situation to raise every kind of difficulty which could not be resolved so long as the throne of Saint Peter was vacant. And indeed, when Philippe and Duèze considered the future, one as Regent, the other as eventual Pontiff, finance was the first concern of both.
Owing to the feudal rebellions, the revolt of the Flemings, the insurrection of the nobles of Artois and the brilliant inspirations of Charles of Valois, the royal Treasury was not only empty, but indebted for several years to come.
The papal Treasury, after two years of errant Conclave, was in no better state; and if the Cardinals sold themselves dearly to the princes of this world, it was because many of them no longer had any means of subsistence other than bartering their votes.
‘Fines, Monseigneur, fines,’ Duèze counselled the young Regent. ‘Fine those who have misbehaved, and the richer they are, the more heavily. If someone should break the law who has a hundred livres, take twenty; if he has a thousand, take five hundred; and should he have a hundred thousand, take practically all that he has. You’ll find that this policy has three advantages: in the first place, the yield will be the greater; in the second, deprived of his power, the malefactor will no longer be able to abuse it; and, finally, the poor, of whom there are great numbers, will be on your side and place confidence in your justice.’
Philippe of Poitiers smiled.
‘What you so wisely suggest, Monseigneur, may be most suitable to royal justice which is a secular arm,’ he replied, ‘but in order to restore the finances of the Church, I do not see …’
‘Fines, fines,’ repeated Duèze. ‘Let us place a tax on sin; it will be an inexhaustible source of revenue. Man is sinful by nature, but more disposed to penitence of the heart than of the purse. He will regret his sins the more keenly, and be the more hesitant to relapse into error, if our absolutions are accompanied by a tax. Whoever wishes to reform must pay for the privilege.’
‘Is he joking?’ thought Poitiers, who, as he saw more of Duèze, was discovering the Cardinal in Curia’s liking for paradox and mystification.
‘And what sins do you propose taxing, Monseigneur?’ he asked, as if he were joining in the game.
‘In the first place those committed by the clergy. We must begin by reforming ourselves before we undertake to reform others. Our Holy Mother is too tolerant of shortcomings and abuses. Thus, neither holy orders nor priesthood may be given to men who are mutilated or deformed. And yet, the other day, I saw a certain Abbé Pierre, who is with Cardinal Caetani, with two thumbs on his left hand.’
‘A little hit at our old enemy,’ thought Poitiers.
‘I have made inquiries,’ Duèze went on, ‘and it appears that the halt, the maimed and the eunuchs who conceal their misfortune beneath a habit, and indeed are beneficed by the Church, are legion. Are we to cast them from our bosom rather than efface their fault, reduce them to penury and perhaps throw them into the arms of the heretics of Toulouse or similar religious confraternities? Let us permit them rather to redeem themselves; and to redeem is to pay.’
The old prelate was perfectly serious. His imagination, stimulated by his meeting with the Abbé Pierre, had created, during these last nights, a complete and precise system on which he intended writing a memorandum to be submitted, so he modestly said, to the next Pope.
It was to create a Holy Office of Penitentiary, which would bring in revenue to the Holy See from bulls of absolution of all kinds. Mutilated priests might obtain absolution at the rate of a few livres for a missing finger, twice as much for a lost eye, and the same for the absence of one or both testicles. A priest who had castrated himself would have to pay a higher price. From bodily infirmities Duèze passed to those of the soul. Bastards who had concealed their condition when receiving orders, priests who had taken the tonsure though married, priests who married secretly after ordination while it was still current, priests who lived unmarried with a woman, priests who were bigamists, or incestuous, or sodomites, would all be taxed proportionately to their sin. Nuns who had wantoned with several men, either within or without their convent, would be subject to particularly costly rehabilitation.9
‘If the creation of this Penitentiary’, declared Duèze, ‘does not bring in two hundred thousand livres the first year, I’ll be …’
He was going to say ‘I’ll be burnt’, but stopped in time.
‘At least,’ thought Poitiers, ‘if he’s elected, I shall have no need to be concerned for the papal finances.’
But in spite of all Duèze’s manoeuvres, and in spite of the support Poitiers gave him secretly, the Conclave still marked time.
Moreover, the news from Paris was far from good. Gaucher de Châtillon, making common front with the Count of Evreux and Mahaut of Artois, was doing his best to put a brake on Charles of Valois’s ambitions. But Charles was living in the Palace of the Cité, where he had Queen Clémence at his mercy; he was running affairs as he pleased, and sending out to the provinces instructions contrary to those sent by Poitiers from Lyons. Moreover, the Duke of Burgundy had arrived in Paris, on the 16th of June, to establish his rights; he knew that he had the support of the vassals of his huge duchy. France, therefore, had three regents. This situation could not continue for long, and Gaucher asked Philippe to return to Paris.
On the 27th of June, after a restricted council meeting, attended by the Count de Forez and the Count de la Voulte, the young Prince decided to set out as soon as possible, and ordered his escort’s baggage-train to be assembled. At the same time, learning that no solemn mass had yet been held for the repose of his brother’s soul, he ordered masses to be said on the following day, before his departure, in every parish in the town. All the high and low clergy were expected to attend to join their prayers with the Regent’s.
The Cardinals, particularly the Italians, were delighted. Philippe of Poitiers was being compelled to leave Lyons without having made them give way.
‘He is concealing his flight under the pomp of mourning,’ said Caetani, ‘but let him go all the same, that accursed young man. He thought he held us in the hollow of his hand. I assure you that we shall be back in Rome before the month is out.’
CARDINALS ARE IMPORTANT PEOPLE who must not be mixed with the small fry of the clergy. The Count of Poitiers had ordered that the church of the monastery of the Predicant Friars, called the Church of the Jacobins,10 the most beautiful, the largest, after the Primatial Saint-Jean, and also the best fortified, should be reserved to them for the service to the memory of Louis X. The Cardinals saw in this selection no more than normal respect for their dignity. None was absent from the ceremony.
They numbered but twenty-four and yet the church was full, for each Cardinal was escorted by his whole household – chaplain, secretary, treasurer, clerks, pages, valets, linkmen and trainbearers: nearly six hundred people in all were assembled between the massive white pillars.
Rarely had a funeral mass been followed with so little peaceful meditation. It was the first time for many months that the Cardinals, who had been living in cliques in separate residences,
