OF THE SECRET, DREADFUL, AND BLOODY DOINGS OF THE TRIBUNAL OF THE HOLY
INQUISITION.
Now you may look to hear that after this firm refusal to convert I
should find myself most happy and strong in my mind, and await with
patience and constancy the tortures that were to come. But so weak and
feeble is our poor human nature, and mine in especial, that I was
troubled night and day with dreams of the rack, so that at the last I
could neither sleep nor eat. And doubtless, to those watching my
situation, it seemed a hopeful thing to behold how weak and timid I
was grown, and one night they haled me from my bed to the chamber
where the Board sat. And here they did demand of me once more whether
I would recant my heresies and confess the crimes wherewith I was
charged. And I answering that any crimes I had committed I had already
confessed, and did most willingly repent for ’em, but that I could
neither confess nor repent for those whereof I was not guilty, they
declared me an obstinate heretic, and commanded me to be carried to
the torture-chamber.
This place, which was reached by divers galleries and damp passages,
was long and low, so far as I might see (for all the light was but two
candles), and the walls lined all over with a kind of quilting or
tapestry. And here was six men, of a very hideous and ferocious
aspect, beside those that had entered with me, to whom orders was
given that they should prepare the torture, I in the meantime leaning
myself against the wall, being too faint from fasting and terror to
stand upright. And when their devilish machine was ready, I found
myself seized by these men, who stripped off my clothes and laid me
upon a stand raised above the floor, fastening me down with a collar
of iron about my neck, and an iron ring round each foot. Then the
Inquisidor, that was come hither with us, demanded of me once more
whether I would confess and convert, which again I refused.
And thereupon the tormentors did wind two ropes around each of my arms
and legs, and, on a signal given from the Inquisidor, drew them all
tight at once. This caused me an intolerable anguish, and the blood
gushed forth under all the ropes, these being very small and cutting
even to the bone. Though I bit my lip through, I could not restrain
myself from groaning, and at last the ropes were loosed. Then they
asked of me again whether I would convert, but I still refused, though
fearing greatly that I must yield if the ropes should be again drawn
tight, so incredible was the pain. Wherefore I cried out aloud to God
that He would keep me firm in truth and integrity, and not permit me
to be forced either to renounce my faith, or to confess what I had
never done, and so I resigned myself again to the tormentors. Now it
may seem to you a strange piece of weakness, and one whereof an
Englishman had reason to be ashamed, though ’twas to me a great and
unlooked for mercy, that as soon as the ropes were pulled tight again
I fainted away, from the pain and constriction thus caused, and so
felt no more of their cruelties. And at last, the chirurgion[71] that
was there certifying that I could bear no more and live, they unloosed
me and carried me back to my cell, bleeding in many places from those
wounds, whereof I shall carry the scars to my dying day.
’Tis the custom of the Inquisition, when those that come under their
hands refuse to confess at the first application of the torture, to
tend them carefully and recover them so far as may be, in order that
they may entreat them even worse in the future, and this not a second
time only, but also a third, if they can endure so long. ’Twas in
accordance with this their custom, then, that I was conveyed again to
my chamber, my wounds bound up, and such meat and drink ordered to be
provided for me as I should desire. And this though there is truly no
cause to complain touching the ordinary food, the while is most
wholesome in its kind, being good bread, fish or fruit, and on Sundays
and holy-days also a sausage, and abundant in quantity as well.
And because their lordships saw that I was dull and heavy of heart,
they did send Father Theodorus to talk with me and comfort me, hoping
also that he would bring me to convert, through his kindness working
upon my weakness. And during some weeks his visits did indeed much
cheer me; but the end thereof was not such as my lords looked for,
though I can’t tell whether ’tis altogether to be charged to the good
father’s account. Now on the last day of his coming that I can
recollect at that time, I had but just lighted upon that in my cell
which awoke in me great curiosity, so that I pleased myself with
divers speculations concerning it. For while I lay upon my mat, scarce
able to move through weakness, and my eyes wandering over the bare
walls, there appeared to me on a stone close to the floor a certain
writing, that had never caught my sight before. It cost me infinite
pains to drag myself to that spot, and yet more to read the writing,
which I could not do but only at noonday. Then looking at it closely,
I saw that it was scratched with a nail or some such sorry tool, in
the Portuguese. But between my disease and my small knowledge of that
tongue, ’twas some time before I could understand it. Englished, it
ran thus, so far as I can recollect:--
“I, Emmanuel da Lesminha, a New Christian, was brought hither on the
13th day of May 1659, being accused as a relapsed Jew. On St James’s
day of this year, 1663, I shall be brought out, to the galleys or to
the flames, God alone knows which. God of my fathers, defend my
innocence!”
The former part of this inscription was drawn deeply, with much care
and pains, as if the unhappy man had laboured long upon it, but the
second piece was scratched as though in haste, and was barely to be
read. I wondered much concerning this prisoner, whether the galleys or
the fire had been his fate, and purposed in my own mind to engrave a
like record of myself, when my strength should allow and a convenient
tool offer. Then come in Father Theodorus with the _alcaide_, and I
asked of him the name of the person that had lain in this cell before
I had it. I was surprised to see that he observed me somewhat
curiously before answering.
“Why?” says he, “have ye seen aught? The man that had this chamber
before ye was a _fetiscero_,[72] a sorcerer, that is, a negro from
Angola. I would not be telling ye how many good Christians in the city
he had bewitched before the Holy Office gat hold of him. Sure he could
make the rest of the _cofferies_ do anything he wanted for fear of
their lives, and even when he was brought here he never ceased his
evil deeds. They tortured him until all the chirurgions declared him a
living marvel, but ’twas the devil likely looked after his own. They
could not kill him that way, and he’d not confess neither, though
three ordinary men should have died under it. They burned him at last,
and to several respectable persons in the crowd it was granted to
behold his evil spirit rising from the flames in the form of a
parti-coloured crow, and forsaking its earthly abode. By reason of
this miracle, his death was much spoken about, and the more that three
months later, to the very day, my lord the then Grand Inquisidor died
suddenly, and ’twas remembered that the _fetiscero_, in passing to his
burning, had bade his lordship meet him that day three months. And at
this evident proof that the Evil One desired to oppress all good
Christians in Goa, and had obtained a measure of power over ’em, there
was great processions took place, with litanies and intercessions of
the saints, for to move ’em to protect the city, and the Holy Office
renewed its activity in hunting out and destroying all _fetisceros_.
And one of these was taken, that had been friend to that arch-sorcerer
that was now dead, and this man confessed under the torture that his
friend had been wont to visit upon him at his house while he seemed to
be lying in this cell, and that they had by this means plotted much
devilish work together. Then the _alcaide_ remembered how that
_fetiscero_ had been wont to sit crouched in that corner opposite to
ye there, sometimes neither moving nor speaking for days, but wrapped
in a trance as if dead, save that his body was not cold,--and we could
not doubt but the devil had given him power to leave the Holy House,
though his body remained here. ’Tis said the spirits of such wicked
persons are wont to haunt the spots they have affected in life, and
that was why I thought that ye’d maybe seen him when ye asked me who
had this cell before ye.”
I moved somewhat uneasily, not over-pleased with this history, which
Father Theodorus seeing, he went on eagerly, for all the world like a
child with a ghost tale.
“Ay, and sure I’d forgot to tell ye that after the burning of this
_fetiscero_, a fever brake out in this part of the Holy House, and
though it carried off many, both guards and prisoners, could not be
stopped. Then their lordships, remembering the dreadful power of that
wretched man, caused the whole house, and especially this chamber, to
be searched. And in this very cell, under that very mat ye are lying
upon, just where your head is now, they found (’tis the truth I’m
telling ye), his _fetizo_, his charms, his magic, don’t ye know?”
“And what was this like?” I asked him.
“Well,” says Father Theodorus, “to our eyes ’twas but a bundle of
fish-bones and stones of fruits, with threads out of the mats, and
feathers of birds, and divers other such common things; but there
could be no doubt but that the devil had invested it with magical
power, for so soon as it was removed, the fever ceased to spread.”
“And what was done with the _fetizo_?” said I.
“Sure I’ll tell ye,” says he. “His grace the lord Archbishop yonder
ordained a special ceremony in the square before the cathedral, for to
exorcise the evil spirit, and thereafter they did burn the _fetizo_
with much solemnity. And as it burned it did send forth an
extraordinary nasty stinking smell, showing to all that ’twas the
devil’s own handiwork. And all the negroes that were present and saw
it cried out that ’twas a mighty great _fetizo_.”
“But who lay in this cell before the _fetiscero_?” says I, trying to
shake off the remembrance of the tale, though I won’t deny that I had
been right glad had the _fetiscero_ been lodged in any other cell than
this of mine.
“Some poor wretch of a New Christian, as we call those Jews and Moors
that adopt our holy faith,” says he. “They accused him of consorting
with others of the like sort, and truly, since all his kin were like
himself, and no others will company with ’em, he could not well avoid
it, but ’twas said that they did practise among ’emselves Jewish
ceremonies. He was in the Holy House for four years, and then was
delivered over to the secular power,--ye know what that signifies.
’Twas said that the galleys should have been punishment enough, but he
had been one of the richest persons in Goa, and his wealth was all
come to the Holy Office. So ye see they could not let him go.”
I had heard before of the heavy trials of these New Christians, but I
had never thought they should come so near to me as this. I would fain
have asked Father Theodorus more concerning ’em, but he could not
leave his tale of the _fetiscero_, and told me many more tales
touching him, each one more horrid than the last, so that I was much
disturbed and troubled in my mind, the more by reason of my sickness,
which he seeing, made haste to say--
“’Tis well for ye that this fellow is dead now, and can’t return
hither for to continue his evil deeds. If he had been a _fetiscero_ of
the common sort, they’d not have burnt him. The powder-mills should
have been punishment enough. Ye have seen those convicted of
practising magic working there, I wouldn’t wonder?”
“Those that bear gowns of yellow stuff, with a red cross before and
behind?” asked I.
“They do so. But ye see, he was too great a person for that. The Holy
Office must needs put him to death, and he is dead now, so he needn’t
trouble ye.”
“But if his soul was able to leave his body in life, why can’t it
wander at its will now, sir?” I asked him, “or maybe be conjured up by
his fellows, for to assist ’em in their unlawful arts?” This I said
more to perceive what he would say than because I believed that such
a thing should be likely to happen, though indeed many of our wisest
and most ingenious philosophers concur in ascribing extraordinary
powers (conferred, of course, by the author of evil), to the
practisers of witchcraft. My friend’s countenance took an air of
trouble, and then cleared on a sudden.
“Sure, I’ll exorcise the evil spirit for ye, my lad,” and with that he
walked to and fro in the chamber, and muttered his barbarous Latin
_hocus-pocus_ in all the four corners thereof, and then approached me,
and would have made I know not what superstitious ceremonies over me,
but that I besought him that he would not force upon me idolatrous
rites when I was too feeble to resist him. And upon this he ceased his
mummery, and departed with the _alcaide_, that had been bowing and
muttering mighty devoutly in concert with him.
Now when they were departed, there come upon me so great terror and
fear as I had willingly given all I possessed in the world for to have
them back. The sun was about setting, and through the narrow grating
of the cell there come strange shadows into all the corners, and there
was in the air that great stillness which I have ofttimes noted at the
approach of night. Not the tinkle of a single church-bell from the
city disturbed the quiet, and in the Holy House itself was nothing to
be heard. It seemed to me that there was some other person in the
chamber beside myself, and I lay upon my mat looking fearfully into
the growing blackness. And thus by degrees there seemed to shape
itself to me (for my mind was mightily wrought upon by that tale of
Father Theodorus’), the person of that _fetiscero_, sitting in that
corner where he had been wont, as they had told me. And indeed I can’t
even now determine whether that I saw were in reality the man’s evil
spirit permitted to return to earth, though truly, considering that I
have since beheld more than once the same phantom when I have been
seized with an access of the nightmare, I am inclined to set it down
as a delusion of my sick brain. Nevertheless, at that time, as it
seemed to me, I saw him as plain as I had seen the Father and the
_alcaide_ but now. He was a great negro man, very broad of his
shoulders, and he sat with his back turned towards me, and his chin
upon his knees, his hands being clasped in front of his feet. I could
see, as I lay staring upon him, that his body was all over seamed and
scarred with the marks of many tortures, and there was a pair of heavy
irons upon his feet.
So long he sat still there, and I watching him, not able to take my
eyes from off him, lest he should move and approach me, that at the
last I began to hope that he was in one of those trances whereof they
had told me, and would remain thus until the _alcaide_ might chance to
look in, and having beheld him, should take him away. But even as I
thought thus, he seemed to move, and his hands began to grope about as
though in search for something that they did not find. Then I knew
that he was seeking his _fetizo_, and my very blood ran coldly for to
think that he had last left it hid under that same mat whereon I lay.
I beheld him feeling about in the two corners at that end of the
chamber where he was, and then he turned himself, and, still
crouching, came towards me on his hands and knees. Now he could not
lift up himself, both by reason of his fetters and of those torments
that he had endured, so that his going seemed liker that of some
savage beast of prey than a man, and as he came, I saw his evil eyes
glitter, as though lit up by fire from within. He came very slow,
creeping along the floor an inch at a time, but he came always nearer,
while as I lay griping the coverlet with my fingers, and could not so
much as stir to move away from him. I never doubted but he was there,
yet even then it seemed strange to me that his irons made no sound
upon the stone floor, but doubtless (thought I) the devil had helped
him to be rid of the noise. Thus he continued to come on, slow and
steadily, until he gat up on the platform where I was, and began
feeling about on the mat. I could not discover that he had seen me,
but I durst not remove my gaze from those dreadful eyes of his, that
seemed to burn into my very marrow. He came crawling on, and when he
reached the spot where I was laid, stretched out his skinny hand, and
caught me by the throat. I felt him kneel upon my breast, I saw the
fire that flashed from his eyes, I felt his burning breath upon my
countenance, and then my voice returned to me, and with all my
strength I shouted aloud for help.
As Father Theodorus told me later, my cries, echoing along the
galleries, startled the _alcaide_, and brought him, hot-foot, to my
cell, where he found me lying in a raging fever. Finding that he could
not prevail upon me to cease my cries, nor hinder my engaging in
fancied struggles with that ghostly assailant of mine, he bade fetch a
stout blackamoor that was slave to one of the officers of the House
and spake no English, who should tarry beside me and restrain me so
far as he might. Which this poor fellow did, but though he could
understand naught of what I said, yet my gestures and my manifest
terror did inspire him with so much fear as made him recollect the
evil reputation of the _fetiscero_ that had last lain in this cell,
and conceiving that his devilish influence still lingered there, he
tried in vain to escape, and being securely locked in, was found near
dead with fright in the morning.
Now after this, seeing that one of the common fevers of the place had
seized upon me, being augmented by my trouble of mind and the pain of
those wounds I had from the torture, they had in a _pundit_, that is,
an Indian physician, for to endeavour to cure me. And I have since
heard it said, that the science of these physicians is extreme
ill-considered and like to be injurious, for they are wont to cure
fevers by means of divers coolers, which, say our physicians in
England, is mighty hurtful to the patient. I can’t tell whether they
succeed in restoring many to health by such means, but all Europe
persons in the Indies are forced to trust to them, saving in those two
or three places where one or other of the trading companies hath
provided a chirurgion of its own. And thus I can testify, for the
credit of that most reverend _pundit_ that tended me, that though he
brought me to death’s very door by his blooding and his drugs, yet I
am here alive this day, and who shall say that I should be so but for
his medicines? Yet he let me blood so freely that, even after the
fever had left me, ’twas many months before I could creep from end to
end of my cell, and indeed, one night, the bandages being in some way
loosened, I had like to have died from loss of blood, had it not been
for Father Theodorus, that came for to recommend me a confessor, and
found me needing a chirurgion. ’Tis well for me that this good man
straightway forgat the confessor, and set himself to fasten my
bandages again most deftly, he having some slight skill in the medical
art, else had I never lived to write this book. But as for that matter
of the confessor, this was not the first time, nor the last, that they
pestered me by reason on’t, thinking me near my end, and desiring to
have me die in their religion, so that they would come to me of
mornings, when I was half dead after a restless night filled with evil
visions, and beseech me to reconcile myself with the Church.
Now as I left the fever behind, these visions did not quit me. I
suppose that I was still light-headed, by reason of the blood-letting,
for I was continually tormented with the most frightful dreams,
wherein the two _fetisceros_, and that poor New Christian of whom I
knew only by hearsay, were mingled with their lordships the
Inquisidors and the gentlemen of my acquaintance in Goa, and these
again with the _banyans_ of Surat and the Company’s servants there,
and even with my father and my little cousin Dorothy, in the strangest
and most fantastical drolleries, the which were no drolleries to me,
but troubled me mightily. For being haunted by these phantasms night
and day, and seeing them continually whirling and seething before me
in uncouth dances and routs, and mocking me with extravagant gestures,
like so many antics,[73] I became, as it were, distraught, so that in
my frenzy I was at the pains to end my life by striking my head
against the wall beside me. In this wicked design, as you may well
perceive, I did not succeed, but only stunned myself, and was so found
by the _alcaide_ and my physician the _pundit_. And when these had
revived me, I poured forth to them so much of my troubles and of the
horrors that oppressed me as my Portuguese would convey, and they,
perceiving that I was in danger of going mad by reason of my solitude,
came to me the next day for to tell me that it had pleased their
lordships to grant me a companion in my cell.
This companion was brought to me before long, and his presence proved
a prodigious great cheer and solace to me, although we never spake one
to the other save on our most needful occasions. And this because I
had in my mind that common report which says that the Inquisidors do
often send to a prisoner as companion one that may worm himself into
his confidence and discover his secret matters with the intent to
betray them to his hurt, though now, remembering this person’s silence
towards me, I do believe that he feared me on the same grounds. Yet
was I glad to behold a face that was not a jailer’s, and so long as
this man was in the cell, my visions troubled me but little. I don’t
know by what crimes he had brought himself under the power of the Holy
Office, though Father Theodorus said he believed ’twas that he had
espoused two wives at the same time; but though he had espoused a
dozen, he did me a good turn in that he banished my dreams for me.
When we had broken our fast of a morning, he was wont to lie on his
mat, and I on mine, sleeping or meditating, but rarely speaking. So
easy are we to accustom ourselves even to the drollest situations,
that I found myself altogether solitary when I was deprived of my
silent companion. The _alcaide_ and another officer fetched him away
one night, and I never saw him thereafter, nor heard nothing of his
fate.
Nevertheless I had not too much time granted me, wherein to fall again
under the power of my delusions, for about three weeks after taking
away my companion, they came for me also. And I, remembering that he
was never returned, considered that now at last death must be at hand,
and called upon God to keep me steadfast, and so went with them,
although my weakness was such that they must needs support me all the
way. And being set once more before their lordships, they took
occasion to remind me that much time had been granted to me, and
likewise many incentives to repentance, and demanded whether I would
now make a full confession, to all of which I returned the same
answers as before. Then they had me away again to the torture-room,
but God moved the heart of the chirurgion that stood by, so that he
went up quickly to their lordships, and whispered them that I could
bear no more, but should die under the first application of the
torment, and at that they remanded me to my dungeon. But as I was
departing, the Grand Inquisidor says suddenly--
“Take heed what you do, for except you confess, the next time you are
brought here will be the signal for your death.”
But as I have told you, I was prepared for death already, so that this
threat did not move me, and I tarried during a long space very calmly
and contentedly in my cell. I considered that God was about
accustoming my mind to the approach of death, and for this I was
extreme thankful. I seemed to myself to look back on all my past life
before coming into this place as though it had been another man’s, so
that I felt that ’twas not I that had started out from Ellswether,
sworn to redeem the estates and espouse Dorothy, but another. ’Twas
not that I had forgot those at home, but ’twas as though I looked upon
them from some great distance, yea, as though I were already dead, and
watching ’em from heaven. It did not even trouble me what should come
to them when I was dead, for I seemed to myself to have no more to do
with the cares and concerns of earth. I would not say that this
posture of mind was to be commended or admired, as is that holy
uplifting of the spirit whereof we read in the histories of the last
hours of martyrs; for indeed I think it was but that dead calmness
born of certainty arriving after long suspense, yet neither was it to
be despised. Now at last, while in this mood, there breaks in upon me
Father Theodorus, that seemed to be as cheerfully disposed as ever.
“’Tis my last visit to ye, my lad,” says he. “Without ye are willing
to satisfy their lordships, that is. And sure I’ll put it to ye quite
fair, if ye are minded to convert, tell me, and I’ll convert ye
quicker than any one else, but if ye an’t so, I’ll not trouble ye.
’Tis the confidence I have in ye makes me assured that ye wouldn’t
give the pleasure of converting ye to one of the fat Franciscans in
the town there, when poor old Father Theodorus has been visiting ye
and watching over your soul for so long.”
“Sir,” said I, “I will certainly promise you that, should I ever
desire to convert, you shall direct the operation.”
“Ye have satisfied me,” says he, “and sure that’s why I’m come to ye
now, though I told their lordships that ye were obstinately fixed in
your wicked heresies, but I’d bring ye to convert if any one could.
Have ye considered the matter, my lad? There’s only death before ye if
ye don’t convert before the next audit, for if ye convert after
they’ve sentenced ye, ’tis only strangling instead of burning. Can ye
endure it, think ye? Ye are but young yet.”
“Sir,” said I, “I seem to myself to have lived a lifetime within these
walls, not to speak of the years that passed before I come hither. God
has granted me now such contentment with my lot, that I am ready to
die if He so wills it.”
“Alas!” says Father Theodorus, looking upon me strangely, “I could
almost find it in my heart to wish that I might be like ye when my
time comes. I have lived much longer than ye have, and sure I’m as
fond of this life as ever, though this is a thing no Paulistin ought
say. But concerning your friends, my lad? ’Tis sad I am to think of
your father’s son cut off like this.”
“Pray, sir,” says I, “tell me how you knew my father. I have never
heard that tale from you yet.”
“Why, ’tis soon told,” says he. “After one of those skirmishes in the
West Country, wherein the king’s forces carried off the victory, I
crept out at night on the field, seeking for a comrade that had been
left for dead, hoping to be yet in time to administer the last
sacraments to him. Having found him, I discovered that ’twas no
question of the last rites as yet, seeing that he was not in the
article of death, but only badly wounded with a sword-cut. I was about
doing what I might for him and the other wounded near at hand, when I
found myself seized monstrous roughly by several soldiers, that
declared I was plundering the dead. Finding an enemy thus employed, as
they supposed, they had surely slain me without mercy, but that your
father chanced then to come up. And he, after hearing what I had to
say, and inquiring concerning the truth of the same from those wounded
I had succoured, bade ’em let me go, and so dismissed me with a
caution, for the king’s forces, being hard put to’t to find food for
’emselves, desired no prisoners. And ’tis thus that I owe my life to
Sir Harry Carlyon.”
“But pray, sir, how were you on the side of the rebels?” asked I.
“Sure they was all mighty precise Puritans?”
“And why not I?” asks he. “Do ye think I could not sing psalms through
my nose, nor shout _The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!_ with the
best of ’em? ’Twas for the Church’s sake, my lad. There was many of us
did it, some even among the Ironsides ’emselves. We had received our
orders, and how should it signify to us on whose side we fought?”
I was silent, turning over in my mind this strange matter. For I
wondered much how that arch-rebel, Cromwell, should have taken it if
any had told him that there was Popish priests (and they Jesuits), in
his army, and what should have been the fate of the said priests had
they been discovered. Which Father Theodorus seeing, he laughed his
jolly laugh--
“Ye don’t know all the stratagems of Rome yet, Ned, nor ye won’t if ye
live to be an hundred. Ough! sure I wan’t intending to say that,
knowing what’s before ye as I do. I’ll try and see ye once more, my
lad, even if ’tis only on the morning of the _Aucto_. I can’t save ye,
ye see that, but I’m prodigious sorry for ye. Ah, _Seignior alcaide_,
how much I shall miss the long disputes I have had with this gentleman
for the good of his soul! Sure, I think that ye yourself can’t fail to
have been edified by all that has been said, though ye couldn’t
understand a word on’t.”
I believe that the _alcaide_ must have seen the wink that Father
Theodorus (even with his eyes full of tears) directed towards me while
he said these words, for he took him out somewhat suddenly, and
himself departed after him, reminding me that I was now enjoying the
last opportunity of repentance that the clemency of the Lords
Inquisidors could furnish me, since they must needs soon make an
example of me, for the sake of others. But having heard these words
more than once before, I did pay but slight heed to ’em, and so let
him go.
Now some few evenings after this, I was brought suddenly from my bed
before the Board of the Holy Office, being barely allowed time for to
dress myself, and here I was for the last time asked whether I would
make a good confession, and submit myself to their lordships’
direction, conforming myself to the doctrines of the Church and
believing them in my soul, or no. And I answering after my former
manner, the Grand Inquisidor, with a mighty solemn air, pronounced
upon me the sentence, which ran that as a contumacious and
incorrigible heretic I should be taken to the Church of St Francis,
and there delivered over to the secular arm, for to be dealt with
according to justice.