The Languedoc at the Turn of the Thirteenth Century
The Languedoc in the year 1200 was a society in remarkable flower. It was one of the most cosmopolitan and sophisticated areas of Europe: trade flourished in the great towns of Toulouse and Carcasonne, with Toulouse itself being only outclassed by Rome and Venice in terms of size and cultural life. The arts were enjoying a renascence, with the ideals of courtly love being praised in the songs and poems of the Troubadours. Religious tolerance was conspicuous, and Jews in particular enjoyed freedoms that they were denied elsewhere. Woven into this rich fabric was Catharism, which, by the turn of the thirteenth century, was endemic throughout the Languedoc. Encouraged by the momentous visit of Nicetas, the Perfect had been hard at work for over a generation, spreading the dualist word throughout the south, creating an heretical kingdom that stretched from Provence to Aragon. That they had been so successful is a tribute both to the temerity and faith of the Perfect, but also to the unique way of life that the Languedoc was enjoying at this high-water mark in its history.
The name Languedoc is a contraction of langue d’oc, the ‘language of yes’, a reference to the fact that in the region’s native tongue, Occitan, yes is oc, not oui. The French language and those who spoke it were far to the north in the Ile de France. Power in the Languedoc was shared between the counts of Toulouse, Foix and Comminges, and the viscounts of Beziers and Carcasonne. Although the Languedocian Cathars did not argue amongst themselves, the lords of Languedoc resembled the Italian Cathars: disputes were frequent, quarrels habitual, petty vendettas the norm.
The most powerful of them all was Raymond VI, count of Toulouse. His court was a kaleidoscopic mix of Catholic, Cathar and Jew, entertained by Troubadours and Jongleurs. His friends, as Stephen O’Shea notes, ‘were not distinguished for their piety.’55 Raymond had inherited his title in 1194 from his father, Raymond V His parents seem to have been on opposite sides of the fence in matters of faith: Raymond’s mother, Constance, had been present at Lombers in 1165 when the Cathars had faced down their Catholic opponents, while his father had invited a group of churchmen to investigate the heresy situation in his lands in 1177.They came, they saw, and promptly concluded that eradicating Catharism from the Languedoc was an impossible task, and went home as soon as possible. The one man whom they did manage to convict was sent to Jerusalem as penance. When he got back to Toulouse, far from having his tail between his legs, he was given a hero’s welcome and was promptly given a well-paid job. This pretty much summed things up: as St Bernard had found to his cost, the
Languedoc was indeed a ‘land of many heresies’ and respect for the Church was about as low as it could possibly be.
The Church during Raymond VI’s early years as count of Toulouse unfortunately deserved everything it got. The clergy were deeply unpopular: they were conspicuously indulgent, and there were churches where Mass had not been said in years. The locals used the phrase ‘I’d rather be a priest’ when asked to do something they would rather not. The bishop of Toulouse was a classic case in point: Raymond of Rabastens was a galloping financial liability. His main claim to fame seems to have been mortgaging church property in order to conduct a private war against his own vassals (done with the aid of mercenaries hired for the occasion). Raymond duly bankrupted the diocese, and was replaced with the more able Fulk of Marseilles, who had been a former Troubadour and was thought to be the only man who could handle the hornet’s nest of the Languedoc. Such was the dire state of diocesan finances that when Fulk took over he did not dare send his mules to the well for water lest they be repossessed.
The moribund state of the Church was not helped by constant interferences from the nobility. The activities of the Trencavels — rivals to Raymond VI’s family, the St Gilles — are a case in point. In 1178, they had the bishop of Albi arrested on trumped-up charges and thrown into jail, while the following year they forced an enormous sum of money out of the coffers of the monastery of St Pons-de-Thomieres. In 1197, they contested the election of a new abbot in Alet, in the highlands of Languedoc. Their intermediary in the dispute, Bertrand de Saissac (several of whose family were Perfect), decided to show the Church who was boss: he dug up the body of the former abbot, propped him up in a chair and asked him who should be his successor. Bertrand got his way, a Trencavel puppet was installed and the late abbot was returned to his resting place.
In the midst of all this chaos, the Cathars were quietly, but firmly, spreading their faith. While the likes of Raymond VI and the Trencavels were either priest-baiting or conducting territorial wars against fellow nobles, the Good Christians were establishing themselves in home and hearth across the length and breadth of the Languedoc. Part of the reason for their success had to do with their respect for women, who enjoyed a higher status in the Languedoc than in most other parts of Europe. Primogeniture was non-existent, which resulted in estates being shared between sons and daughters. Although men were the largest landowners, women did at least stand a chance of being able to own property and thereby increase their status. Catharism helped women further: unlike the Catholic Church, the Cathars saw the sexes as equal, and there was nothing to stop any girl or woman becoming a Perfect. It is not surprising that women responded quickly to Catharism, given that the dualist faith actively encouraged women to participate, with the possibility of becoming Perfect and therefore semi-divine. The Catholic Church offered no such respect. In short, if you were a woman in the Languedoc of 1200, it made more sense to be a Cathar than a Catholic.
Cathar women therefore played a crucial role in the nurturing of the faith. While male Cathars travelled the countryside in pairs gaining new converts, the women established a network of Cathar houses; some of them, such as the houses at Laurac and Villemur, were exclusively for women. A number of the leading Cathar women of the early thirteenth century were also related to the nobility, either by blood or by marriage: Esclarmonde of Foix was the sister of Raymond Roger of Foix, one of the Languedoc’s leading nobles, while Blanche of Laurac, was married to Aimery, count of Laurac and Montreal.
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