surrounding country into the grand square of Valladolid to witness the
spectacle which had been prepared for them by those who impiously called
themselves ministers of the loving Jesus. In a short time the whole of
the grand square was filled with impatient spectators, except that space
occupied by two large platforms between the church of Saint Francis and
the house of the Consistory. In front of the town-house, and close to
the platform intended for the inquisitors, a large box or deep-covered
balcony had been erected for the use of the Royal Family, which they
could enter without interruption from the crowd, and from whence they
could enjoy a full view of the prisoners. Near it was a high altar,
with the usual crucifixes, candlesticks, vases, and other ornaments of
the Romish worship, made on this occasion as imposing as possible. In
the box sat Dona Juana, Queen-Dowager of Portugal, and governess of the
kingdom during the absence of her brother, Philip the Second, in the
Netherlands. She was accompanied by her unhappy nephew, Don Carlos,
heir-apparent to the throne, then a lad only of fourteen. It is said
that on that occasion he vowed an implacable hatred to the Inquisition.
To that fell tribunal, there can be little doubt, he became a helpless
victim. Intimation of the intended festival had publicly been made in
all the churches and religious houses in the neighbourhood. The
attendance of the civil authorities and of the clergy was requested; and
that the multitude might be encouraged to come, an indulgence of forty
days was proclaimed to all who should witness the ceremonies of the act.
While outside preparations were going forward, the officials of the
Inquisition were busy within the walls of the prison. The prisoners,
being assembled, were clothed in the several dresses in which they were
to make their appearance in public. Those who had erred only in a
slight degree were clothed simply in black. The other prisoners wore a
san-benito, a loose garment of yellow cloth, called in Spanish _zamara_,
and on their heads was placed a high conical pasteboard cap, called
_coroza_. On the dresses of those who were to be strangled were painted
flames burning downwards, called _fuego revolto_, to intimate that they
had escaped the fire; while the san-benito and coroza of those doomed to
be burnt alive were covered with flames burning upwards, around which
were painted devils carrying the faggots or fanning the fire.
Now, on that bright May morning, a procession was to be seen moving
forth from the Inquisition of Valladolid. First marched a band of
soldiers to clear the way, and then came a number of priests in their
gaudy robes--alb, chasuble, tunic, and other garments, the names of
which are familiar to modern ears. They were attended by acolytes and
boys of various theological colleges, chanting the Litany in alternate
choruses. Then came the mournful band of prisoners--those in black
first, those marked with the _fuego revolto_ following, and those
destined to the flames walking last. Each prisoner was attended by two
familiars of the Inquisition, and each of those destined to die, in
addition, was accompanied by two friars, who employed all the arguments
they could bring forward, all the eloquence they could command, in
endeavouring to induce the prisoners to recant and confess their errors.
Among the last of the sad band came Antonio Herezuelo. Though his face
was pale, he walked with a firm step, and he replied now with a smile,
now with a few gentle words, to the exhortations of the two friars. He,
as was the case with his companions, had a halter round his neck, and in
his hand he carried an extinguished torch, while his companions destined
to the stake also carried extinguished torches or crosses. Many
trembled and tottered as they moved along; indeed, no one bore himself
more bravely than the young advocate. After the prisoners came the
local magistrates, the judges, and officers of state, accompanied by a
train of nobility on horseback. Then came the secular and monastic
clergy; and at some distance, as if they were too great and important to
mingle with ordinary people, rode in slow and solemn pomp the members of
the Holy Office, preceded by their fiscal, bearing the standard of the
Inquisition. That accursed bloodstained banner was composed of red silk
damask, on which the names and insignia of Pope Sextus the Fourth, and
Ferdinand the Catholic, the founders of the hellish tribunal, were
conspicuous; and it was surmounted by a crucifix of massive silver
overlaid with gold, which the ignorant populace had been taught to hold
in the highest veneration. These were the persons who were to take the
chief part in the performances of the day; they were followed by their
familiars on horseback, who, with many of the principal gentry of the
country, formed their body-guard.
With a few years' judicious educating by the Jesuits, and a continuance
of supineness and incredulity as to Rome's designs on the part of
British Protestants, of which all denominations are guilty, it is not at
all impossible that similar scenes may be enacted in England.
Ritualistic forms and ceremonies, and public processions, and, still
more, the insidious teaching of numbers professing to be ministers of
religion, are accustoming the people to a system which must end in their
subjugation to sacerdotal despotism.
An immense concourse of people of the lower ranks closed the procession,
vociferating to one another, with open eyes and necks stretched out
eager to catch a sight of the condemned prisoners and the grand
inquisitors as they ascended their respective platforms. The latter
took their places, and then the Queen-Regent and the young prince took
their places in the royal box, or bed of state, as it was called,
surrounded by a number of the chief nobility of the kingdom.
It was six o'clock in the morning, and the sun was already glittering on
the gilded crosses and other devices on the tops of the banners, when,
the company having taken their places, Francisco Baca, the presiding
inquisitor, was seen advancing to the bed of state on which the Regent
and her nephew were seated; and then, in an authoritative tone, he
proffered to them an oath to support the Holy Office, and to reveal to
it everything contrary to the faith which might come to their knowledge.
The Prince was seen to hesitate, and not till urged by his aunt would
he consent to take the oath. It was the first time such an oath had
been exacted from any of the Royal Family. Poor Prince! that look of
his sealed his fate!
Antonio Herezuelo, from the moment he saw his wife dragged off by the
familiars of the Inquisition, had been kept in utter ignorance of what
had become of her. Not a reply could he get from any of the stern
familiars who attended him. It vain he petitioned to be told whether
she was in their power--whether she was well in health--whether she had
been placed under examination. A sinister look was the only answer he
received.
"Ay, I must trust in God!" Yes, Antonio, you--all who are in trouble,
sickness, or any other adversity--may trust in Him with confidence,
assured that He in His good time will bring you out of all your
troubles.
As the familiars were clothing the prisoners in their habits of infamy,
Herezuelo thought to himself, "How can I more advantageously employ the
last moments of my life than by declaring to the misguided people the
glad tidings of salvation, by telling them of the Saviour's love, and
that they require no other priest, no other intercessor than He?" Thus
resolved to speak, he walked firmly onward to death, like a soldier to
the fatal breach; but ere he reached the platform, at a sign from the
monks, who had in vain, with all the sophistries they could utter, been
endeavouring to shake his faith, one of the familiars thrust a gag into
his mouth, which the other secured, and he was rendered speechless.
Bitter for an instant was the anguish he felt, but prayer quickly
restored to him his serenity.
"See! see! there is his lordship Melchior Cano, Bishop of the Canaries,
mounting the pulpit. Listen! he is to preach the sermon," was repeated
by many in the crowd.
In flowing language and sonorous tones the Bishop put forth the claims
of the Church of Rome to infallibility. He spoke of the importance of
unity, of the crime of heresy and schism; and, finally, he enlarged on
the duty of all Catholics to deliver over to justice all who were in the
slightest degree guilty of those crimes. The sermon concluded, the
clerk of the tribunal read the sentence of the penitents, who, on their
knees, and with their hands laid on the Missal, repeated the confession.
Those around them stood aside as the presiding inquisitor, descending
from his throne, advances to the altar, and absolves the penitents _a
culpa_ under the obligation to bear the several punishments which have
been awarded, whether banishments, penances, whipping, hard labour, or
imprisonment--the deprivation of property being in all cases rigidly
enforced, to the great advantage of the inquisitors. The Bishop, then,
in a loud voice, administered to all present on the platform, as well as
to the surrounding multitude, an oath binding them to live and die in
the communion of the Roman Church, and to uphold and defend against all
adversaries the tribunal of the Holy Inquisition.
As he spoke the multitude fell on their knees, lowly bowing their heads.
Of the vast assemblage two men only were standing, with heads erect and
arms folded on their bosoms. They were the martyrs resolved to undergo
the fiery trial of the stake rather than disavow one article of their
holy faith. They were Antonio Herezuelo, the advocate, and Francisco de
Vibero Cazalla, parish priest of Hermigos, who was likewise gagged.
There were twelve other unhappy persons condemned to death, but, having
confessed, they were allowed the poor favour of being strangled before
their bodies were committed to the flames. They, less courageous than
the advocate and Francisco Cazalla, were compelled to kneel. But why
does Antonio Herezuelo start and cast an inquiring look towards the
group of black penitents kneeling near the altar? Before he could cast
a second look they were hid from his sight; and now the Bishop of
Placencia advances towards the group of those sentenced to death, and
with a knife commences the operation of degrading the priests by
scraping off the crown of the head the part which was supposed to have
received the holy oil at their consecration. Then garment after garment
was torn from them, the Bishop pronouncing all the time terrible curses
on their heads. This done, the secular judges were summoned to receive
the prisoners, and the Inquisitor formally delivered them over into
their hands, saying, as he did so, in a hypocritical tone of compassion,
"We beseech you to treat these poor people with the utmost
commiseration--not to break a bone of their bodies, nor to shed a drop
of their blood." He said this, not only knowing that the prisoners were
to be executed, but having especially arranged that they should be so--
having, indeed, a few days before, acquainted the judge with the number
of prisoners to be delivered over to him, in order that the required
quantity of stakes, faggots, and other things necessary for the
execution might be in readiness. The canons of the Romish Church,
however, denounced against ecclesiastics who should be accessory to the
inflicting of any bodily injury, and the above-mentioned expressions
were used to avoid the censure of irregularity. The magistrates, on
their part, swore that they would faithfully execute the sentences
against the persons of the heretics delivered over to them.
All these ceremonies--audacious mockery of justice--occupied several
hours; and now the condemned prisoners were compelled to march in front
of the royal box, and pass those who had by recanting escaped the
extreme penalty of the law. Again Antonio Herezuelo looked eagerly at
the black penitents. What an expression of agony was seen to rise on
his countenance as he beheld among them his beloved Leonor, the wife of
his bosom, formerly united to him, as he supposed, in the one blessed
faith and hope which animated his own soul. Who could paint the
feelings which passed through his swelling heart? He would have given
worlds to have been able to utter a loving entreaty to her again to take
hold of the blessed truths of which he was even then reaping the
fruition; but the gag prevented him. One prayer he breathed from the
depths of his soul for her, and as he passed he cast at her a look of
such unutterable agony, yet of such loving reproof and regret, that,
like the lightning's flash, it went to her heart. Well she understood
its meaning. "Oh, my beloved Leonor," it seemed to say, "why did you
not seek for grace to hold fast to the truth, and for strength to go
through the fiery trial, that, as we have lived happily together on
earth, we might have ascended together to be ever with our risen Lord
and Saviour?"
Full well she understood that silent appeal. It sunk into her heart.
"Yes, yes, my Antonio, I will join you," she exclaimed, stretching out
her hands towards him. In vain she made the attempt to rush into his
arms, for the cruel familiars held her back. In vain she struggled.
She saw that to join her beloved lord in life was hopeless. She drew
herself up with dignity. "Inquisitors, I will die with my husband," she
exclaimed. "I renounce for ever the gross errors of the Romish faith,
which I have been induced to assume. I am ready to die as a true
Protestant--a believer in the simple truths of the Gospel."
"Away with her! Away with her to prison!" cried the Inquisitor. "She
is mad; she is beside herself!"
"I am a Protestant. I will die with my husband," exclaimed Leonor; but
before she could say more a gag was thrust into her mouth, and she was
surrounded by friars and familiars, so as to conceal her from the public
view.
The look Herezuelo cast towards Leonor was the last he gave her on
earth. Not another was allowed him. He was hurried off by the
stony-hearted familiars, with his brother martyrs and their companions
in affliction. The first part of the exhibition had been a cruel, a
blasphemous mockery--that which was to follow was to be a diabolical
reality.
Those condemned to death, either by fire or strangulation, were now
formed into a melancholy procession, each person accompanied as before
by familiars and monks, the latter disturbing the last moments of their
yellow-robed victims by their senseless exhortations. Thus they
proceeded slowly through the gates, accompanied by nearly all those who
had witnessed the first part of the proceedings; the eager crowd making
their observations on the appearance and bearing of the sufferers, many
of the more brutal mocking and jeering, especially as they caught sight
of the two principal martyrs. It might have seemed strange to them that
of all the human beings collected they should have appeared the calmest,
though the look of agony which arose on Herezuelo's brow at the sight of
his wife had not yet left it.
Arrived at the spot where the stakes were erected and the faggots piled
up, further efforts were made to induce Cazalla and Herezuelo to recant.
The former, seeing his brother Augustine not at the stake, but among
those who were to be strangled before being burned, signified his sorrow
by an expressive motion of his hands. The latter remained firm as
before, unmoved by all the exhortations of the priests and monks. Even
when instigated by his tempters, the unhappy Doctor Augustine Cazalla
urged him to be reconciled to the Church of Rome, he turned on him a
look of sorrow and compassion, mingled with contempt, which at once
silenced the recreant from the truth. Herezuelo's calmness seemed to
excite the rage and all the evil passions of the priests and soldiers.
They cursed and swore and reviled him in every possible way. "Ah! ah!
in a short time, in spite of your bold looks, you will be in hell with
your associate, Luther," they shouted. To these and similar expressions
he made no sign of complaints--only turning his eyes to that blue sky to
which his beautified spirit was about to wing its flight towards the
martyr's crown of glory awaiting him in the realms of the blessed.
The faggots were lighted, the flames ascended, when one of the soldiers,
enraged at his constancy, plunged his lance into his body, and thus
saved him from the pangs he might otherwise have had to suffer. His
fellow-martyr died with equal firmness, and the other victims were
strangled before their bodies were cast into the flames. With them at
the same time were also cast the bones and effigy of Dona Leonor de
Vibero, which had appeared at the _auto_. This was done because at her
house the Protestants had frequently assembled for prayer and praise.
In a short time, of the fourteen human beings who had dragged their
tortured, lacerated limbs to the spot, a few ashes alone remained. Such
was the termination of the first great _auto-da-fe_ of Protestants in
Spain.
There was yet another spectacle to be witnessed that day. It was to see
the house of Dona Leonor de Vibero, the mother of the Cazallas, razed to
the ground, and the place on which it stood sown with salt. On the spot
a pillar, with an inscription stating the cause of its demolition, was
immediately afterwards erected, and stood till the commencement of the
present century.
It is easy to conceive how Dona Leonor de Cisneros had been induced
apparently to abandon the faith to which she had so long adhered.
Falsehoods and devices of all sorts had been employed to induce her to
make her peace with Rome. Every argument which sophistry could invent
had been brought forward to shake her belief. There was a rack, with
other fearful tortures, and the stake, on the one hand, and forgiveness
and reconciliation with the Church on the other--ay, and a happy life
with her Antonio. When at last the inquisitors found her stubborn, they
did not hesitate to assure her that she had less wisdom than her
husband, who had lately--convinced that the Protestant cause was lost in
Spain--agreed heartily to conform to the faith of Rome, and to be
reconciled to the Church. A rigid course of penance was prescribed for
her, and after its performance she was told that she would be set free,
and allowed to join her husband, who, as had been some others, would be
banished the kingdom, though possibly a milder punishment might be
awarded him.
Could it be possible that her husband would abjure his principles? Her
faith wavered. If she remained obstinate, he might, she was assured, be
brought out to witness her death. She was meditating on these things in
her solitary cell when the door opened, and the Archbishop Munebrega
stood before her. He spoke to her gently and kindly, as an old family
friend. He would urge her to take his advice, and conform at once.
Long she thought on the subject, but she could not pray for guidance.
Why? Her conscience revolted against the act she contemplated. In a
husky voice she told the Archbishop that she would yield.
"We will endeavour, then, to induce the advocate Herezuelo to yield
also, lovely Leonor," said the Archbishop, taking her hand and pressing
it to his lips.
"Why, you told me that my husband had already yielded!" exclaimed
Leonor, scarcely conscious of the act.
"I surely could not have said so, as I am not cognisant of the fact,"
answered Munebrega blandly. "Be assured that for your sake I will
endeavour to win him over to the truth." Much more was urged by the
Archbishop, but poor Leonor's mind was in too great a whirl to
understand the meaning of what he said. Cruel indeed was the conflict
going on within her. "For the sake of appearances you will have to
undergo some penances; but I will take care that they shall be as light
as possible, that your health may be in no way injured," he remarked;
and with a treacherous smile the tempter left her.
No words can describe the unhappy Leonor's feelings at seeing her
husband among those condemned to the stake. It had been hoped by
Munebrega, from the position in which she was placed, that she would not
have discovered him. The effect has been described. On being conducted
back to the convent to which she had been removed, she at once refused
to continue the penances which had been prescribed. No persuasions
could make her alter her determination; and therefore, as an obstinate
heretic, she was returned to a cell in the Inquisition. Munebrega was
soon in her presence. He reminded her that she was a widow and
helpless--that he had the power of setting her at liberty. He entreated
her on his knees once more to recant--to preserve her life--not to allow
her beauty to be marred by a long imprisonment. She turned from him
with loathing. Munebrega well knew the importance of caution. His
chief and brother inquisitors were very indifferent what means were made
use of (even the most abominable), provided they contributed to bring
about the objects they had in view; but they would allow no private
interests to be gratified. Day after day Munebrega visited the unhappy
lady. His protestations, his arguments, every subject he introduced,
only tended to strengthen her resolution. "Get thee behind me, Satan,"
was her daily ejaculation when he appeared. She did not trust to her
own strength, but hourly sought strength and grace from above to
withstand all the trials and temptations to which she was exposed. Like
Peter, she had fallen once; severe was the lesson she had learned. Like
Peter's repentance, hers had been deep and truly sincere. No longer did
she trust to herself. Munebrega at last retired, gnashing his teeth at
having been foiled by a weak woman, utterly incapable of comprehending
the mighty power which had been fighting on her side against him. He
now allowed other persons to attempt to move her.
Among others, her former admirer, Don Francisco de Vivers, was induced
to visit her. He was still unmarried. What arguments he used it is not
necessary to state. He was not hardened to the craft of the priests,
and he left the prison abashed and confused. He visited her again more
than once, and the idea was entertained by the inquisitors that he was
moving her obdurate heart. At length, however, he was missing from
Valladolid, and some of his friends feared, from some words that he had
let drop, that he had offended the inquisitors, and was immured in their
prisons.
It would be impossible to imagine, much less to describe, the cruelties
practised on Leonor de Cisneros; and yet there were many hundreds of
delicately-nurtured females and hidalgos of high rank suffering as she
was physically in the numerous prisons of the Inquisition throughout
Spain--many shut up in loathsome dungeons, destined never again to see
the light of day.
Numerous _autos-da-fe_ succeeded each other for the purpose of stamping
out Protestant principles from Spain. The second celebrated at
Valladolid took place on the 8th of October, 1559, for the purpose of
celebrating the return of Philip the Second, husband of Queen Mary of
England, who was employed at that time in burning her own bishops and
other subjects for the same cause. King Philip was himself present,
enjoying the spectacle, with his unhappy son Carlos, his sister, the
Prince of Parma, three ambassadors from France, and a numerous assembly
of prelates and nobility of both sexes.
The Inquisitor-General, Valdes, advancing to the bed of state,
administered the same oath which had been taken by Don Carlos and the
Queen of Portugal. Philip took it without hesitation, and, rising from
his seat, drew his sword, in token of his determination to use it in
support of the Holy Office.
A similar group to that before described, clothed in yellow garments
covered with pictures of flames and devils, stood on the platform before
the King and his court. The most noble-looking and highest in rank was
Don Carlos de Seso, the upturning flames on whose robe showed that he
was doomed to the stake. With him was Domingo de Roxas, Pedro de
Cazalla, parish priest of Pedroso, who was destined to share the fate of
his family. Dona Isabella de Castilla, wife of Don Carlos de Seso, was
there, and her niece, Dona Catalina--condemned to lose all their
property, to wear the san-benito, and to be imprisoned for life. There
were also three nuns of San Belem; one of them, Dona Mariana de Guevara,
was condemned to be strangled and then thrown into the flames; she was
highly born, and even connected with Valdes, the Chief Inquisitor, but
he could not save her from the consequences of her opinions. His
subordinates resisted the applications he was said to have made on her
behalf as an interference with their jurisdiction, and a proof of
partiality and weakness unworthy of one of those whose office required
him to be insensible to the feelings of nature and friendship.
The death of Don Carlos de Seso was worthy of his life; though gagged on
the platform and on the way to execution, the instrument was removed
when he was bound to the stake by the friars, who stood round exhorting
him to confess. He replied in a loud voice, "I could demonstrate to
you, unhappy men, that you ruin yourselves by not imitating my example;
but there is no time. Executioners, light the pile which is to consume
me." These were his last words. The order was instantly obeyed, and,
looking up, he died without a groan.