as he cupped her face, searching for the look of impurity, she could perhaps be salvaged.
While some of the sisters cried, or begged, or retreated into stony silence, Liset prayed to be delivered, to be made pure, to be given a sense of what God required of her. As if God had any use for a low born girl in a dirty habit, locked in a prison away from His light.
One by one the sisters were taken from the prison to be investigated, to be tried, to confess their sins against God and the Church, and to be punished. Liset heard their stories of going before the Grand Inquisitor, and the stories from the guards of their punishments. Days turned into months and the cell that once held most of her order became mostly empty. She tried to care for the others, they did what the could to comb each other's hair, make sure the ones in the depth of their trials had enough to eat and the best places to rest, but little could be done to stave off the despair.
Many were burned, a few were publicly beaten, branded and sent to serve sentences in jails, or given terrible penance to be performed in far away lands.
One morning the weak sun squirmed into the prison cell and the guard pointed to Liset with a grunt. It was her turn to face her heresy, intentional or not, her turn to plead her case before the Inquisitor, her turn to lay her soul bare and hope for mercy.
The guards pulled her from the cell and pushed her into a corner, "Hold still, you. Can't send you to him smelling worse than a pig's sty." The men laughed and poured buckets of cold water over her, chilling her to her bones. One of them grabbed her breast, pinching the taut nipple through the sodden fabric and laughed harder when she pulled out of his grasp. "Look who thinks she's more than one of his whores now?"
"It'd be easier on you later with some breaking in now, girl." another leered at her.
She flushed with shame. They threw a plain homespun dress, little more than a robe, at her and watched as she changed out into it, her body showing well the ravages of months of captivity. One of them grabbed her arm and dragged her up the stairs, her bare feet struggling to keep up as they walked through hallways ever better appointed, the thick carpets caressing her toes in ways far removed from the rough stone she had become accustomed to.
They moved through antechambers and halls, passing people in robes of the Inquisition and uniforms of their secular support. Many people stared at her, some with pity, some with hatred, a few looked away. They all knew where she was going, everyone knew except Liset.
They finally stopped in front of an ornately carved door, waiting while an underling announced them to the Grand Inquisitor. Liset could almost taste her heart, it was beating so high in her throat. She was filled with terror, yes, but terror of greatness, and the equally wild hope that this man could show her the way to find peace again, the way to please God.
The door opened and the guard pushed her inside, throwing her down to the floor. "Here she is, Sir. We're down to the last ones." He pulled himself to attention, his rough leathers and tattered clothing looking absurdly out of place in the regal apartment.
Liset couldn't bring herself to look up, pulling her knees under her, crouching on the thick carpet, the heat from the roaring fire soaking into her deprived flesh. She barely heard the guard leave, but found herself speaking into the deep quiet of the room.
"Please, Sir, tell me how I can be good."
1578 handbook for inquisitors
Translation from the Latin: ... for punishment does not take place primarily and per se for the correction and good of the person punished, but for the public good in order that others may become terrified and weaned away from the evils they would commit."
Liset knelt, praying. She wanted so desperately to be good.
Her world had lost its simple pleasures and become confused and frightening, she was desperate to return to the goodness of her faith. The sisters told her that she was a child of sin, that she had to overcome her low birth as an abandoned orphan to find the grace of God, and she tried all her young life to be obedient, meek and pure. She grew to be beautiful, fine featured, pale blond hair, soft blue eyes, and this too, the sisters said, was a curse, a cause of vanity and jealousy.
She took the vows of a novitiate as soon as she could, taking solace in the only authority that had ever welcomed her. She hid her fine blond hair under a plain wimple and her slim, willowy figure under the folds of an unbleached robe. She made her trips into town brief, and only in the company of other sisters, turning aside from the wandering gaze of the menfolk.
Life of the convent was not easy, but it was peaceful, and one such as she could ask for nothing more.
Until the Inquisition came, and her order was declared to be practicing heresy. The Mother Superior's trial was terrible, terrifying, the accusations against the sisters horrible and disconcerting. She had been forced to watch the Mother burned at the stake, her soul proclaimed beyond saving by man.
The sisters were being put on trial, one by one.
Liset was imprisoned with them, a mere novitiate, implicated in heresy, but, as the minor inquisitor said as he cupped her face, searching for the look of impurity, she could perhaps be salvaged.
While some of the sisters cried, or begged, or retreated into stony silence, Liset prayed to be delivered, to be made pure, to be given a sense of what God required of her. As if God had any use for a low born girl in a dirty habit, locked in a prison away from His light.
One by one the sisters were taken from the prison to be investigated, to be tried, to confess their sins against God and the Church, and to be punished. Liset heard their stories of going before the Grand Inquisitor, and the stories from the guards of their punishments. Days turned into months and the cell that once held most of her order became mostly empty. She tried to care for the others, they did what the could to comb each other's hair, make sure the ones in the depth of their trials had enough to eat and the best places to rest, but little could be done to stave off the despair.
Many were burned, a few were publicly beaten, branded and sent to serve sentences in jails, or given terrible penance to be performed in far away lands.
One morning the weak sun squirmed into the prison cell and the guard pointed to Liset with a grunt. It was her turn to face her heresy, intentional or not, her turn to plead her case before the Inquisitor, her turn to lay her soul bare and hope for mercy.
The guards pulled her from the cell and pushed her into a corner, "Hold still, you. Can't send you to him smelling worse than a pig's sty." The men laughed and poured buckets of cold water over her, chilling her to her bones. One of them grabbed her breast, pinching the taut nipple through the sodden fabric and laughed harder when she pulled out of his grasp. "Look who thinks she's more than one of his whores now?"
"It'd be easier on you later with some breaking in now, girl." another leered at her.
She flushed with shame. They threw a plain homespun dress, little more than a robe, at her and watched as she changed out into it, her body showing well the ravages of months of captivity. One of them grabbed her arm and dragged her up the stairs, her bare feet struggling to keep up as they walked through hallways ever better appointed, the thick carpets caressing her toes in ways far removed from the rough stone she had become accustomed to.
They moved through antechambers and halls, passing people in robes of the Inquisition and uniforms of their secular support. Many people stared at her, some with pity, some with hatred, a few looked away. They all knew where she was going, everyone knew except Liset.
They finally stopped in front of an ornately carved door, waiting while an underling announced them to the Grand Inquisitor. Liset could almost taste her heart, it was beating so high in her throat. She was filled with terror, yes, but terror of greatness, and the equally wild hope that this man could show her the way to find peace again, the way to please God.
The door opened and the guard pushed her inside, throwing her down to the floor. "Here she is, Sir. We're down to the last ones." He pulled himself to attention, his rough leathers and tattered clothing looking absurdly out of place in the regal apartment.
Liset couldn't bring herself to look up, pulling her knees under her, crouching on the thick carpet, the heat from the roaring fire soaking into her deprived flesh. She barely heard the guard leave, but found herself speaking into the deep quiet of the room.
"Please, Sir, tell me how I can be good."
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