Meanwhile the inquisitorial procedure was becoming institutionalized. Early in the thirteenth century that great administrator Pope Innocent III established it as the normal way of proceeding against clerics. A cleric could not, of course, be tried except by an ecclesiastical tribunal; nor could he, under canon law, be accused by a cleric of lower status than himself. In practice this meant that bishops, abbots and the like had been almost wholly exempt from legal sanctions. The inquisitorial procedure enabled the ecclesiastical authorities, when appropriate, to initiate proceedings against even the most exalted clerics. This was doubtless a commendable reform; but it took on a new significance when the Inquisition came into being.
The Inquisition took its name from the inquisitorial procedure and not, as is sometimes assumed,
The papal Inquisition became fully organized only in the second half of the thirteenth century; but already in 1231, following the agreement between Gregory XII and Frederick II, the archbishop of Mainz appointed a certain Conrad of Marburg as inquisitor for his vast see. It was a fateful step, for the man turned out to be a blind fanatic. Moreover, there was as yet no established routine to restrain his fanaticism. The procedure later developed by the Inquisition, unfair as it was, was less arbitrary than the procedure concocted by this pioneering amateur.(14)
It seems likely that Conrad of Marburg was of aristocratic descent, and had once belonged to the monastic order of the Premonstratensians; but latterly he was simply a secular priest. He had had a university education, probably at Paris, and was celebrated for his learning; but he was even more famous for his formidable personality and austere way of life. Thin with fasting, of sombre and threatening mien, he was both respected and feared. He was utterly incorruptible; though he spent long years at the court of the count of Thuringia, and exercised great influence, he refused all benefices and remained a simple priest. He was also terrifyingly severe. As confessor to the countess— now St Elizabeth of Thuringia — he treated his penitent with a harshness which was extraordinary even by the standards of the time. He would, for instance, trick the twenty-one-year-old widow into some trivial and unwitting disobedience, and then have her and her maids flogged so severely that the scars were visible weeks later.
Popes were accustomed to trust Conrad with the defence of the faith. In 1215 and again in 1227, when plans were being laid for yet another assault on Islam, Conrad was appointed to preach the crusade. As he rode from place to place — always on a donkey, in imitation of Jesus— he was followed by crowds of clerics and layfolk, men and women; at the approach to towns the inhabitants would come in procession to meet him, with banners and candles and incense. His success as a preacher of the crusade made him famous.