observed the Chief Inquisitor. "In capturing a few we must take care
that the rest do not escape us. Officers must be placed to watch all
those who come forth from the Cazalla palace, and they must be followed
to their homes and never again lost sight of. Meantime, messengers must
be despatched forthwith throughout the kingdom, and all the
ramifications of this most accursed heresy traced out, so that on a
given day all the heretics which exist in it may be seized together and
brought to punishment. We must surround the whole brood with our nets,
and let not one escape."
The proposal was thoroughly in accordance with the wishes of most of the
council. No time was lost in carrying out the proposed plan. Through
the assistance of the artful Maria, who continued, in spite of his
caution, to worm out some important secrets from Juan Garcia, every
Protestant in Valladolid was discovered and marked for destruction.
Officers and familiars of the Inquisition were also placed on the
highways leading to the frontiers, so that any suspected person
attempting to escape from the country might be captured.
The Protestants, meantime, continued to preach the truth, and hold their
meetings as before, not, however, without a sense of the danger in which
they were placed. How the feeling came on them they were not aware.
Still it did not make even the most timid wish to abandon their
principles, but rather drew them nearer to God, and made them more and
more sensible of their entire dependence on Him. The difficulties
encountered by those attempting to escape from the country were very
great. Few persons experienced greater than did the monks of San
Isidoro, near Seville. Nearly all the convents in its neighbourhood had
been leavened with the reforming principles. They had been originally
introduced into that of San Isidoro by the celebrated Doctor Blanco, who
afterwards for a time abandoned them, or rather, it may be said that a
timid disposition made him conceal them. He taught his brethren that
true religion was very different from what it was vulgarly supposed to
be; that it did not consist in chanting matins and vespers, or in
performing any of those acts of bodily service in which their time was
occupied, and that if they desired to have the approbation of God, it
behoved them to have recourse to the Scriptures to know His mind. After
a few years a still more decided change took place in the internal state
of the monastery. An ample supply of copies of the Scriptures, and of
Protestant books in the Spanish language having been received, they were
read with avidity by the monks, and contributed at once to confirm those
who had been enlightened, and to extricate others from the prejudices by
which they were enthralled. In consequence of this, they and their
Prior agreed to reform their religious institute. Their hours of
prayer, as they were called, which had been spent in solemn mummeries,
were appointed for hearing prelections on the Scriptures; prayers for
the dead were omitted, or converted into lessons for the living; papal
indulgences and pardons, which had formed a lucrative and engrossing
traffic, were entirely abolished; images were allowed to remain, as they
could not have been removed without attracting notice, though they
received no homage; habitual temperance was substituted in the room of
superstitious fasting; and novices were instructed in the principles of
true piety, instead of being initiated into the idle and debasing habits
of monachism. By their conversation also abroad, and by the circulation
of books, these zealous monks diffused the knowledge of the truth
through the adjacent country, and imparted it to many individuals who
resided in towns at a considerable distance from Seville.
CHAPTER FIVE.
THE STORM BREAKS.
The advocate Herezuelo returned one afternoon to his lodgings in good
spirits. He had been pleading an important cause, which he had gained--
right against wrong--the cause of a widow and her children; on one side
helplessness and poverty, on the other power and wealth. It had been
held that the widow had no prospect of success till the young advocate
undertook her cause.
Leonor rejoiced with her husband. He had been prompted by no
expectation of fee or reward; but simply from a desire, through love of
his blessed Master, to assist the distressed. It was a happy evening to
both of them. They sat in a balcony overlooking an orange-grove, the
soft air they breathed made fragrant by the sweet-scented flowers. The
stars shone brilliantly in the clear sky; and as, their hands clasped
together, they gazed upwards into the immeasurable space, they felt what
happiness would be theirs, could they be allowed to wing their flight in
company to that blessed region where all is peace, and quiet, and joy.
"But we may yet have work to do on earth in our Master's service, dear
one," observed Antonio. "Let us be content to remain till He calls us,
and let our earnest prayer be that He will then, in His loving mercy,
summon us together. It would be grievous to be parted from you, my
beloved Leonor, even for a brief season."
"I pray that, through God's mercy, that day may never come," said
Leonor, looking with deep affection at her husband. "Oh, let us not
think even such an event possible."
They were interrupted by the arrival of a visitor. Several other
friends had called to congratulate Herezuelo on his success. The fresh
visitor was in the garb of a laic; but when he threw back the cloak
which concealed his features, the advocate and Dona Leonor saw before
them their friend Don Domingo de Roxas, the well-known prior and
preacher, a son of the Marquis de Poza.
"I have come to bid you farewell, dear friends," he said. "It may be
for a short time--it may be for ever. This is no safe country for one
who has preached the truth openly as I have done, and I have, therefore,
resolved to escape to Geneva, where I hope to remain till happier times
come for our poor benighted Spain. On my way I must visit our beloved
brother, Don Carlos de Seso, and, it may be, induce him to accompany me,
for I fear that neither is he safe while the inquisitors are seeking for
victims to satisfy their thirst for blood."
"We may say, rather, that while those miserable slaves to the tyranny
and superstition of Rome think that any remain who have been freed from
that hideous system they will endeavour, by every cruelty they can
devise, to destroy them, if they cannot bring them back to slavery,"
observed Herezuelo. "Of all the men in existence, I pity the officials
of the papal system, and more especially the inquisitors and their
families, be they cardinals, bishops, or other ecclesiastics, however
wealthy and powerful. While we endeavour to counteract their designs,
and to escape from their power, let us pray that their hearts may be
turned from darkness to light, and that they may learn to know, love,
and imitate that same Jesus whom they now persecute."
"Amen! I pray for them likewise," said Don Domingo. "But I must not
delay. I came to advise you, my friend, to quit Valladolid. It is no
longer a safe place for you, for even were your religious opinions not
suspected, you have made mortal enemies of those whom you so signally
defeated at law this morning."
"You are right, my friend; and we purpose, God willing, leaving this
city for Toro to-morrow morning by daybreak," answered Herezuelo. "We
shall not be out of danger even there; but I have duties to perform at
that place, and I shall at all events be at my post."
"I wish you had arranged to start to-night," said Don Domingo. "The
delay of a few hours is dangerous. If, indeed, you can discover an
excuse for leaving the country altogether, let me entreat you to do so.
The storm I see coming may blow over; but you are a man of note, and as
the tallest trees are the most quickly blown down, you would be the
first assailed."
"I have no fancy for fleeing from danger, and feel disposed rather to
face my enemies, and argue the case with them," observed the advocate.
"The only arguments they trust to are the rack and the stake," answered
Don Domingo. "Against them your eloquence will avail you nothing.
Trust not to any one of the Romish priesthood, nor to those under their
influence; they are sworn foes of true religion and liberty, and the
more enlightened they believe you to be the more eager they will be for
your destruction."
These and other arguments used by Don Domingo at length induced
Herezuelo to agree to set forth on his journey immediately that he could
procure a conveyance for his wife and her attendant. Don Domingo
himself offered, indeed, to remain and assist them; but of this the
advocate would not hear, and the friends departed, the former taking the
road for Calahora, where he hoped to meet with De Seso.
Don Domingo, who was dressed as a Spanish cavalier of rank, attended by
a servant, pushed on at a rapid rate. He was no coward, but he knew
full well what the Inquisition had in store for him should he be taken,
and he wished to escape their treatment. He avoided as much as possible
all inns and places resorted to by the public, and kept, when he could,
out of the high road. He hoped thus to reach De Seso, and to persuade
him to bear him company in his flight.
Calahora was reached without interruption. The noble De Seso was very
unwilling to believe the reports which Don Domingo brought him.
"You go, my friend; but I cannot carry my wife and young children, and
will not desert them," he answered.
No arguments would move him. He did not even think that the inquisitors
would venture to interfere with persons in his position.
Reluctantly Don Domingo left his friends to proceed on his journey.
Hoping to avoid observation, he turned out of the high road, with the
intention of continuing his journey during the moonlit hours of the
night. He had not gone far when he saw approaching him a man riding a
tall mule, and leading a string of five or six pack mules.
The muleteer was jogging on, to all appearance, carelessly singing what
sounded like one of the plaintive ditties then become common in Spain,
though learned from the Moors. There was something, however, in the
tone, and in a few of the words that reached the ear of Don Domingo,
which made him look hard at the muleteer.
"My friend, if I mistake not, Julianillo!" he exclaimed. "What brings
you this way?"
"Evil times, Don Domingo; for I know you in spite of your disguise,"
answered Julianillo. "I received notice from a trusty friend that all
the passes are guarded, and that I shall not have a chance of escaping,
nor will you. For the present, if we would be safe, we must lie
concealed. Come with me; we shall not be the first Christians
compelled, for the truth's sake, to take shelter in the caves of the
earth; nor shall we be the last. I wish that we could give notice to
more of our brethren, who might join us."
The arrangements proposed by Julianillo were now concluded; and,
followed by Don Domingo, he led the way down a road, or bridle path
rather, which branched off to the right. Scarcely had he turned aside
when the noise of horses' feet coming rapidly along the road was heard.
Don Domingo's servant, who was some little way behind, came spurring on
crying out, "Flee, master, flee! They are officers of justice! They
are in pursuit of us!"
The advice was followed, but the path was rough. Don Domingo's horse
stumbled, and in another instant he and his servant found themselves in
the power of the officers of the Inquisition. Their mouths were
instantly gagged, and a dark cloak and hood were thrown over their
heads, completely concealing their figures and features. Some of the
horsemen pushed on, but after a short time returned, and Don Domingo had
the satisfaction of believing, from some of the expressions they let
fall, that Julianillo had escaped. As far as he could judge, his steps
were retraced till the party reached the neighbourhood of Calahora; they
were then joined by another band of horsemen escorting prisoners. He
had too much reason to fear that his friend De Seso was one of them.
Among the prisoners were several females--of that he was certain. He
longed to ascertain if his suspicions were correct. So strictly,
however, was each individual prisoner guarded, that he might never have
ascertained the truth, had not a storm suddenly burst on the heads of
the escort. Shelter was not far off, and while the horsemen were
pushing on to gain it, one of the party made a bold attempt to escape.
He had grasped the rein of one of the female's horses, when a flash of
lightning made it rear, and he had great difficulty in saving the rider
from being thrown to the ground. In doing so, his hood became
disarranged, and the features of De Seso were revealed. The officers of
the Inquisition immediately seized him and secured him more carefully,
while he and the lady were separated.
"Alas! my noble friend is in the same condition as myself," thought
Domingo. "May God in His mercy support him; but he suffers not alone.
He will feel the sufferings of his beloved wife even more than his own.
And we, alas! alas! are but a few, perhaps, out of many hundred
Christians now in the power of these monsters of the Inquisition."
The unfortunate prisoners were allowed no rest, were permitted to
communicate with no one, but were hurried on till they reached the
portals of that mansion of horror and despair--the Inquisition. But was
it to them an abode of despair? No! A power more than human supported
them. That strength which never fails those who put their faith in God
held them up; for God has promised that His Holy Spirit, the Comforter,
will be with them who trust in Him in all their troubles and
afflictions.
As soon as they passed through the gates, each of the prisoners was
conducted blindfolded to separate cells. Into these dark and foul holes
delicate women and men, accustomed to all the refinements the age
afforded, were thrust indiscriminately. No couch, no chairs, even, were
allowed them; when weary of standing, they were compelled to sit down on
the hard, cold and damp flag-stones. Scarcely a ray of light was
admitted into their dens; the only sounds which ever reached their ears
being occasionally the groans and cries of their companions in
suffering. The system pursued by the inquisitors was too generally
known to allow them a ray of hope that they would escape without the
most fearful torture, or the alternative of giving evidence to condemn
those nearest and dearest to them.
CHAPTER SIX.
THE ARREST.
Antonio Herezuelo and his wife Leonor knelt in prayer after their friend
had left them. On rising from their knees, they decided not to make the
attempt to escape.
"We cannot flee from the country, and the alguazils of the Inquisition
can as easily find us at our house as in the city of Valladolid, should
they suspect us of holding to the true faith," said Antonio, calmly.
"Our Heavenly Father knows what is best, and He may require us to
testify to the truth of the doctrine we have learned of Him through the
teaching of the Holy Spirit, and let us rejoice rather than grieve if we
are so honoured. Oh, my beloved Leonor, be firm, whatever happens;
cling to the truth as it is in Christ Jesus. Never allow that saint in
heaven or priest on earth has the power to come between us and our one
great loving Mediator, who stands at the right hand of God, pleading
that He paid once and for all a full and complete ransom for us. Never
acknowledge that by the word of a man bread and wine can be changed into
the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, of that Lord who is now in
heaven, standing at the right hand of God, pleading that body broken,
that blood flowing freely for all of us; pleading that all-sufficient,
all-perfect, all-complete sacrifice made once, and never to be repeated,
on Calvary. Never dishonour that Saviour, that precious blood-shedding,
by acknowledging that it was insufficient to wash away all stains of
sin, and that the fires of purgatory are required to cleanse the soul
from sin, and to make it pure and holy, and fit to enter the presence of
God. Oh, never acknowledge that any being in heaven or in earth has a
heart more loving, more gentle, more merciful than the heart of Jesus,
or that there exists a being, create or uncreate, who will more
willingly hear our prayers, and bear them to the throne of grace--not
even His mortal mother, who, though blessed among women, herself
required, as being a daughter of Adam, to be sprinkled by His blood to
obtain salvation. Do not own that sinful man, though he be called a
priest, can absolve his fellow-sinner from sin, or that prayers can
avail for those who have passed away without accepting the perfect
salvation offered them here on earth. Die rather than be guilty of that
gross idolatry of worshipping the elements of bread and wine, unchanged
and unchangeable as they must ever be; and above all things hold fast to
God's blessed testament to fallen man, and refuse to acknowledge any
doctrine which cannot be clearly proved from its whole and entire
tenor."
"Husband, dear husband, I will," answered Leonor, solemnly. "Set me the
example, and I shall be firm."
"Dear wife, trust not to my example, but seek strength from the Holy
Spirit. He will guide and support you. Your husband is but a frail
man. Dearly as I love you, there is One who loves you more; trust Him."
Much more passed between them. How solemn was that conversation! What
deep, earnest, true love did Herezuelo exhibit to his young wife! It
was interrupted by a sound which a quick ear only could have detected.
It was that of footsteps stealthily ascending the stairs. Herezuelo
arose, and unconsciously placed his hand on his sword, as the door burst
open, and several dark and masked figures entered the room.
"Antonio Herezuelo and Leonor de Cisneros, you are our prisoners," said
one who appeared to be in command of the rest; "you are summoned to
appear before the tribunal of the Holy Office to answer to certain
charges which will there be made known to you."
Antonio, though brave as a lion, saw that resistance was useless. "If
you will allow my wife time to put on her walking dress, we shall be
ready to accompany you," he answered, with as firm a voice as he could
command; but when he turned round to speak to Leonor, she was not to be
seen, though he caught sight of a figure closely enveloped in a dark
cloak, borne rapidly along a passage leading from the room by two of the
alguazils. He attempted to follow, being sure that it was his wife thus
forcibly carried off; but the moment he moved he found himself seized,
and his arms pinioned behind him, while two men stood on either side of
him with pistols presented at his head. In vain he struggled; in vain
he attempted to free himself. The cords which bound him were drawn
tighter and tighter. He was in the hands of those who had long utterly
disregarded human misery and suffering.
In vain he pleaded, in vain he petitioned that he might see his beloved
wife, even for a few moments, that he might have some parting words with
her. He spoke as to men who were deaf. Not the slightest answer by
word or sign did they give him, but immediately proceeded to examine all
the cases and drawers and boxes in the room. They then went to the
sleeping apartment, searching it throughout, and taking possession of
every scrap of written paper, as well as of all the books they could
find. There were gestures of triumph and satisfaction exhibited when a
Bible and hymn-book were drawn forth. Antonio fancied that he could see
the dark eyes of the familiars flashing under their hoods as they handed
the books to each other. The advocate knew well the language those eyes
spoke. "Here we have evidence which will convict him without doubt; no
hope for him, no prospect of escape." Yet he stood calm and motionless,
striving by a mighty effort to quell the agitated feelings of his bosom,
and to seek strength from the only Source whence it could be obtained.
He seemed as though he had succeeded, when a faint cry reached his ear.
He knew the voice; it was that of his wife. In an instant he had torn
asunder the bonds which held him; he had dashed on either side the
cowled alguazils who crowded round, and at a bound dashed through the
doorway, down the passage whence the sound proceeded.
"Leonor! Leonor! I come to you," he cried out; but as he uttered the
words, a blow from a heavy staff on the forehead laid him senseless on
the ground. When he returned to consciousness, it was to find himself
in a narrow, dark, and noisome cell, which he well knew must be one of
the secret prisons of that fearful institution, the Inquisition. He had
often heard of the horrors those gloomy walls could reveal. He knew
that thousands of his fellow-creatures had been confined within them;
that very many had never again seen the light of day; that others had
been brought forth as spectacles to be mocked at, dressed in fantastic
costumes, and thus had been committed to the flames.
On the hard flag-stones he knelt down, and then, in close communion with
his God, he obtained a strength and courage which no human power could
have given him. Hour after hour, and day after day, passed away, and he
remained alone in darkness, a cowled figure entering occasionally, and
as quickly retiring, without uttering a word or making a sign. When not
engaged in prayer, his thoughts were with Leonor; and even when thus
engaged, they often turned to her, and she became their chief and
absorbing subject, that she might have strength, that she might have
courage to hold to the truth.
At length the moment arrived when his powers of endurance were to be put
to the test--his faith, his courage. The door opened, and six
familiars, with their countenances masked, and their figures concealed
by dark robes, entered his cell. His eyes, long accustomed to darkness,
could scarcely endure the light from a torch which one of them carried,
but he saw that they made signs to him to rise and accompany them. He
knew that to disobey would be useless. Rising from the ground on which
he had been resting, he endeavoured by earnest prayer to nerve himself
for the fearful ordeal through which he might have to go.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
THE TORTURE.